I'm back in Dallas again,
In the middle of a field of goldenrod.
The goldenrod is swaying away its days.
You introduce me to your sister and say
"Tell us a joke now."
A grasshopper walks into a bar,
The owner greets him and says
"Hey I serve a drink named after you!"
The grasshopper is puzzled and replies
"You have a drink named Steve?"
She laughs, you laugh, the goldenrod sways away its days.
Beyond the field echoes drift up from the bordering abyss.
A gentle zephyr carries the music of children's mirth,
Mixed with the drum-like clicking of feeding locusts.
I show you one of Warhol's lost works.
Marilyn Monroe prone in this same field of swaying goldenrod.
The breeze chorus whispers "Close your eyes and walk with me.
Nietzsche waits for us in the abyss."
The goldenrod sways away its days.