Me and Sierra, laying under the stars,
dewy grass, cool March night, almost morning.
We pass a bottle of red wine, we pass a cigarette,
and we talk about the dreams of a better world.
The stars roll on, indifferent and unseeing,
as the first of the dawn tears a slice in the night.
We hang our dreams and angels upon their light,
a dream as the world loses all tenderness and feeling.
Drunk, out of smokes, Sierra rolls over, lays her head
upon my shoulder. I kiss her head, and squeeze her close.
A perfect night, a sweet moment, as The Red Dragon comes
to cast the stars into the sea, and our better world burns.