Our dancing 32 feet kicking up dust atop pale steeds.
While galloping geese soar under the rusting suns.
Upon a slithering road rattling for Quetzalcoatl’s mercy.
As this drunken fellowship sipped from these stolen golden jugs.
With 7 conjuring riders and I their fearless leader in a black hat make 8.
Divine fools on a quest up the mountain of fate to set fire to the sky.