A song about addiction, the need for a fix. The burning pain in every junkie’s mind. A social comment hidden amongst the nightmare entourage of songs and love sick ballads.
The rehearsal is going well but we have to play each song again and again, we quest for perfection.
We’ve got to get it right.
The scent of perfume, heady air,
Eau De Blood, without a care;
Needle pain, jabs at your vein,
As endless junk drives you insane.
Led to the dealer,
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
I’m left to drown
In the drug’s storm water.
And on it goes, the instruments mirroring the junkie’s pain. The guitar screams in a feedback frenzy, the rhythm rises and falls in a, seemingly, uncontrolled manner.
The middle eight, the pace slows; the tone falls to melancholy as we find the reflection of an addict’s doubt.
You shroud my head in black
Watch my brain decay
Shaking with addictive force
To rise from dead today.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan