Heysha

The wind's cool probate, opens our defences, who cares what toil it takes, if it brings us rain, to the cast we bend, we'll bear that pain, armies who here predominate, take our shy friendship, as tickets to replicate, their forbidden gains, drunk in their resonance, they leave us nothing, open to every gale, can anyone mend our fences, even as we castigate, we in turn collaborate, dressed like our ancestors, in ill lit clubs gyrate, twist and shout and shake, cheap perfume suspenders, how little to imitate, the inventive West.