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Girls, Call me the Diamond Dog September 15, 2005

Posted by Matt Hurst in Uncategorized.
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As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent
You asked for the latest party
With your silicone hump and your ten inch stump
Dressed like a priest, you was
Tod Browning’s freak, you was
Crawling down on your hands and your knees
I’m sure you’re not protected, for it’s plain to see
The diamond dogs are poachers and they hide behind trees
Hunt you to the ground, they will, mannequins with kill appeal

Here they come
I’ll keep a friend serene
Here they come
Oh baby, come on to me
Here they come
Well she’s come and been gone

Come out of the garden, baby
You’ll catch your death in the fog
The girls call them the Diamond Dogs

In the year of the scavenger, the season of the bitch
Sashay on the boardwalk, scurry to the ditch
Just another future song, lonely little kitsch
There’s gonna be sorrow, try and wake up for tomorrow
Halloween Jack is a real cool cat
He lives on top of Manhattan Chase
The elevator’s broke so he slides down a rope
Onto the street below, oh Tarzan, go man go

Here they come
I’ll keep a friend serene
Here they come
Oh baby, come on to me
Here they come
Well she’s come and been gone

Come out of the garden, baby, you’ll catch your death in the fog
The girls call them the Diamond Dogs

The girls call them the Diamond Dogs

Call them the Diamond Dogs
Call them the Diamond Dogs
Call them the Diamond Dogs, Dogs
Call them the Diamond Dogs, Dogs
Call them the Diamond Dogs, Dogs


so I made some new friends tonight, and generally had an enjoyable day today. Sometimes easy to forget that it’s alright to talk to strangers in this town, but I’ve talked about that before.
Then again, I’m paranoid and talk too much politics, and you never know when your speaking with swine who will turn you over to big brother. It was nice to know that my hair is curly (not sarcastic).
But really, I was flattered when people invited me over to hang out at their table in a diner, even if their interest was entirely superficial in judgement. I think were genuinely awesome, I just wish I could open up more to having fun. I really hope I can meet them again at my favorite diner (soon to change names), or better yet outside of such a depressing stand-by location of full on boredom. Maybe then I can be goofy and smart and all those other things people tell me I am that I don’t believe.
But just in case the Three Dinateers read this instead, if only because they too have caught a deadly case of live journal (woot, that’s self-reference to medium in use #100), I have cut any mention of cute, smart, and the ilk from this entry. And if you do, I can link you to another article of actual quality if you comment.

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