Tell them you came, and saw, and looked
into my eyes and saw the shadow
of the guard receding.
Thoughts in time and out of season,
the hitchinker stood by the side of the road
and levelled his thumb in the
calm calculus of reason.

[...]
Why does my mind circle around you?
Why do planets wonder what it
would be like to be you?
All your soft wild promises were words,
birds, endlessly in flight.

Author: Jim Morrison