Chucho Valdés is at Blue Note tonight and I've been lying here with his records shaking the walls since I walked in the door. Tell me you could keep your hands to yourself.
Chucho Valdés is at Blue Note tonight and I've been lying here with his records shaking the walls since I walked in the door. Tell me you could keep your hands to yourself.
Nobody's awake for miles and this rooftop is all mine — stretched out with nothing between me and the skyline. You'd come up here and ruin it, wouldn't you?
Sunday morning, steam still on the glass, and this towel's hanging on by pure stubbornness. You'd have to look away first.
Cold Waves is tonight and this mesh top can't make up its mind. Tell me you'd help me decide.
PiL shook every wall at The Belasco and I came home still vibrating — stripped the second I walked in and now I'm lying here daring sleep to try me. Tell me you could walk in and keep your hands to yourself.
Buddy Guy at the Bowl tonight and the blues already has me in the tub with no plans to move. That guitar does something to me I can't explain. Tell me you wouldn't just stand in the doorway.
Took the trail hard enough that everything's sticking to me and now I've got the whole barn to myself. These boots are the only thing staying on. Tell me you'd be able to look away.
Still running on whatever Axl left in the building two hours ago. Jacket's off, nothing else is moving, and I'm nowhere near ready for bed. Bet you'd just stand there and watch.
Melba Moore's doing her disco classics at Blue Note tonight and I can't get past the sequined top because everything below it feels optional. Tell me you'd be any help at all.
City lights eat every star in the sky and I'm squinting at what I'm pretty sure is just a plane. Found out Mount Wilson's doing a star party this weekend and I'm suddenly dead set on seeing the actual Milky Way again. When's the last time you looked up and saw more than three?