565 from White Midnight by 6s & 7s

Moustache alive, at 565
"No, not tonight. But thanks for the invite!" In Fred-on-Fred glory, lady can't ignore me Until she's bringing it on
Through bridge and tunnel, then neon funnels On magic corners, consigned to memory
Once you're a stranger at your own party

Gidget, she dinks that perpetuum moment cast An organism, hermetic to breaking fast
"Why did you tell that story7"
"It's the wrong time of the morning!!"
When you're bringing it on
"I've got no Carl Cox", "Got no Hanoi Rocks" I hardly know you, yet you're talking at me
While all the kids are all falling down, on Beaufort Street

"And mate your stars, they are not my stars" "And mate your scars, they are not my scars"
Yet you're talking at me, under moonlight and then sun On Beaufort Street, birthing "never was"
A John Sands frieze, first blush skims golden ponds The path of least resistance until it's gone

Lisa, go to bed. Steven, go to bed Houston, go to bed. Maciej, go to bed Grab your things and then go long
'Coz we're passing, ligature dolts, actinic masts
After-after-after party and they're chasin', good luck with that Draped on curbs, ass at 90 degrees
Decanted handbags, extant portals Licked bag lips on denimed hips When you come to on Wednesday Hey, we'll be on our way

• indie
• Rock
• diy-record-label
• garage
• post-rock
• synth pop
• Australia