Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Hold Me Down Revisited

I’ve gotten some questions about the lyrics for “Hold Me Down.” I was going to give a pretty straightforward explanation of what they mean to me, where they come from, etc., but where’s the fun in that? So, instead, here’s the lyrics to “Hold Me Down” in the form of a pulp novel:


Temptation is a cocktail waitress, holding a tray full of $4 shots, staring you in the face with a practiced smile, saying “choose your poison.” I say, “No thanks, I quit.” She laughs and says, “sure you did.”

If I don’t get out of this dive bar fast, I know I’ll be here way past my bedtime, but before I can even finish this sentence, I drop a week’s paycheck on the roulette table. I put it all on red. The guy behind the wheel doesn’t even bother spinning the thing. He says, “It’s out of order. But it would probably would have hit black.” He takes my check.

The bartender sees the whole thing. He offers me a drink that someone else never finished. For some reason, I accept.  

Problem is: I can’t just sit here and enjoy a drink. Next to me is a travel agent. I think maybe we went to school together. He won’t shut up about some all-inclusive getaway. I give him my credit card and say “take this, if it means you’ll shut up.” He asks if I want travel insurance. I roll my eyes and shake my head.

Two guys across the bar jabber about a story on the news. I can’t keep up. One of the guys hands me a book. “Particle Physics for Idiots.” I don’t even open it. I just push it aside. My friend the travel agent grabs the book. He finishes it in a half-hour and says he liked the movie better. I put headphones on, but all I hear is some lady with a thick Swedish accent rambling on about how music died in the 60’s. And then in the 70’s. And then again in the late 80’s.

My cell rings. It’s my cousin. Wants to know how things are going. I say “a little bit of both.” Before he can ask what that means, I drop the phone into my borrowed beer.

They shut the lights off. They kick everyone out. They lock the door, and they make sure we hear the click. I left my keys inside. I curse. I knock. I apologize. Someone shouts from inside: “we’re closed!” My friend the travel agent offers me a ride home in his brand new 6-door sedan. I get in reluctantly. He says, “see, you just never know what’s going to go wrong... you wanna rethink that travel insurance?”

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