The path to the mastoid mountain is snaky
the women you meet are not fucking material
you can’t grab the sun shining in their hair
they’re cool, hell-strong, know well how to take care of their wood

so save some charm within the lust-house of your heart
and enjoy the gathering clouds ready to rain
before you cross the distances

or strip naked in the sticks
or write poems on stretches of free way
or make deal with the devil at every turn

be wary of the emptiness ahead