Whiskey Hymn - Part 2

so love us ’cause “I’m the hoochie-coochie man”, not way over there, but here because we gotta' get our feet groovin' the path of the seer-serpent probing our souls believin’ our believin’ eyes in askin’, do you be “secret agent man?” because they’ve taken your number and given me your name I raise in exultation of bone-bred pain screaming for a strangling of questions “in the shadow of the city” risen from scorched, grinning alleys strewn with hope-seeds born in the spittle of fertility, ancient moments still watching over the sacred egg from which we came – and shriven of barrenness I throw back my head to yell, “you ain’t nothin’ but a houn’ dawg” nothin’, nothin’ but a houn’ dawg, houn’ dawg runnin’ tongue-led along my trail joined to your redolent thread, us sweetly inflamed with “bad, bad whiskey – and we’ve lost our home”, bad, bad, bad, bad whiskey, highway of liquid-burning sin and yelping salvation from heaven and hell to the beyond of the subway station confessed with “I love you”, and the only answer I need is redemption of the night steeped in the beautiful, bad bad whiskey of your eyes… … and the whispering hymn of the wind…