Friday
Sunday
where is it?
i can't breathe when your cold
winter stare enters-
behold the men in suits.
silly red hats. purple and blue- such wonder of colors.
the ships are ready- they sail to the pale moon tonight.
the bugs on your rugs and the bees sing to the trees. the
roots grow, grow, grow. here lies the body of dead old me.
get me some hot dogs
No time for play, the devil is at the door/The clouds are
raining melons and the melons are crying for their mothers/ HERE THE SUN DON’T
SHINE/before you and I the rain used to be black like the color of my granddaddies
soul/splashin’ with the kids and the kids are laughin’/piece for piece my soul
will be up for sale before the end of the year/ we know i’m always late, but dip
your cig in this beer and kick back/ throw your Monday and all it’s cares down this
drain/ let the sun and music control your brain/ my eyes are turning grey with
the amount of shit in the air/
slap a dime.
The flavor, like an open road. Stuck together with the
sticky September Sun.
Hands together before the flies dance the night away. Stand
in line like a dead
Man at a funeral. The fire is closer than before, pack your
bags before the bees.
Pull the clouds down past our souls, the Devil will be
waiting for his ride.
Open road jams, open road jelly, the old man still lives in
my ancient cellar.
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