in the front yard bits of pieces of cars and furniture strewn,
inside the laughter of people, smoking and drinking, and a microphone
on these barren valley streets, the sun goes down
at the walgreens the high school kids lolly around
theres overflowing garages and many friends, some high density chaos
teen pregnant mothers and working class men
hanging out on the streets into all hours of the night
it looks like a quiet working class suburb but it's really a rock and roll destination
with long hair and half japan, half oakland and out the closet, the rock and roll dream all subsiding together together
let's go over the hill, or not, where all the pretentions beautiful people dream
here on the other side people live life simple to be simple and never never clean
i've been pulled away from the city and into this wasteland again
but i brought myself back here 100% on purpose, only 7 miles away, knowing it's rock and roll black smoke cloud is in my bones, and the vast desert space allows our energies to flow. though seemingly stark and infertile, arid and dry, it's comfort and sun and impoverished cactus plants on the dried up lawn, motorcycle parts, broken air-conditioners, some picket some barbed wire, if you try real hard you can smell the methamphetamine in the air, and the scent of the virgines maria, while you squint at the illegal aliens, scraping food from the bottom of our plate, mmm vegan mexican miss Leonore, it's all here in the valley of the dolls.
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