Nick Cave is taunting Tom Waits into something
while I clean my rain soaked
bicycle's street dirty drivetrain
they're both urging me to leave
last song of the show
we got there late it was all my fault
you hate my ways my past my me
but you love my touch on your soft flesh
beautiful body messenger
shaping my future
at these moments you remain sublime
we ride together
your body on mine
soft rolling hills giving in to sharp curves
barreling down on you
you give into me your hair falls
your eyes roll back
you're already there and i'm not far behind
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