Staring at a ghost across a table set for two,
This is the last call before the credits roll.
The charm of silver screen
depression saturated in alcohol.
It's so seductive.
Filtered through tobacco haze.
It's so f*****g intoxicating,
The way they
glimmer through the grain and make dysfunction such a fashion.
Jimmy stewart suicidal sex appeal.
The alcoholic is the last true
hopeless romantic.
Stumbling and smelling of stale gasoline,
Making james dean speeches to an empty room.
Audrey left some
lipstick on her cigarette in the ashtray
With a note scrawled on a napkin saying "this is glamour".
This is where hollywood cues the
delusion
That everything looked this blue through sinatra's eyes.
What america needs is another worthwhile overdose.
Celestial
bodies constructed on set,
Destined to explode in the headlines.
Another dry martini and a methamphetmaine.
Godspeed norma jean,
I hope you saved us one last sleeping pill play it again
For me.
The tragedy of a track marked beauty queen.
The starlet in the
magazine.
She looks all right to me.
She looks so good to me.
But there's somthing in the way she moves, like I want to.
Make
me want you.
Tonight I feel like fame, dreary and estranged.
I'd scratch through glass not to be without you.
(without you)
there's a whole lotta shakin' going on.