I Can't Believe It's Not Peyote!

Between the Demoncrats and the Republican'ts, the Robocrats and the autocrats, the oligarchs and the old farts, the cuisinarts and the fruit tarts, the world wars and the fancy cars, country stars, flying-V guitars and the life on Mars, between the nobodies and the homebodies, the deadheads and the Murphy beds, old maids, plasma grenades, and the Everglades, between Chicago and Shanghai, the Amazon and the River Kwai, the Superdome and the Coliseum in Rome, between the plans we made, the dreams that fade, the destinies we evade and the friends we made, between the A-Team and A Love Supreme, between me, and you, and all the reckless things we do, I just want a slice of the sky so that when you and I are burnt out shells of our former selves, when our adventures become misadventures and we want nothing more than to dance the night away in the corner and split a bucket of clams; I want a slice of the sky where I'm glad I'm not someone else.