Hold Steady Navy Sheets
I guess we met a couple’a bona-fide angels,
but they all seem kinda fat and fatigued.
And now, we’re tryin’ to match the mouths
to the screams,
match the heads to the dreams.
Everybody’s searchin’ out the softest seat,
all dolled-up for the funeral feast.
Everybody’s stabbin’ at the biggest piece,
clever kids kissin’ on the Breck retreat.
And now, I’m not really sure we were lovers,
or if it was just some kinda car crash,
and now we’re trying to find a DNA match
to match THE HEAD TO THE AXE.
Everybody’s reachin’ for the sharpest knife,
legs wide open on the opening night.
Everybody’s bathin’ in the laser lights,
clever kids screwin’ with some new device.
Sunday morning, sidewalk splattered.
Feverish in stylish tatters,
didn’t this used to seem like glamour?
I remember when it mattered.
Can’t get over what’s transpired—
left home virgins, came back vampires.
Belt it out like backstretched choirs—
really dead, or really tired?
Everybody’s comin’ on the navy sheets.
Everybody’s comin’ on the navy sheets.
Everybody wants to suck on something sweet.
Everybody’s comin’ on the navy sheets.
Everybody’s comin’ on the navy sheets.
