Old man Wrigley lived in that white house. Down the street, where I grew up. Momma used to send me over with things. We struck a friendship up. I spent a few long summers, out on his old porch swing.
Take an axe to your past. To your family tree. Carve a face from the wood. An effigy. . Make wings from the leaves. Hide from the bark. Kindling. for the hair.
No messing with a sense of humour. Will see you through scrapes. And all shapes of clouds. . We're late we should have got here sooner. You can't rush fate.