My dad rode a 750
When he lived alone in Siskiyou County
He memorized the curves
Of the forest route of Shasta to his home
Once he flew around a bend
And elk were scattered across the road
No time to brake
So he closed his eyes and prayed
There's too many stories to remember
Too many stories to tell
Too many stories
Years later in Greece
With my momma shining blue and gold
Playing "honey, take the wheel"
On a windy Cycladean road
With a heavy rain falling
Their car lost all control
And slid over the line
Towards a trailer truck head on
There's too many stories to remember
Too many stories to tell
Too many stories
The way I remember them telling me
They slid right through the truck
Not around or under
But in one side and out the other
It broke the laws of physics
And my childhood memory
But they said, "You made that all up"
When I retold their story recently
There's too many stories to remember
Too many stories to tell
Too many stories