Salvation's One Night Stand

Wicked night,
come escape with me into shadows of the devil
dancing on piano keys.
I seek out the overtures of revolt,
high pitches and walking bass notes
plunge us forward into evenings
spent with red eyed insomniacs and the
bartenders of the fifth dimension.
This dull silence,
this plagued despair,
hung me upside down from my roof
and let all the blood rush to my brain
with no persuasion necessary.

I wanted to be pressed up against a wall,
feel the pulsing of another,
riding through the nighttime.
Through the red morning,
we wound together
and shouted electric to the heavens,
who let us sit in and stay awhile.

Let the rain come in through my voice,
give us a stampede legend to travel along
dirt roads alone,
your hand on your knife,
just in case the mountain starts to move.
I surrender to the house of mirrors,
feeling the slither of salvation
who stops off at the corner pub
to smoke four packs of cigarettes
and drink a bottle and a half of whiskey.