Riding with my family in the '58 Buick, I can still recall how we'd drive through the valley to my grandmother's house every summer vacation when I was small,
And I'd gaze out the window at the farms and the orchards, counting the telephone poles passing by,
And the sound of our motor would frighten the starlings, and they'd rise from the fields to fly,
My mother would grumble, Those birds are a curse