Spill the Wine—Eric Burdon and War
Perhaps you imagine yourself as the cougar in Edward Scissorhands with the jagged red hair motioning to all the young ghost boys with your acrylic-tipped fingers to inch a little closer. Perhaps you imagine yourself with a cowbell in your hips and becoming a glossolalic goddess, speaking in scary good tongues (“come ‘ere, loverboy!”). Perhaps you’re high-fiving every business exec and janitor on your way home and feeling the wind pass through your teeth. Most likely they became a bug shield.
Perhaps you’re in Miami and you live and learn and accept the tale.
I never know what Sylvia’s talking about. But then again, neither does she.
I’m just here for the music and dancing.
