A festive posture, a tiny nap, and a loud smell
is all we need tonight.
Sexy fog, thick enough to choke on, has draped the streets,
but if we wear white,
No rain will touch us.
An orchestra is playing in a tavern where
Orientals dream of meeting famous blondes
and everything in this
Whole wide world seems drunk... and burning.
I am being called dangerous. You're appearing to like it.
We feel like celebrities, we sway and the crowds scatter.
We'll go home when the birds start singing.