I’m a running kind of guy
Hopping through Bombay smoke with an open palm 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 dropping 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 normal ****
Bumming rides and piling nickels thinking
The essence is different if
Spelled in french a
Running freight train aiming
For the hill for
Mullholland 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