His nocturnal desires have awoken,
they roam carelessly on the moonlit highway.
Tangled in cryptic and claustrophobic visions,
hands on the steering wheel; aiming at prey.

It hails with burned-out dreams,
morphine-filled words whisper about salvation.
Pines sprinkle their prickly love on his ragdoll,
igniting the poor man's gold excavation.

Lemon drops poured into his frayed heart,
a nirvana of thoughts etched in the sky.
The beacon revealed his method of madness,
he kept the grain of salt in his eye.