Smoke singes eyelids,Drum claps the brow, Jimmy eats the micstand, Trevor smiles and bows.
I'll have another, One down the street, Where barmaids look less hungry, Where instinct isn't flee!
The tops of my shoes are vivid: blue, My shoulderblades, chest deep.
My facial squinches overmean, The drummer hasn't seen.
I promised him I'd come; I came. But fain he watched me leave.