In the dark and damp back alleys
The places that I call my own
If you see me, walk on by
Trust me, you want none of this
I can seduce you with a thought
Steal your soul with just one kiss.
She tried to warn you
Tried to save you
Tried to tell you
About me
Too enticing, I know your secrets
What you dream of every night
Leave you spinning, leave you yearning
’Til you won’t care what’s wrong and right
I’ll play your body like a fiddle
Leave you satisfied and weak
I’ll be gone the very next morning
You’ll never catch me looking back
She tried to warn you
Tried to save you
Tried to tell you
About me
Too late now, I’ve gone and taken
Your heart, your love, your very soul
Never again to feel satisfaction
Never again to feel whole
While I go free, without a doubt
The one your Mama warned about.”
“That was awesome!” his prospective band mate exclaimed, also something he’d heard hundreds of times. “I don’t care what your real name is, if you play half as good as you sing, the job’s yours. You almost sound like the real Killian Desmond. How much do you have to smoke a day to make your voice so gravelly?”
Killy ignored the question, “too many” being the honest answer. If the man didn’t believe who he was, so much the better. He’d learned the hard way: call himself Bill and people tended to speculate. If he called himself Killian Desmond and wielded a mean guitar, folks passed it off as a moneymaking scheme. And money was money. He’d pretend to be himself for a while for what they promised. Soon he’d go back to being another nameless drifter. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning bright and early for a run through.” They discussed particulars while Killy stopped by his ancient El Camino. He disconnected the call on a done deal and dug beneath a guitar case to extract a laptop left over from more prosperous days.
