Revelling in the sounds of rock,
Burning Turkish cigarettes down to the quick,
Enjoying oakey bouron and bud lite,
Floating through the stress of in-laws on a cloud of nostalgia at 120 mph.
Steppenwolf, Zeppelin, Rush, and Jethro Tull,
Performing a private concert,
Whilst I sit outside in a cardigan and trapper hat,
Counting down the hours till I can get back up on the Mountain again.
No signal within the warm ***** of the hollar,
Unless you want to go to the top of the mountain,
But you'd to busy hunting to care,
Chuck shoots on occasion,
But no great hunter would Chuck be,
Probably be queasy at dressing a buck,
I'd wager Chuck would upchuck.
Another dart down, about time to head back in,
Anderson exiting out with Locomotive Breath,
In to converse with the inherited family,
With a practiced smile in place,
Day dreaming of being in the woods.