Good morning beautiful

Good morning beautiful            
let’s get shit-faced and set this town on fire            
fill the empty wine bottles with gasoline            
and pay our respects in Molotov cocktails            
‘cause I’m tired of hiding behind graffiti’d walls            
that’ll be painted over in slate-grey boredom          
in a week’s time, like we were never there            
to mark our territory - dogs of the underground            
           
There is a sweetness in your lips            
that no wine can sate or cigarette eradicate            
despite the gang of Jehovah Witnesses now attempting          
to run our streets and save our souls with stupidity            
when we not-so-secretly worship that holy ferment            
in fingered prayers to the pagan God of cunts            
           
And we’ve never been so fragile            
than when the bottle’s run dry and a bible            
is knocking at the front door with the promise of hell            
for those that dare take a peek and lick the vellum pages          
of history like it’s the latest hallucinogenic trip          
           
In the early hours of the morning            
after the fires have been lit and stoked in devotion            
we cum our praises and swear solemn oaths            
to fuck ourselves to oblivion doused in the grape-fermented            
Blood of Christ poured liberally down our throats          
staying awake long enough to watch the fire of the sun rise            
a picture of hell dawning on the day that we’ll cheers          
Molotov cocktails to, on the other side of the grattiti’d wall      
we spent our days painting with love and a “fuck you”            
           
Good morning beautiful          
You get the bottles
I’ll get the gasoline          
           
© Indie Adams 2012