posted on September 3, 2010 at 10:39 pm

that good night

rocknroll can bite back

its unpredictable

it can do anything it wants

as long as its in E

the tour bus flying into a black wet night

the boys dream in their bunks

as the miles go under

moon rises higher in sky

hash stashed somewhere by neil young

the dead sing through the night up front

people wait on up ahead

with the future behind em

someone appears selling the wink wink stuff

some woman appears you met in vladivostok

a guy wants to interview you for a book

that magazine just came out with the bad review

someone from home on the phone

did you get the package from tasmania

unidentified song enters into our airspace

2 guitars working against each other like serpents entwined

yeah i like that

and the bass lowdown n bit a boom

drummerboy  he is a thumper

the beat grabs you n marches you off down the road

through that swampy  fuzz the haze the smoke

ghosts at the crossroads

the guitar hovers in tremolo cloud

i realise i am alone in this hotel again

all have faded away

the last notes

the curling receipts

the festive evening

the scratches on your fender jag

left in the boot of a triumph stag

a fan says she cant stand your new record

a critic doesnt even mention it on his column

a lighting rigger falls off his ladder in LA

a guy from this record company bought you a ticket

you never felt aloner as you do another phoner

too tired to sleep too awake to relax

a banging noise outside the gate of dreams

a jolt a swerve a lurch a tumble

texas next thru the subtext

where did you write those lyrics ?

in the sand in the land with my own hand

we worship the sun planet star

someone on the other side of the wall moans

our music has evolved from its beginnings in antiquity

we follow the complex cypher

we gild the glyph

we identify oncoming objects

life space music

it joins up it shatters

it keeps mellifluating

it keeps rolling over us like sign waves

guitar overdub is a shadowy affair

it replicates and reassures

a bumping sound makes me wake

nothing anywhere at all though

the boys keep dreaming

the bus speeds on through big green cities

our instruments will arrive before us

i cant get all the stuff back in my suitcase

it just wont go in anymore

i feel sick but i keep on eating more junk

the audience were in different

man i need timeoff

its only drizzling now its quite pleasant out there

rush of traffic miles below

mingles with final cymbal wash

then its ok

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