LIFE BEYOND THE ROAD CONES

Way up north in Michigan beyond where the highway ends with cones,

The snow is so damn deep, it's beyond all habitable zones,

That's where I built my cabin; up on Iceberg Bay,

Where even bugs and vermin will never try to stay,

Of course, it's where trees will never grow,

So, no firewood juts through the snow,

And, a nice warm fire is really rare,

Since, all there is to burn is your own hair,

For your food you must ice fish,

There are only carp but, they fulfill my wish,

Carp are the only food upon my dish,

A price that I pay to live in far, north Mich.

To the big cities I will never flee,

I'd rather freeze and starve and embrace misery,

In the cities you are restricted where you crap and pee,

But, there's no restrictions beyond the road cones and that's called free.