Blood On The Frets

Just another westside story

A California kid out to drink himself to glorious excess tonight

I'm dressed to fight, and maybe get my shit together if it sets just right

'Cause I've been walking like a hawk with too much on my mind

Staring at the clock and taking what I can find

To let the tension increase I need a tension release

To find some quiet for my head and not to mention some peace

So it's a no tie, bringing Y.O.B. affair

People getting stupid and forgetting their cares

It's just a Saturday scene, you know what I mean

I find some people in the crowd to stick myself in between

Soft-spoken, pot-smoking through the broken-down curls

But I never hit my stride with the southern-fried girls

This one's got a sun dress, the other's got pearls

Nice and easy on the eyes but never rocking my world

And now I'm homebound thinking 'bout a girl that I shouldn't

Start to write a letter though I told myself I wouldn't

Pine away for her, I'd pray for her, if I thought there was a God

Who'd let me stay with her

Did she get my last tape, did she think it was great

Did she kick herself again for not remaining my mate

Or did she throw it away, get on with her day

And cuddle up against a lover in the usual way

My eyes are wet, there's blood on the frets

And something's telling me that this is good as it gets

Until the next go-round, I've got to slow down

Or I'll be just another topic for the talk of the town

I got a brand new cell, but it's the same old hell

I'm just a walking sack of sorrow with a story to tell

But in a city of shit, who's got the patience to sit

And watch a broken-hearted emissary throwing a fit

The bile rising up in my throat's straight acidic

My record with the women like Ted's at Chappaquiddick

It's the wrong track, but you can never go back

And now I'm down and out the mission with a head full of flak

It's holding me upright, but making me uptight

And bouncing out my speakers so it's keeping me up nights

I'm broken in two but what the fuck can I do

I try to clear my mind but only find I'm thinking of you

'Cause while the lovers make love in moonlit parks

I'm drinking Heineken and playing with myself in the dark

I like to think that you're mine, and everything's fine

That I could take you home tonight and not be way out of line

My eyes are wet, there's blood on the frets

And something's telling me that this is good as it gets

Until the next go-round, I've got to slow down

Or I'll be just another topic for the talk of the town