There’s a free bird out nights, musically as alive.
Night time, I spend alone, on drives; old walnut
crushes crest the dash edge. I thrive the old hive
a butt to my tires, babies no man touched or putt,
as blusters shade singers; it’s spring, and I drive.
Blusters blow smoke out. Walnuts surf dash butt
rim and out smoke more; and I attempt to shrive;
in, goes numerous beats; in, goes plum sensual elixir.
out the window, mind on you; out the window, dope.
in, goes elixir air; in, goes fixer air; in, goes airy dope.
Bottom line, natural, wild bird on eggs, loses keys.