Drunken camaraderie, Casey who's hair grows fire,
Who's laugh pierces the silence and looks that pierce the hearts of men,
Who's drama cannot be contained in a glass bottle, or two glass bottles,
We walk with no intention, speaking of camping and snow storms to rival an Alaskan winter breeze
We drink, laugh, smoke, chat, whoop, shriek, spit and holler
A playground hit and run witnessed only by the steel barred helicopter pilot,
Who speaks of *** as though she wants none of it,
but then again, neither do I,
Young Moon grins, yet stars still hide from this city, and all cities.
Waiting to find you in nature before showing off the mysterious wonder of night.