Women sit on the laps of drunken men
Each man has claimed his bitch
Only one man sits alone
Nursing a bottle of Jack
His eyes downcast and shadowed
Are filled with fire and doubt
A fire that burns sharp and bitter
Much like the liquor in his mouth
Woodsmoke covers the sweet smells
Of pot and Black and Milds
As all fly higher, they care less and less
The energy becomes primal and wild
Slowly they separate in groups of two
Each pair to find a tent of their own
The clearing empties, the fire dies down
And only one man is left alone