Drink dead moths darling, in smushy twilight. There's its grave in our closet against the milky Red sky. Dreams of a young man in a splinter of Night, submits his shadows for reasons, some Sell their dues for new lives. Incredible yawns Child- is your hero a leaf or the tree? Is it a Haunting First Nation People omitted by Sulking owls for breezes. Yore the mountains Can't long now, helter skelter near or afar, some Sell their poisons, others chisel their bark. And the hide is entrenched now, it's nearly six in the dawn, where the white women wake to the Weeping hearts read in palms. If the desert Should call us, back to roots that won't grow, Take your devils and walk with me in a plastic Flower grove. Wolves and a memory, calls for Many too late, sorrow switches the time stamp Where forever we played, and tonight no one Watches, tonight we the buffalo cry, and some Chase silver-dollars for the truth in their time. In their time, in their time. Someone far far away. Lest our treasures grow weary, as we forget how we played, some sunny day. Some winter day, far far away. Farther and farther from the things we once slayed.