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