But with microphone in hand
He seemed like some ageless genius
Knew how to work a crowd
Communicated every subtle move to the band
Was seamless in his delivery
That's what years in the industry
Imparts to a man, she thought
Can it be learned? Can it be taught?
His secret was what she sought
A surly voice in her ear was what she got:
Nah, love, you 'av to live it
She moved from playing bass to rhythm
Just to be nearer
He brought her to the front
Made her the face of the rhythm section
Aspects of performance became clearer
She learned how to swing her hips
Look to him while he was vocalising
Wore makeup and sang backup
And together went socialising
Though she knew he preferred boys
She was a muso fag hag
Here there and everywhere along for the ride
She didn't care, it was the band that mattered
Everything else got shoved to the side
So how wasted can you be and still function?
It was a question he had once asked her
And she was still pilled off her head so couldn't answer
But short of waking up in a pool of vomit
She could've she would've said:
not long, love, not long...
© shaun patrick green 2011
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