Sturgis

(sung to the tune Woodstock, by Joni Mitchell)

 

I came upon a child of Ike

He was honking on down the road

And I asked him, have you been tested

And this he told me:

I’m going down to South Dakota

Gonna join a bunch of white guys

Their bellies as wide as the sky

Maybe I’ll be young again

We are exhaust

We are olden

And we’ve got to get ourselves out of the garden

 

Then can I talk astride you

I have come here to lose the smug

Will I feel better, follow my yearning

Well, maybe it’s all the Harleys here

Or maybe it’s the Triumph of man

I feel so American

You know, Honda is burning

We are exhaust

We are olden

And we’ve got to get ourselves out of the garden

 

By the time we got to Sturgis

We decided to toss the masks

And everywhere there was zero social distance

And I dreamed I saw the graveyards

The infection rates made me cry

Ventilators turned to high

Out here in Sturgis

 

We are exhaust

Choking in the bargain

We are olden

And we’ve got to get ourselves out of the garden

***