"Havana Tango"
By Brian Hannan
Disclaimer: If the thought of tropical heat and passion frighten you, leave now and go rent Mary Poppins.
-Brian Hannan (GCU)
Foxglove scorching in a Cuban bar
Heat so loud that I can't stand up
Four dollar gin in a broken glass
A lot of questions I should not ask
Her mood is soft, her eyes are ripe
Some crooked native in a devil mask
English tourist in a white-hot suit
The band is asking just where I am
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Ankle twisted with the money spent
I see nothing but a red silk dress
Across the way on a bone filled night
There's no reason why I should rest
Her shadow boils in a strange moonlight
I'm the thing she now must have
The paint rips straight from the walls
I reach over for a cup of sand
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Foxglove prowling on a bloodstained floor
Each step drinking from a darkened well
A wing reaches over for my neck
Sweat cold as the bars in jail
The night is black, the fire white
Her breath is caught up in my hair
A scorpion moves along my back
Lips crack with a scorching hail
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Three suns down in a bourbon sky
Brakes on my car, they always fail
Sixteen men on a dead man's chest
The red ship begins to sail
Havana Tango in a tropic zone
She pulls me close with a rain-filled glance
A cage of fever between her legs
No escape and I can't pretend
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
Hey little girl
Fly away home
My nerves are all shot
Your voice is on the phone
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