Surfer Girls-Mudville

Party, over at midnight, sleep until two A finger in the side, damning the rude outside Tearing your peach-fried mind (that's bottom-of-the-sea born) And loving it Hey, bone down there ain't no halfway 3D ground You turn on your own arm to get the chaos and deals in motion And to best this is rote to end on a C note Willie-boy checks his gun - go pistolero - And turns to watch the surfer girls Bag that blue hyaline Good sailing once you pay for your seas in gloaming She, skin train below the wreck of pleasant rain And clocks made of seed that falls to your feet like motel ice Dusk keeps a torque and I'll sing so long as Dreams speak of the flood (i see you in most of them) But not the ruining shifts of sand Here are the rules of life: A tank to borrow, a cup to save. In the wake and in the blood, The bleach-black sea rolls over The diamond backs of surfer girls