Kings in High Places

meeting a friend in afterlife

Mind streaming in ideas that find gold cords, 

I hear a man singing in a talking voice.

Cords and Bullets mix in tales of war, talk of consciousness and 

singing in way way out places. 

Then you find your hit song in a world back home. 

Faces, hairy and strange, smiling, frowning, a curse word or two, 

you hear guns but its only memory firing words into the air, 

soft landings in the bush of a new hereafter.

I have a friend in '73 that will last until our last hour draws near 

and pray like hell we find each other

in everlasting spaces of beginnings and ends, 

wayward times eternal,

living at last, like kings in high places.