GYPSY DOG
We rose up from the wreckage
We moved like gypsy dogs
We’re hunting for something we
can call home
We wrote the writing on the wall
We scraped the barrel dry
We forged the wrenches for
monkeys to throw
MOUSTACHIO
We lost ourselves in the city
We turned away from the crowd
We plunged through the nighttime
horny and stoned
The dust was dry as acid
The nights were smooth as skin
We heard our hearts pound through
the din
Whatever we say, whatever we
sing
You’ll catch the drift in our eyes
You may not buy it, our one last
ditch bid
But we’ll see you all in the end
GYPSY DOG
We rose up from the wreckage
We moved like gypsy dogs
We’re hunting for something we
can call home
The swirling dust cloaks the scene
and parts again, revealing a
Greeters Station. Grizzled gatekeepers
welcome (and occasionally
offer spankings to) a long line of
dusty pilgrims, most of whom have
driven hundreds of miles to the
festival.
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