we wake up in a blazing sea of sheets so white and cool
with the burden on our shoulders all but gone.
we make friends with the bartenders in the fake grass huts by the shore,
full of hope and charity like glowing golden icons.
and we are as the angels in heaven,
without family or friends.
forget about those old churches and black-and-white movies,
we’ve got rum and coke and pay-per-view TV.
forget about Bing and Frank and Nat and gaudy Christmas trees,
every day’s a holiday if you want it to be.
rip up the past like a band-aid,
see the new skin underneath.
Bacardi, your baby-soft skin, and a view through to annihilation.
Bacardi, your soft white skin, and a blue view of annihilation.