Peter Hammill Always Is Next
Ill met, ill starred, the sweat, the scars, the back seat of the car, caught up in the sex, the ties that bind, his thoughts, her mind, why something doesn't connect... the rush, the drool, his push, her pull, the slushy gender pool, survive and protect. Ill met, the lips, the tongues that dart apart for whatever's next.
Well, now, what then, they count to ten and sense the current direct. This heat, this burn so sweet, they've learned this stuff will never turn out as they expect. Well then, what now? Again they've found what somehow still resurrects: a fit, a freeze, a pretty please, drop down upon the knees and... whatever next.
Whatever's next, what ever's next.
A clenching fist, a wrench, a twisted kiss will salvage this wreck. The steam, the windows stream and in the back seat of the car they never suspect - out in the dark the Demiurge Avenger auto-elect... Ill met, the gun is cocked. Though once they swore they'd be forever... always is next.
