Sunday, October 09, 2005



The junkies in needle park are fightin' over nothin'
but the stories in their heads are definitely somethin'
n' I remember baby when I held you in my arms
while you shivered hot n' cold
tryin' to kick the monkey on your back
n' wasn't it romantic when you drooled as you moaned
I'll do it for you baby, I'll give up the smack
I didn't want that from you, just wanted to scream
Do it for yourself or you'll keep on dancin' with your jones
instead I smiled n' held you tighter, hopin’ you’d save me
two weeks later you were back on the needle n' gone
now when I see junkies I always think of you
my beautiful boy wantin' to love me 'stead of the junk
n' wonder, do I have a role in the stories in your head?

© Bette O’Callaghan


This may be our last dance...

the band might disband
acrimonious artistic differences
driving them so far apart
they'll never be in tune again

or perhaps one of us will
fall out of love n' back in again
with someone else's smile
abandoning partners mid step

maybe we'll just be driven to
leave the dance floor for a fag, smoke one
absentmindedly fire up another n' another
till we can't be ashed to dance again

or, we could form our own band
recognise love for the folly it is
plaster ourselves with nicotine patches
and keep dancin' on n' on

© Bette O’Callaghan


When I first saw you...
love loosened it's tie, rolled up it's sleeves n' sucker punched me in the gut
as you wooed me with the old one, two... right to the heart, saying
I want to take you home n' fuck you till the neighbours complain about the smell

© Bette O’Callaghan

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