| Tear it down in double quick time
|
| To get the eighth truck shifted 'bout midnight
|
| The locker rooms are empty but the (Strobo Tickers?) (strobe boats?)
|
| still spin with their pitching lights
|
| And someone with a yellow pass
|
| Gives out precise directions as to where and when
|
| And here am I with a drumstick,
|
| While young girls set to rendezvous, and be recognized again
|
| Tomorrow is an off-day,
|
| Be in Baltimore by Thursday is the only law.
|
| There’s a suite down at the hotel
|
| Reserved for making merry with connecting doors.
|
| The lighting man’s already improvised a bar,
|
| And printed invitations to the ball.
|
| Off duty cops line corridors wearing Tull (two?) T-shirts proudly
|
| on the band’s (…) wall
|
| Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives,
|
| Best boots and road suits and nine lives.
|
| Feeling that it might be wrong to
|
| Temporarily belong to the P.A. |
| man (men?)
|
| Some angel from the midwest is regretting being
|
| Undressed with no suntan
|
| His polaroid is snapping
|
| The head carpenter is rapping on
|
| The gates of dawn
|
| Sitting lonely with a warm beer
|
| The girl with dental braces wishes that she hadn’t gone.
|
| Crew nights, no bar fights or (feeders?) (veeders?) wives
|
| Thin walls and late (blade?) calls and nine lives.
|
| Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives,
|
| Best boots and road suits and nine lives. |