Dimly Remembered Distraction

 

          Colors shined so brightly made one wonder how

Must have been something in the water making them tap their feet

Waited on the encore or at least for the performers to take a bow

In sweat-stained shirts, vapor wicking off heads from the heat

Sounded almost as good as the Belly Up show

That was a good time for almost one and all

Muffled Pete lost his girl and got arrested though 

The price paid for starting a pointless brawl

Motivated by boredom, dying to be interesting

In someone's eyes, from someone's point of view

Waded through the crowd, mingling

The odds were against, the chances few

Hopes of meeting the one dwindling

As the band started into a slow number everyone knew 

To the point that no one was really listening

And he asked himself for the seventeenth time

Why do I ever come to these shows?

What a waste, driving all the way up to Anaheim

Why do I ever come to these shows?

The wrong question asked at the wrong moment

Should have been savoring the experience

Notorious, vainglorious, spurious

Attempted to place himself above the current

Rode high and dry and serious

Delirious, precarious, imperious

Motion, slow and consistent

The crowd moving without intent or destination

just inclination

Still, wondering how the colors got so bright

Realized no one was drinking water

And no one was tapping their feet

And the band had already bid the crowd goodnight

The lights were up and the curtain down

And the crew was sweeping up the debris

People milling about discussing after show plans

Late night food across the street

Or beat the traffic home and hit the hay

Alarm comes early for those that have to work

Motivated by boredom, dying to be interesting

In someone's eyes, from someone's point of view

Food was decided, CoCo's or Norm's

Really didn't matter did it

Except Norm's would have girls from the dorms

Those attending UCLA, majoring in English Lit 

Or USC to study the sex lives of earthworms

And he asked himself for the eighteenth time

Why do I ever come to these shows?

And he asked himself for the eighteenth time

Why do I ever come to these shows?

Didn't have to dig too deep to know why

If he could be bothered or prodded to be honest

It was the chance of crossing paths or catching the eye

Of a young (or old) lonely deuterogamist 

Sliding into the booth with a smile and a sigh

Sitting like a disgraced, fallen Mahayanist

Motion, slow and insistent

Just the two of them moving without intent or destination

Temptation