You got looks, especially in the dark.
You squint your eyes and give whiskers to the stars
and the stoplights
as you’re speeding to your bars,
as you’re waving your arms out the windows rolled down
with the radio louder but you’re still singing pretty loud.
You’re so alive,
like a bull mid-charge.
Goldilocks,
you smiles for blocks.
For miles you got luck.
Gold don’t give a fuck.
Two dollars and twenty-seven cents.
As long the day, so short the dress.
Miss America,
you look like a mess.
Walking down the street at 11AM,
nobody’s gotta ask we know where you been.
Quite the comedian
and the alchemist,
who laughed the lead of war into this,
who stripped us all but our shadow with a kiss
that was diseased
with idiotic bliss.
Goldilocks,
you smiles for blocks.
For miles you got luck.
Gold don’t give a fuck.
For miles you got luck.
Gold don’t give a fuck.
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