Falcon Rocks and Street Lights

Sixty two to be exact
And not one past fourty three
White painted line down the side
Where your fries are only free

And the birdy flys nice and high
The wind blows all but the rocks
No street light works anyways
Bits of rubber burn the pavement

And strings and straws
Flinging mystery verbs
And summoning spirits of chocolate
Rise and howl at the moon

Love your book of all knowledge
Cry and flail and the fish
For the fish he is mighty wise
Carry all but the weight of defeat.