It was the darkest night and a pilot was up high

swerving rain trying to be dry


eating a fine meal

with the leather wheel on his heel

kicking back singing seal

listening to the clicking rain on the wind shield.



A storm was at due,

it was the largest ever seen

many were calling it the meanest thats ever been



Windows were locked

houses were all dimmed

people were in a lock down

like a wild croc- hound' would pin.



Tvs were silent

streets were like graves

chapels were full of sinners

their bare supple soft knees were  dazed.



He was heading into a storm

he planned to meet the eye

he was nuts and he knew it

he was more crazier than high

he was in a place so dark not even a saviour would die

but he couldn't stand wondering so he took his plane to fly.



They don't know how he did it, those few who survived the storm

and it wasn't who you'd think

it was the homeless inked in zinc-

alone outside apartment links

throwing winks at a thousand bolt lightning kinks,

flashing high in the sky.



Wind lashing,

bottles crashing,

dancing in puddles

in a splashing fashion



trying to crash in to abandoned banks and cash in


but they knew there was more beautiful ways to die.



So they gripped the air and huddled close

and watched that drug plane fly to an overdose.

And they cried in rain and hoped it true

that friend who stole plane would come back in two.