Me and the vivid girl
in our hammock to the stars
staring into the fire before TV
the remote-control s on Mars
In the dope of the pigment
in the poetic state of mind
in a flood of country
we lay down to kill some time
And we spoke languidly
of the Northern Bee
and collecting dewdrops for tea
underneath the cannonball tree
We were high
we were sherpa-high
we conspired against old friends
we said we must be friends or die
and we ve died a thousand times
since then
And we spoke longat length
of the fight or flee
and of nothing in particularly
underneath the cannonball tree
We spoke off-handedly
of new extremes
and of nothing in particularly
underneath the cannonball tree
We re at the point
where we love or hate it
we can write it down
and obliterate it
when we re at the point
when we neither love nor hate it
we can lay down
and obliterate it

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