In the dark canyons of the mind, are many mys'tries hid, what happened in Roswell, where's Jimmy Hoffa lay...who killed JFK, what's Cern play'n with...who are 'the paper white angels'?
Where can I get gas, for 'that dead Indian', and fly away, with my hearty bag o' bud...when all the grids gone off? Wont mean a shitt'n thing, the only one that knows, in a world o' ghosts, don't give a damn?
It's like 'snapp'n a selfie', or shoot'n your own foot off, for action'! It's like 'work'n on that 'feel good friend', with your own hand. Not exactly romance. There wont even be a bitch, at the end o' time, and it wont be life...but everlasting!
It wont be like it is, when the shadows all gone...in the canyons o' the mind. Gonna be a whole new thing!
Amen!
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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