The Squid - Thought Industry

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 you-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