Friday, April 13, 2007

outside of g

silky's lying by the devil's gate, strumming
harmony outside of g, and i can't sing along

there's a time, you betcha fella, there's a
circumstantial case that can be made, for

sitting at the end where deeds must pass
some muster, get some weight for the hefty

book, when a soul gone dark and muddy
might be a'tempted to prance with flair

but i gotta believe in something more
substantial, than a hard luck kiss

or a twisty two-step round the parish floor
so bring a chair to the winner's circle

where we can spin a bottle, maybe
spell out nooky on a scrabble board

i've been looking for a bonus combination
that might take me far from where

the lads are hasty, and the lasses rare
where summer howls like the dogs

chased out of heaven, and silky's lying
where the road has ended, somewhere

outside of g

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