Lace
The day would almost be
perfect
Except we're allhere
shuffling through the path
swimming in the sunlight, in a
sweatbath
waiting for the lace to drift,
in these seats, not yet drunk
in the suit of while using my vice, close to a man with nothing
nice
on or to say, he just came to ruin the day
steal their stuff, kidnap and act tough
so he can have fun in the woods
just waiting for the lace to drift.
and she'll throw the flowers right
into my hands
his eyes will meet mine, and
burn into them like a hot iron brand
pushing our souls in the
sand together
so now we go, in the dark, to
the land of slammers and pops
where whiskey is a river
and memories never stop
waiting for the lace to ruin
and now it's mine she's pursuing
and they all look at me like:
"what are you doing?"