Attracted to broken people,
some with missing souls ,
others with missing parts ,
Oil leaking from their chassis ,
some with milage on their hearts .
Roll up in my garage ,
These are not scars,
these are my war paint,
these are only beauty marks
I wear my pain as a badge.
I am equip,
to clean rusted chrome,
to give you a jump start ,
grease your brake pads
and take a peep at that exhaust pipe.
I know you are exhausted,
I can hear the rumbling in your engine,
you have been roaming these streets all night .
As your last driver ; was drunk and almost end your life.
You were left wondering
unsure if you will encounter a good mechanic.
with compassion , with the proper skill set...
One that will give that vintage body respect.
Buffer out every dent,
Open my garage door and let you exit.
As broken cars never stay ,
after being restored ,
the mechanic was allow them to continue along their way.