Sleep hovered above me Wasted and cruel. He said, "There's no rest for the wicked, Even less for the fool." Then he tossed me your headshot As I mainlined his junk; A spoonful of longing That burned through my funk. I grabbed my best hat, My amp and my bass. I swung through the door, Spun down the staircase. Down past the desk clerk, Down past the garage, Down where the past Is a dead man's mirage. A shade stood there waiting By a ragged canteen. His houndstooth waistcoat Exposed ribs long picked clean. "You play for her, Flesh. You wail and you moan. And if the dead here start jumping, You take your bitch home." I plugged in my Fender And tore off a riff So fat and so pure Those dead boys grew stiff. Lifeless and bloodless They churned in the fire To the sweet soul of heartbreak, The prime chord of desire. Then the Shade called for silence And the crowd settled in. I smelled the rot of his breath In the pores of my skin. "Sweetmeat's behind you But listen up, Jack You want to taste it tonight, You best not look back." Were you behind me? How could I know? I'd cheated the Rider, Left the cold Styx below. A laugh rose within me Just as Pride hurried past With a blouse full of truth And hips built to last. Oh, I turned like a puppet, Like an actor on cue, Like a gambler that knows Every bad chit is due. I lunged as you stumbled, Felt you slip from my grasp, Your lips mouthing, "Dog..." In a last pissed-off gasp. I drove to the lake, In a fog of cheap gin. Found some kids round a bonfire And threw my bass in. It scorched and it sizzled, Then burst from its case And in the flames and the smoke All I saw was your face.