The Squid

I) Dancing with Elvis in Cyberspace
She walks beneath a presley stare.
Swivel hips a smile. Pissed on morning charm.
Shaves her head with a lawnmower.
Her toenails painted Jesus blood.
Her facial cake is mud. Chloroform and girl.
Strolled to the barstool, grabbed the pole.
I heard her saying "As I was walking.
Yes, I was talking looking for the sunset to give me
nothing. I will hold you tight.
Five drinks later, stumbling in the moonlight."
Club stupid is a ginger house.
The bar a welfare line I think we'll start with gin.
Then to scotch with a soda chase.
Slide across the marble floor.
Through a pair of doors. Volvo release a purr.
Back on garbage. A you-turn.
I will hold you tight, eight drinks later speeding in the lamplight.
The squid I say I am the world.
Swank as heat my style. Polished wingtip.
Whirl. Stiletto sticking hairspray curl.
Sixty-two a year for you. Drinks and drugs go round.
My mind a razor blade. Rusty maybe, but fair today.
I will hold you tight, ten drinks later dangling on a clothesline.
Ya.
"I'm still waiting for Ron Wood to join us on this
one." - Crossoverture