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.