Smoke rings hang lazily,
Like all who’re round.
These are the daze.
Of tokin’ conversations ’bout yesterday’s plans…
…Tomorrows spent on foreign sands.
10,000 kip brews and Robert plants blues.
Keep both flowing till the sun claims the night
Dealing in sand dollars, never in det.
Mekong wash away your sorrows by the don of morning light.
Spending the days on an isle of good vibes.