It’s Saturday morning. Watching the people passing by. Weightless. While we carry the weight of another Friday night on our shoulders. These Friday nights in bars full of smoke & songs. But looking at these blue skies & let the wind blow strong makes us feel weightless & gets rain dogs like us ready for another Saturday night with all the booze, the cigars & the blues, buddy.
The days are watching beautiful young women watching go by. The nights are the blues.
ay, Zamoysky, Princessa, ah yes, the dust devils of Mount Fløyen walking from the open air into the darkness of the woods to reconnect with the ancient spirits, ay, Zamoysky, and what spring rites shall be celebrated, what witchcraft released between those giant trees, Zamoysky?