I’ve got no idea how
high this hill is
lost in the fog of
whatever real is
just before the stream
of nonsense words
I though I saw you pocketing
the gospel birds
I know you think all this
religious stuff’s just fog
and I’m dreaming to think I’ll ever
hunt with that dog
most of everything I see
is paint and flashing light
and the light of love is purer
but not near so bright
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