Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Here Boy

We've both been waitin' for a long time
We've both changed a lot
Up 'til now it seemed the wrong time
To know whether to come here or not

Oh, but come said the boy
Let's go down on the sand
Let's do what we wanna do,
Let me be a man for you
Just say come with me boy, just take my hand
I'll let you see what you wanna see
Come on be my man for me

- Mondo Rock
'Come Said The Boy'

Suddenly I have an urge to get maggoted on cheap beer at a surf club and have sweaty fumblings up the skirt of some girl who tastes like sweet cider, sandy fingers pulling hair, muffled moans by a rock pool, waves crushin as... Damn, I AM A CLICHE! Always pictured this song to be set at Crescent Head, my old family caravan park dreamworld where I spent many a tortured adolescent summer and my sixteenth birthday longing for blonde boys in vans smelling like Dr Zog's Sex Wax to be 'men' for me. Of course, I was a gothling at that point, which meant I wasn't exactly prime surfie-slut material. Contrary little creature I was even then! Sister She Sells Sanctuary indeed.


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