Look at them, their hair are all the same, Afro done like Jackson
I bet they're twins but too many. Five, six, seven of them?
They're there, here, and they leave traces everywhere
In fences, in the walls, in the chairs, in the cars,
There names are scribbled, even in your dreams.
Damn who are these guys, never seen quite like them
And they talked of "shits" and "bullshits"
Isn't that the same?
In the school they concregate, admired by girls
And they flirt with men too. Remarkable.
But they are straight guys, they drink, they squabble
And they fight with each other.
Can I join them. No my friend.
Why not. Not now my friend. Soon
When your time has come, but let them
The hippies of the mountains.
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