Three A.M.You sit in the saddle as you were taught.Sleep is beneath you, still as a statue.The reins are loose in your hands. You squeeze with your legs as you should, below the knees. Sleep does not move.You cluck with your tongue."Walk," you say clearly. "Walk." Sleep does not.You sit in the saddle as you were taught.You hold the reins, you kick with both heels.Sleep does not move. You sit in the saddle.Where is that crop? Your feet leave the stirrups.You dismount and stand close beside Sleep.You look into its wide eye, then step back. Sleep gallops off. You have to laugh.
Wild Place BluesThe place I live is wild, babe,and that is not just talk.There are rattlesnakes in the bushes,so be careful where you walk.The place I live is wild, babe,the dreams are ten feet tall.They carry you just like a child,if you can sleep at all.The place I live is wild, babe,there are poets on the street.You may hear things never heard beforefrom anyone you meet.The place I live is wild, babe,no map can show the way.But I will tell you if you ask me,and you could come today.You say your heart is wild, babe,you don't know what to do.Well, I think the place I'm livingmight be just the place for you.
As a preferred customer, Sir, we'll comp you two of our very finest facts. Enjoy your evening.
Two complimentary facts, ah... why would I go anywhere else?