Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix... AFTER da Gig.
Dedicato. Dave Woods. Lets go Weekend Camping in Edale, the Peak District.
., STRIKE-Fashion-ista, somehow IN-cognito..after dah gig, disturbance of Silence, BE-cool, no Cool, ragazzi-decisions, latent HUGS, cigarette smoke, stale Scotch Whisky, IN-divisive UN-like the Drummer-s-Gal who lugs out the AMP. No Truck. No Car. Taxi didn't show.
Gotta wipe down the Facial-Herpes Microphone kiss, SANITIZE and start spreadin da news. Some prick ORG-mented Internet VIRUS. Gonna BE Famous, 15 Minutes AGO. Do U Believe in ME like I Believe in U. A NANO-Byte THIS side of FAME!
WHOA!! But after the Gig. Sweaty, cramped. Loved. UN-loved. Does your SMOKING SECTION dash your DREAM, your Rock and WHASSIT, or just BILLOW in remote Pussy-fantasia, a LAMIA volution… before High Tea.
SWEAT COME SLOW. Sweat come Slow.The Kids don't know. Excepting, after the GIG, the REPTILES with Guitars, WANNABEE Stars, NO IN-herent Poetry, FLOOD AS ANYONE to disc your Moment and STEAL your Fire, YO!
After the Gig. After your Gig.
c2019, davedelacroix
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