I’ve been talking in circles and ellipses.
I’ve been high and high ain’t what this is.
Dry is an excuse for swimming and drinking,
afloat in the ink of the belly of the evening.
I’ve been poor in octopus country.
I picked a fight tryin’ to haggle with a sentry.
I still wonder if he was scoring points with the Party.
He deserves a medal for the state in which he left me.
The hotel staff tried not to laugh
as I slunk out to meet you on the roof.
Our silent prayers for our lovers not to stray
found eager ears, together away,
and we knew those fireworks were for New Year’s
and maybe rice whiskey just always makes you swoon.
By the looks of the cook he ain’t laughin’,
oh the look on the maid she ain’t laughin’
and I, babe, am not laughin’
no I am not laughin’.
Hall of Records 