cocaine tunes
growler and a hurricane,
all my weeds' drowned
can't stop this pacing round
fiddle singing and snifflin'
crick in my neck and the bridge is out,
I turn the lights off; on again
chin sweaty feet itchy
somewhere in South America
I see a forest lady singing,
whistling with the jungle birds
I'm twirling round
eating small mammals
in a red-techno-sweat cafe,
two beers and two mangoes
bananas to-go
rain in the trees for breakfast
I'm desert riding lunch,
I'll look down with dinner
from high in the Andean sky
