Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Atlantic City beat

AC is bleak in the night
Phantoms lined up along the shore
fed by highways blowing in from the west
on this cold March wind, we scream out
into the heaving sky that blankets the
Atlantic ocean in inky darkness,

we run across white sand,
it burns our feet like summer in
the chill, we wash our feet in the ocean,
advertisements as background noise,
the hellish casino lights, Steve calls us back
waits back on the shore, it's time to head home
the natty bo is running out, there's no food,
or money, there's no hope

we left that alone inside the Wawa outside town