THE LOST NINE:
Shake, shake, shake, whistling sun, wipe the spoon.
The message failed, the broken wheel, the pages turn.
You run away into the City, heat get hotter, sit back,
let the honey drip. Fingers dance, trip, trip, grip
the laughing paper cup.
(K)
Karl Hyde 
It looks cool in there, I wish I was in there and not out here where the heat scorns me. Love the Beefheart tune luscious lyrics, nice on the ears and head. Tonight will be a Tropical Hotdog Night, no sleep for two Flamingo’s in a fruit fight.