Why resist the pull of fate,
Growing strong as the hour grows late,
Ebbing and flowing over the rhythms of the mind.
Noble steed of ignoble youth, flare your flashy grin,
And pass the time with cookies and gin.
Don’t give a flip, do give the keys,
And I’ll take a ride through this land
Past the preachers and hippies.
Call it a fountain, call it a miracle,
It’s a baby with a future, truly satirical.
A travesty unfolds, like a red rose, it grows,
So shoot big and aim low,
The songs of the wind never let go.