One Last Thrill

Demo 2004

I grew up south of Memphis
My momma slaved at Super 8.
She taught me how to ramble
And how not to curse my fate.
She was lame since my old man shot her
With a snub-nosed .38.

I went to see the gypsy,
She was troubled by my eyes.
She said, “That’s what the loser
Looks like right before he dies.”
She was a daughter of the darkness
And I could see right through her lies.

If you ever get to Taos,
Please say hello to my friend Eve.
We spent one night in Bedlam,
On Good Friday, I believe.
She was craving crucifixion,
And thought that I was too naïve.

I had a buddy named Fred Dixon,
He named his motorcycle Bill.
He lived in a purple pup tent
Called it his mansion on a hill.
He wrote “DEATH” upon his helmet
And went off seeking one last thrill.

If you find yourself in Charleston
Don’t forget to do the rag.
And if you’re feeling extra lonely,
You might do it dressed in drag.
But keep your eye on every stranger,
And keep your secrets in a bag.

5/24/04

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