This Poem is a Rocket       (FILLER)

This poem is a rocket,
My hand in your hand...
These words in my pocket,
Will guide us to a different land...

Words will let us leave...
It’s all in time I believe...

Like a new creature from the forests of hallucination
Drawn toward civilisation searching for importance
To mate and prolong the torture of God’s recognition...

Searchin’ for that first face to say "Hey..."
Lookin’ for m’lady in Dawson City...
Gotta’ put my boots on, or it’s NO GO...

Dawson City is a town of boots, beards and bottles...
Today I dress as a hobo from the angry rock deposits...

I haven’t even got there, but I know I’m ready...
All smiles, no tongue...
This is not the good stuff,
But in time it will be, in time it will be...

My words are a slow liquor...
A warm river of coca-cola...