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in the wee wee hours

heading down that night highway,
slipping thru the crack between worlds,
the hour of bloods and roses.

bob dylan blasting from the tape deck
songs of the open road

down the highway, down the track,
down the road to ecstasy

o the stone fucking joy of being
young, wild, and free.

on a hero’s journey,
westbound, out of town

looking for the promised land


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