Where did the highwaymen sleep?
A sound was still unseen.
Did they fall for butterflies,
Or doubled up their dreams
Of mystificated nowadays
    Bottled, brew, cooperated, inside the wash-board?

Where did the highwaymen wake
Did electricity their hung-ups take?
Did the fellow folks of low
Make them bow or just forget?
Or kept the boss them still let up,
    To the acting lively in the will of the screenplay?

Where do the highwaymen ache
When they find themselves alone?
Wonders will they ever find
An ability of moving mind?
When we go under for to let the birdies wonder,
    I get they bind a clinging to the heights
    Then barrenly apparent left.

Where do the highwaymen sigh
When their mount of keeping up,
Shows shock of re-gregation
To the reaping of the all-round move?
The satisfying dying that the law is keeping,
    Made the highwaymen the extra-offer of aware
    As the rest-row did stare!

Where do the highwaymen praise
In the fatamorganic haze?
I guess they got a place to sit
For to bid the operators few
A joyous, `Hi goodnight have you got a show?
    My walls are all now my mind's gaze and glow.'

Where do the semi-highwaymen die,
When the come to blast their eye?
I guess it's on that pulsing trail
Made a jail by former days out-cast;
Like a matter, like an order to get going,
Like a note-block they chatter,
    My, why are they born out of the blowing?