seven four tenWe tread miles and I seen a light up aheadSo he speaks fractals while I spit technicolorSizing up the nebulas with our spirit gogglesHe call out cadences and I call em back And we both was run-clean-off that pageMy buddy he's a man of witchuggin along blow his smoke like a steamboathalf myself melts a quarter-mile back and the rest has no guess where-am-Ibut that sulfur stain my olfactory long afterOn the roof he climb, left his mind behindAnd I fashion it into an ashtraywords passed over that bridge follow me like a shadowthen we pack light for the trip but come back heavy"No reason to pass up a drink" I sayWe f
Thank you.