"I can't help feelin' that I've lost a friend...y'know?"

I say a lot of shit like that when I'm on stage. And I know she's out there--filling every eye in the room. But they don't see it. Do I really want them to? Is that why I started this band? Is it true what they say? "No whys for the wise." (You never heard them say that? Blame our last record deal.) Right now I'm just glad I'm not the only one staring at my navel. Our bassist just tripped over a fuckin' wire.

"I am the woman!

(Wish I was you)

I'm suffering!

(Don't you wish it was true?)

I WAS NEVER THERE...

(And neither were you)"

This crowd knows its shit. Joe and Cyn smash another hard rock into its face. I gasp right off the cliff and leave a whispering trace:

"And neither were you..."

I always feel closest to the magic words when my throat is too shredded to say 'em.

I hork up some blood and the fans lap it up. The fluid in my delivery.

"You want deliverance?"

I think they do.

"Maybe next time..."

Getting louder. Menacing too. I'd be pissed if it weren't.

"We can dream, right?"

They want more--well fuck, so do I.

"Thanks for coming. We're New Model Barbie..."

(You know) "I'm" (you can) "Roberta" (call) "Flackjacket..." (me)...

***

Rumbling? Shrieking?

"OFF THE HOOK!"

Every single speaker shook.

***

Ears are ringing.

On the phone.

I don't like your fuckin' tone.