sexual healing concluding with shrinkage.
country comforts colliding with catastrophic chemicals. The freebase pipe on the wood coffee table in the leafy suburbs. Quiet. Wicker and tans, and the end of shag carpet. Almost too modern, but still slightly leaking polyester and disco, and phrases becoming un”hip” and a total “bummer”. Long hair got you pulled over still, and you could still get a three finger lid for twenty bucks. Yes, goodbye mustache and muscles, hello sunglasses and ‘ludes. And so sickly waking up the starchy saturday, tongue still blue from the night before, and some half breed whore holed up next to me, a breeze shuddered me and i mutter to me, gee, how did things get like these? There goes the summer, and here comes another number, a long cut for you sluts out there. Stripped bare already with nothing to spare but something that looked like care, but wasnt really there. The attack of the bear, and the vacancy sign stares, the shoddy wares, and pricey fares. Shoved in the face quicker and quicker each slug smashing day holding down hat and pretending to pray. Paying to get to the top, and nobody wanting to drop. Staying alive, staying alive…
blah, blah, blah, blah, staying alive…
