The blood red moon was gone
The sun refused to rise
I was driving north on 41
St. Christopher by my side
We picked up a hitchhiker
Outside of Turnersville
People call me Graffiti she said
I replied, my name is Bill
I asked about her name
But she wouldn’t say too much
People don’t like me hanging around
I guess I’m just bad luck
She had a certain kind of beauty
In her own peculiar way
I looked over at St. Christopher
And saw he’d begun to pray
Came around the turn
Just short of Lexington
When I saw Satan hitchhiking
Holding out his thumb
St. Christopher made the sign of the cross
I tried to look away
Graffiti laughed and flipped him off
She didn’t seem afraid
We continued on awhile
The night began to creep
The Saint was praying faster
Graffiti was fast asleep
I had an uneasy feeling
As I slowed for Adam’s Hill
When I saw Satan hitchhiking
And stopped against my will
I looked to my right
And saw St. Christopher had gone
I checked my rearview mirror
To see Graffiti in Satan’s arms
I tried the door, it was locked
It was the same on the other side
Satan laughed, then he spoke
Take me home if you don’t mind
