northern lights

 I hear the jets tearing across the sky      they’re on their way to hell    peals of rolling thunder    the muted cries of death      I’ve had my share of sleepless nights    but I’m at home in the dark     and home is where the heart is, right?     sometimes I think about dying      I think of little else     I’ve gone transatlantic    I’ve learned to fly myself      I’m drinking what you’re drinking     neat scotch    the drink of free men      the red eye to oblivion     I ripped a hole in the night      my dreams came tumbling out