In a valley down by the danger,
surrounded by silver-naked-trees,
there is trust and there is dust
on plaid blanket, pressed by knees.

Where the orange orb floats through darkness
as midnight and finite as deathly intentions,
they surrender, known pretenders,
**** and pink, among green-glassed drinks,
living as common competition, in a silicon city;
living as voices-of-a-generation, in the pretty gritty.