Hurricane No. 42

Wax figures in a strobing light melt into couches in the foyer
Wall-to-wall we're creeping to the right on discotheque reconnoitre
You pull me out to face the weather outside - we sit and smoke under umbrellas
I lick my lips and think of something to say to spray the charm like a beretta - I said

Fingers in palms, we nod and smile - we're doing something kinda dangerous
I think I'll start to call you hurricane, I feel you levelling my surface
Hourglass frame, black sand in my mind - our friends are watching with a purpose
I feel the trickle down the back of my brain, promising to do nothing stupid

I slip through the consolation holiday
I haven't even unpacked my suitcase
I long for tunes I only hear you humming
How far are you?
I'm coming too
I'm a fool for you
Number 42

Back against a leopard skin street fighter, control ourselves with icky joysticks
'I can't believe we split that bottle of wine'
Uh, as if there wasn't other motives
Last night at the end of that ride my thoughts left you laying shirtless
With my black boots at the end of the bed next to your white Supergas - plug in

I wanna self immolate - burns cease as we perspire
We dip into an isolated state, I feel the shift - we stop dead
Leaning in from the passenger side, my hand running up between your thighs
And I can tell from the look in your eye you are succumbing, come closer honey

I fall through your constellation estate
You help me unpack my suitcase
I'll sing songs about our sweet nothings