To pelt the world in ice and graves. To feel how quiet this part of town feels When the lites turn on we will not sleep. We will not dream of anything tonite We will run like the chinook salmon runs To flood the world in rivers alive With pain the pain of peace. The pain after loss. What will come here when the hedges pop Out like boxing gloves. Out of me is songs apollo sang. Out of him and I we dance with Wounded leggs. And prove How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death. How sweet to taste imortality when The cars speed. What now is a world full of saints. To fill markets with fresh fish. And throw the bottles of whiskey Where they belong. Where they are warm Proves how hot my sweater gets when my Forhead clams up. My scarf unwraps and we run With out our cloths down pearl street. Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk. We mustnt forget why we break free from The shakles of eternity. The horrible shakles of wild life. Are finally pure gold. The softest medal to bend. And we leave the tempting Medal behind and choose to Drink the rain drops.