You’re an epoch of simpler times –
hand shook agreements, passenger pigeons and blotted skies.
Hand me down pumps and limits by lunch.
You’re a dying breed.
Left over from times you’ll never touch or fully understand.
An oddity to the here and now.
An oddity to the here and now.
As they are to you.
It’s only perception.
Blood on the rocks.
Red Legg'ed Devils 