🔵 By Phillip Williamson. Photo by lauragrafie.
She spits while she spoke, with promises to lick me like a hundred spokes, as she wore fishnets all alone, with her thousand moans… I bleed a whisper, you’re not alone, while laying on a bed of fiery thorns, see the wild roses how they grow, feeling every painful thorn, that is born… All is fair in love and war, while I sit sippin‘ Johnny Walker near an open door, all alone, free from a fallen throne… Vacuity is my home, bittersweet is my sweet, Mexico, with many cops on patrol, I hear the FBI really wants me home, so hand in hand, here we go, down a melancholy road I already know… A modern savage shackled from head to toe, without a chance to get back to my sweet lonely broke, Mexico, a desperado’s only home…