Of all the lands, my land locked
With fluttering exotic flocks
New York City gamble by Beattles tunes
Drinking with nails in my hand, wounds
Put down your toys with the world askew
Drop me off the starlit hillside anew
Beautiful morning on a gemstone talk
Listening to the very question news
Satisfied to be so true to diamond
How much of your mind is precious stock
Back on Washington scratching cloves
Money on mind when it’s not timing
The moments together with eyes docked
On the running gemstone with none dropped
Sweeping the bag, roar of crowd, loons
Stuck in my seat, sleepy with ruins
Make this quiet dinner last all season
Under the stars, we soar into evening
Lock eyes and heaven is here, stroking our cares.
