Days that don't pass
Keep playin' games with time
during what we think is our lives

A series of dreams floating past
others yet to be revealed
Alongside a series of explosions
(some friends gone, needles, crashes, and bombs)

Their fragile lives of infinite beauty
skipped over
radio channel being changed

I am into something now
4 decades down the road
my mama held me in her arms

my limbs grew strong on country roads
backwoods trails
Later imbibing the sacred smoke and spirits

Strong visions of the afterlife
and shamanic transmutation
(who would not like to shed their garments
grow a wolf's skin and roam the wilderness
solitary beast of power and wisdom,
carrying the seeds of magic and
destruction)