Here I go again on my own as if a white snake could exist but did in an era where people seemed free. Or, were we just in a dream, dream, dream… Because there’s a fire burning in my heart where the scars remind they almost had it all before Shirley Temple died and pink transience swam around mini icebergs with a slippy slide.
Again the phone rings with demands from another day but the same, as if nothing really changed. Win the lottery-it’s in fashion! Sensible shoes, trained handlers, a little bling never hurt no one. “Get a whiff of THIS you (bleeeeep)!” He would probably say.
in the end with all our guns and all our rotted roses we are still knock knock knocking on heavens door. She tried but Rapture took over by Blondie and mr. west was in the building. She saw Red but she was Making Love in Mamma’s room too late 20 seconds from mars. It was her party but she couldn’t find him in da club drankin a bottle full of bub, or so instead she gave HIM a hug to Buffets demise. Is this making sense yet? Good.
In the beginning…
The Sounds All Around 