Dick Cheney is hunting me because he feels I am enduring prey.
I ramble the furtive edges and become anonymous.
Dick Cheney is loaded and ready for growling.
I go underground, not making a sound.
Dick Cheney goes dancing on the backs of reindeer.
The moon rolls out on a red carpet.
These are the days of strange men with garrulous motives.
These are the nights of the howling wounded.
Roll on, Earth, and make no mistake.
Roll on, kissed by the sun.
Tap dance your way through the upper resources.
Dick Cheney raises his rifle and
all is well.