ba-dada rata tattat the apartment flats as the clouds drop the bass and drip drop water returning to Poseidon in the ocean.
ba-dada BOOM cracka lacka high heels hitting the street as clothing clings to bodies like a last desperate embrace, get ready for the smack down, the wind hisses like 3am make-up made-up poison wine kisses stolen from a cheat, like pissed drunk streetfighters ready to dance until muscles give in from lack of oxygen. This isn’t a place for cameras, this is a home for sweat.
ba-dada shake the Makers as they take the high bet -no regrets- and flake off stale memories with a landslide waterfall. If you’ve given it your all don’t be sad about being left empty -this is your new skin, welcome home, trying walking around in it a bit before discarding it entirely. The chains and whips of lightening snip like destruction is ‘hip’ (and it is), they cut the black sky to reveal purple light shining through. ‘I always wanted to be new again.’ chirps the oak tree bent backwards into a bench.
ba bada BOOOOM if the room is too small, break a wall or too -who needs windows and doors?! In a night where a creek can call itself a river and the Takers are now forced to give back to nature, anything goes. Just remember you weren’t born into this world wearing clothes: man-made elegance will always have an end.