What, with the blanket black and punched And the sun no fun, and still drunk I have to flashlight paths of grey clay Sand-bag floods with no name Flicker with the cavemen, and fossils Procrastinate the stars between heaven, And some idea I gathered along the way Along with siblings, and microwaved tin. Sparks are new to me; As bark on LSD And if I concentrate on the me inside Of me, I just might find another reason To believe in souls, and Bigfoot, or Demons, and no luck, white cloth, and hiccups. Reasons to burn along with the sky kids They have no lids, they have loose lungs And a fearless way of being better, hung.