locked in a cage; key's been thrown away.
dig, scrape, pound the walls and the phallic bars are strong.
he paces with immoral sorrow and complains in that narcissistic way.
the car grinds at the corner of spring cypress and farm road 2920.
she is shallow and clings to the last of the trip hop smile.
he walks to the telephone he makes his call but nobody’s home but he already knew that.
the smoke is thick and all the bitches line the walls with vomit.
and the disco ball spins, turning ever present. she will survive.
and all the people dance with reckless abandonment…or maybe they don’t.
this station is closed for construction on I-45 please visit another Shell station.
and I sit at the stop light, puffing on my bowl.
and we dream in color, technicolor. expect the unexpected.
are you down with that? I’m down with that. she’s down with that. we’re all down with that.
the sex is pure like a Hollywood scandal, and he cruises down Gary lane in search of answers.
in the lowlands all the houses are torn and tattered.
but Theresa and Gordon still own up to the beauty of the moment.
she cooks the food; he spins in sunder. where is Kevin? is he in Dallas? does he know about January 19th and the 6th street affair?
were you there? were you fucking there?
back to l'il ditties