Got no head. It's a bucket with teeth. It likes to dream. It likes to sleep. . It knows hot. It knows cool. It know what's what. It's no fool. . Fill up the bucket with.
I know a place. Where the visitor always stays. Beauty runs 'em down. When they chance to cross that way. Through the night I hear that strain. Beauty's on my trail again.
Serious bi curious, buy anything. Buy it or shaving cream goes down the drain. Blue-vine, batwing, cannibal. Hurrah, hurrah. . Voyeuristic sculpture and fertility.
Blue showers. Stars open. New pennies. For heaven. . And the sun wants a place in the sky. As it spins all around. And the rain thinks that it was only dreaming.
I've got a question, I got to know. I see right what I'm looking for. I see, I see, I see. I got no hurry, I've got no fight. I know it's all in the hidden light.
(C.W. McCall, Bill Fries, Chip Davis). One night last summer we were camped at ten thousand feet up where the air is clear, high in the Rockies of Lost Lake, Colorado. And as the fire burned low and only a few glowing embers remained, we laid on our backs all warm in our sleeping bags and looked up at the stars..