Summer Midnight

Deserted
The sweat makes the day
Like the blockaded highway;
Muted
The heat wave,
The sound of a lost generation;
Scalded
The air,
The sanity. Gone.
And below
I wish for a fan
The size of the Mount Tenipu
And blow
The soft breeze
The happiness,
And blow away
All the things we make and call destiny
All the things we mention in revolution,
Anchor the sun on the yellow wall
Even the night will understand
This madness,
Albeit make everything alright
Never mind this forty-five-degree heat.   

Check Saolin Saloon — Moustache Mania