Every can along the road I feel a duty to inspect
And I sadly must report that some I must reject
For though they’re billed as rest rooms, there is no room to rest
And as for cleanliness and comfort they’d never pass the test
You’ll find no unused paper, clean towels you cannot see
Yet crumpled used towel litter there will always be
The pot won’t flush, the sink won’t drain, still we must confess
That even here, sometimes, we’re pleased to be a guest
For tho there is no place to rest and the room’s a total pit
It can seem a shining palace, ’cause there is a place to sit
We drop upon the throne and sigh, “Life’s simple pleasures are the best”
For after all, nature’s urgent call wasn’t bidding us to rest
“Never drive through Sherack when the night is full black,
For there’s a ghost who wanders that road,
And when you drive through Sherack, he gets in the back
By methods completely unknown.”
She spoke of Sherack, fielding laughter and flak,
Gravely warning her friends and her foes.
Hearing nothing but cracks from that wretched pack,
She continued to make sure they’d know.
Yes, she knew of Sherack and its ghostly trap.
Yet one night when hard-pressed for time,
Though the night was full black, she drove through Sherack
And told herself all would be fine.
But the ghost of Sherack appeared in the back,
And tho she heard but a wheeze and a groan,
Her muscles went slack; it got wet where she sat
‘Cause she knew she wasn’t alone.
As the ghost of Sherack sat there in back
And he spoke about dying and death,
Her eyes slowly tracked to the seat in the back,
Then the eyes of the ghost and hers — met.
Her arm reached back and she gave him a whack,
Then threw back her head in a yell.
And the ghost of Sherack flew out of the back:
‘Twas the worst he’d heard this side of hell!
So scared in Sherack, she’ll never go back –
And even now her hair remains curled.
And the ghost of Sherack? He’ll never be back
‘Cause SHE frightened HIM right out of this world!