Here there is no revelry:
the sadness needs no leavening,
so loosen your boots and sit yourself down.
Lost inside the peloton,
with the Jerry Lewis telethon
ticking soft till I fall fast asleep.
Slipped away with candlelight.
leather chaps and cattle drives:
this is not the life I meant to lead.
Call it a detour:
ugly and impure.
But where is the life line,
here on the highline?