Thought Industry - 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
U-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