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Bon Temps

Dressed for Fat Tuesday

With a face like Ash Wednesday

Sack cloth still in the closet

 

On the wire hanger

Nothing left to do but repent

We take it however we can get it

Whether is comes with the clink of copper in a brass plate

Or a blackened eye and two loose teeth

We know the value of everything and the price of nothing

Whether it’s the sour breath of a by-the-hour motel

Or burning our hands in hot soapy water

Appetite is a bitch

And we are her blind suckling pups

Crawling on our bellies,

Stepping on eachother’s faces

Hungry for the empty tit

We’re dressed for Fat Tuesday

But that parade is long gone