Meat Me in the Disco

Girl! Meet me in the disco.
We can trim our branches and dangle from the gallows of cellophane bricks,
laughing in the smog walk,
looking at the traumatized ballistic Primadonna in the corner with a stick.
Girl! Be careful what you wish for,
you don’t know what you give until it’s gone
and when it’s gone you’ll never get it back again.
Just because you’re faithful doesn’t make you square or righteous.
It’s just a matter of perception.
The man is looking at me with a degenerated facial presence,
shoulders wide, looking for a ride.
He is sliding through the crowd with a cynical laughter.
Automobiles and scattered heels.
Hands upon the wheel Miss Daisy!
Everybody looks so good!
A moaning Casanova in the backseat of a choking convertible.
A rolling dice between two thighs, a naked couple riding a caramel.
The war! The war! It has begun.
I feel like dancing, jumping, having some fun.
We are the overnight collectables
and now it’s time to feed the prey.
Look at my girl! She’s a star, She plays piano.
Dead to the bone, she’s alone and got no places to go.
If that’s me in five years, I’ll blow my head off,
but I’m not like her at all, I’ve still got places to go.
Girl! Meet me in the disco.
We can trim our branches and dangle from the gallows of cellophane bricks,
standing in the smog walk,
looking at the traumatized ballistic Primadonna in the corner with a stick.
She’s in the corner with a stick.