Thundercat's tonight and the eyeliner's only half done because the bassline in my head keeps winning. This dress and I are still negotiating too. Which song are we starting with, love?
Thundercat's tonight and the eyeliner's only half done because the bassline in my head keeps winning. This dress and I are still negotiating too. Which song are we starting with, love?
The pot's been bubbling all afternoon and I gave up on the shirt somewhere around the third taste — just me, the steam, and enough cayenne to make your eyes water. Come be my taste tester, love.
Home from the fèt with the drums still living in my chest — whites half off, paint smudged, and sleep nowhere in sight. Tell me you'd keep me up a little longer, love.
Made it to the fèt — whites on, first pour of Barbancourt in hand, and the drums are just starting to wake up. Come stand in the candlelight with me, honey.
Couldn't sleep, so my whites for Fèt Gede tonight are laid out on the bed and I've been sitting here thinking about everybody who made me. Some nights belong to the ancestors, and I like showing up for them soft. Tell me you'd sit with me a while, love.
Horns are on, glitter's set, and Freaky Deaky won't know what hit it. This costume came out sinfully good and I'm not sorry about it. Meet me on the dance floor, love?
The Soul Rebels are warming up at Tipitina's and my body paint isn't even dry yet — Halloween eve in this city hits different. Come find me before the horns take over, love.
Halloween's coming and my bed's buried under wigs, fishnets, and body glitter — gave up on clothes somewhere around the second costume change. Tell me what you'd peel off me first, love.
Balbancha Dance Festival kicks off Friday and my body already knows it — I've been stretching on this floor since the coffee kicked in, working the stiffness out of my hips before I watch people move for three straight days. Come loosen me up the rest of the way, love.
Silent films and live strings at the Marigny Opera House coming up, so I'm test-driving the vampy lip in the mirror before I commit. Too haunting or just haunted enough, love?