Sparks fly from the wreck behind,
The wind carries them into a deep May dusk
Extinguishing their life

The wildflowers are blowing
And glowing
With the fire and the rain.

This is the direction I will face from my affect
Casually smoke a cigarette and carry on conversation with two nightingales
Til the early morning hours
Unable assuage my burning conscience

There's a nexus of twisting connective tissue

There's a deep connection between that wreck and my brain,
Between the fire and the rain and the sweat on my face.

There is a lot of swearing and a tearing away
There's a storm and a path that leads to my grave.