An early mid-life crisis looms, and for me to survive it
I'll find myself a motorbike, and learn how to ride it.
Stop out where the grass is dry and hills are tall and black.
Sleep under the spotted veil, with the dirt against my back.
When the western sky is blue and sparrows whisper love,
I will make my windy way across the desert slow,
to the cities and oases that have sin and life and hope.
Find me a girl who looks like you,
and dance, and drink, and smoke.
Dance and drink and smoke with the dirt against my back.
In the din we laugh and hope for the future, present, past.
Rolling the dice, we come up sevens and snake eyes.
At the end of the day, we would have stayed that way if we could.
I wake up close to where I fell, my boots are in the fire.
I rub my eyes and read the sky.
The west is my desired destination, occupation, situation?
I don't know
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