theoretically,
i want to take you to the violet hour
and make sure you don't pay
and get us shithoused on their red rum punch
launch myself at you
once we're all but drooling in the lamp low chilter world
knock you back in that stupid, ridiculous, high-backed velvet chair
knock your chair into the other stupid, ridiculous, high-backed velvet chairs
so all the people who are the sort to go to the violet hour on a saturday night
hate us
and we get kicked out and told not to come back
i hope we can still go across the road for margaritas
i hope we're bruised and maybe there's blood in my mouth
theoretically