Through Montana on my motorbike I was actually alone Nothing with me but my climbing boots, a sixer and a knife I couldn't tell you If I saw the moose stepping out into the road that night If his eyes looked like two fireflies, or reflectors on an ugly sign But when I opened my eyes again it had been removed; An ancient, angry antler from this punctured lung It had narrowly missed a beating heart and an electric spinal cord Awake some nights I think about the moose stepping out onto the yellow line, And if he saw a bright white headlight or if it looked just like the moon Moving in towards him for the first time in a long life of solitude