Bedfellows

I guess I can't complain that my bedroom is so crowded
'cause I don't know if I wanna do anything 'bout it.
When the clock hits ten o' clock and my wife turns in
it's an open invitation to some old time friends.

First I spend some time with a snow and blood-splattered lady
raised with vengence in her heart from the time she was a baby.
When somebody needs somebody killed, just pay 10,000 yen,
the lady unsheathes her sword and then the fun begins.

Or maybe I'll take a visit at the Boulder Free Zone,
and hang with Stu, Frannie, Glen, Nick and other friends I have known.
We'll commiserate about the plague. Oh how that summer was bad!
And we'll plot the downfall of that man Randall Flagg.

Or maybe a trip to Vegas? A room at the Sands would be keen.
Take in a Summit show with Joey, Peter, Sammy and Dean,
And oh yes! Mr. S! The vaunted Leader of the Pack.
One more scotch-on-the-rocks before I hit the sack.

I've met beggars, I've met queens, and people in between those stages.
We've been formally introduced between the turning of the pages.
I've met messianic humans raised on the Planet Mars.
I've broken bread with modern prophets, and spent time behind bars.

These people I have met, in my dreams I hear their voices,
as they rant, cheer, weep, and mutter agonizing over choices.
And as I put the books away, snuggle with my wife, feeling mellow,
I'm glad, and very grateful, that I have such strange bed fellows.