You would think that I would have a handle on this Based as I am in no space, with no story but the road But those who let loose in raves surrounded for miles By pavements, they think that they can achieve That state, there, in Clubs in the basements of high-rises. Maybe they know more about this than the lion in the zoo. These faces come and go, family is far flung across The corners of the country, come together in years Weddings births funerals, with what to talk about In those moments?  my mailbox has a better story. Ghan-buri-ghan knows of ways lost to other men And he knows the songs of plants and their ken He’ll sing them softly in what looks like sleeping In hearing I know there’s no difference between this And dreaming