On the drive to Bolton I’m stuck in my feels,
Checking the weather like that’s even real.
It never rains on Phelps Island,
Not in my mind.
As the miles diminishes,
My excitement increases.
The boats are loaded with what we need,
Chicken, beer, shorts, and weed.
We cruise across the lake with incredible speed,
It’s the last time we rush for better part of a week.
The rock face of Phelps start coming in focus,
It looks like Everest if by some hocus pocus.
As soon as i step a ground,
My spirit goes abound.
Time froze the hands on the clock,
For all I know my body never left the dock.
From that point on I felt nothing but pure,
Love and happiness made other feelings obscure.
We can’t get hurt here,
We feel no fear.
Nothing can happen to anyone around,
Can’t fall when you’re not on the ground.
You can fly through the air in a single dash,
And come back and cause a monstrous splash.
Everything happens right on time,
I need a beer- here take mine.
Spirits mingling and skins tingling,
We laugh and cry only results from feeling.
I can’t explain everything that occurred,
The entire trip is blurred.
That blur molds into trips of future and past,
Did that happen 2 years ago or the last.
Few years recorded,
But every year known.
I watch one and I see all times and clans.
So When the world tries to makes me frown,
I just close my eyes and there I am
55 feet above the water and upside down.
33 and a Third 