Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Country of Friday Nights

Down through night haunted streets
Drawn by haunting drummer beats
Rotted fruit of the land in our veins
Tumbling out of ancient lanes
We stumbled through the sultry darkness
Past sweaty stages of sultry undress
Naked figures lit in grotesque places
Rain and sweat mingling on our faces
The twisted carnival mirror sights
Lost in the country of Friday nights
Then awake groaning in the light of day
To find I had forgotten the return way
And pray my wanderings might shunt me
Once again into Friday night country

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