Smug motherfucker,
Slick motherfucker in leather,
Lace, black eyes, something to prove,
Howling wolf, barking dog, ain’t nobody in the neighborhood slept in years, and the moon just hang, basking in all this wanting,
Something about those songs, the fangs of cold, the taste of something familiar, ghost hymns of a different life drift in visceral on the wind,
And suddenly,
I believe it all again,
I believe in him like never before,
Silhouetted against the stars, knuckles cracked, lightning veins ignited, infinite energy, purpose, poise, a story unfolds from his lips and by the time it hits the ground it is already legend, an entire mythology of strife, defiance, divine power subtracted from the divine,
And so what I’m really saying is that,
Yes, we can take one last ride,
Yes, we can crack the walls and split the street,
Yes, we can spill out of our bodies and into something greater,
Yes,
We can raise hell sometime,
In fact we can raise so much hell,
That nothing can ever hold us back again,
And dawn breaks, as it has to, on every night we’ve ever fallen into
never expecting to fall back out of,
And the very last punks in town,
Light a cigarette off the sunrise and
Wait, with baited breath, for the night to fall once again,
So they can dust that record off,
Put on their best leather,
And return, reckless and inevitable,
Into the dark that raised them