Gravitating towards an animalistic magnetism,
Blurring and mixing the human musk around me,
Feet da-da thumping like a drummer boy on his snares.
Call it what you want;
Even call it what you fear.
Feels like the kind of zing I need.
Sprinkles of blood flare up in the air,
Our hands cut from hitting the ceiling.
Oh, we’re slamming all the right spots!
Neighbour crying salty sewer rivers,
Waste seeping down the walls.
Their poor, burdened eyes.
I see nothing but free tonight.
I see nothing but
The everlasting and evermore tremendous feeling of life
We got Buddy Thomas,
Who got a swig of that liquid keg powder.
He’s trying to pop up to the ceiling;
His eyes nothin’ but a Texan’s love for the 2nd Amendment.
We got our own Nancy “Conivin'” Drew
Stepping like her feet are on their last whirl.
She’s getting good use out of ’em
Until she falls, falls, and flops to the floor.
She’s the origin of our species tonight.
Anyone else muddles into a mass of
Salacious, sweaty, stinging sloppy swayers
Until the night fades to gray.
The air is choking us all,
Strangling the death in us.
I don’t want this night to see its curtain call.
I don’t want this mind-manufactured buzz to end.
I’ll just keep
Until I see my life’s mother calling me home.