Let's casually flop onto the dewy meadow of the park,
feeling the floating sound of city splashing through.
Like a pair of owls let's be blind to the busy shard
of civilization that human witch-pot carefully brewed.
Come, my friend, smoke this air. It's the finest cigar.
Drink this light. It's the sweetest wine. Nothing's ever so true.
No need of lark, or diamond stars. Just a few barks
and your heart will be splendidly loomed.
Ah, they whined! The makers of the wine. The sparks
they fail to share let's gulp with avarice too.
Dragons, like bees and ants, storing leisure in this park,
snarl not. Thieves we're not -- just a couple of fools
know when to laugh.