We stopped in the
whispy city,
the hippy boy and me.
We thought of the
good times and bad,
and encouraged our minds
to be free.
We came upon a drifter
a ***** old man and
his wife.
We never felt the distance,
though imagined their life
without strife.
But where can we be
today
alone in our world
side by side.
We thought about
loving good times
so great and yet
we cried.
Reenter the crispy-
like city,
snow covered,
serene & oblique.
We wandered around
with no purpose,
an oasis that just
sprung a leak.
And who never fought
the war,
the angular, meaningless
scourge.
We found all the cities
amuck,
and all we could sing
was good luck.
So who never sang
the song,
that glorious, soulful
olio.
Just me and that young
hippy boy,
while nobody else
really cared.