I'm a running kind of guy
Hopping through cigarette smoke with an open heart
Grasping every cloud with my fingertips
Gripping nothing but air

A fine man

photographing tequila sunrises to send to his beloved
Waiting endlessly by the shore
And he just can't see why her phone is dripping
Drenched like his throat
(He only drinks when he wants to)
When the right time strikes
Never checks the time unless the hands hold wine
And light his cigarette

A vagabond

Some would say
Bumming rides and stealing nickels
Thinking the essence is different
If spelled in French

A running freight train

Aiming for the hill
for Mulholland
where no one knows his name
He's alive
kicking and screaming

Raging through the night

And crying in the morning
When he lies sweaty
And watches the sun rise
Says **** *** to his shadow
And turns around

Just an *******

Enjoying his ****** life.