"Go Black Jack! (Ace in the Hole)"
Written by Jonathan Henderson
Tuesday December 9, 2014 @ 11:41 PM
A swig of whiskey and tonic filled with gin, and O'! How
Shall I celebrate this victory, all those poker chips and the
Money while feigning a humble grin? Puffing on my cigar -
Tocar! Estos pequeños Castros del espíritu - and my! So, so
Illegal it is right, righteousness that is, begetting pure and
Only bliss I say as the priest prepares to chris-ten the unholy
Partnership of "The Corruptible" with his lover, fair Avarice,
That madam butterfly out of her cocoon and fixin' swoon -
So many tonight from which to choose! I believe the House
Actually was the victor, for I am to receive the truce between
The barrier of the corridor and the gang of catwalkers known
To themselves as the Flooze... and I am the sovereign to what
I choose as I always roll snake eyes, sipping away my night as
Fright of the chips having fallen where they did only accounts
I do lose the same - Judas Iscariot to the cause and the celebrity
Affair for whom all my details will be divulge like the deluge of
Subliminal messages - the scent of decadence which surrounds.
A big swig o' my Lynchburg Lemonade, a puff for my posterity,
And how shall I bet the house, for I am afflicted with the louse of
Cerebral resistance to intellectual discourses plaguing my head
And thy heart which beats colder by the second - and as I roll that
Snake Eyes, I have my little Ace in the Hole - I hold the deck and
Ye shall await for my command pertinent to the heart's discontent,
And what of you? Shall you vent? Shall you recant that ground as
You remain touched down on Earth rather than the meanderings
Into the supernova of the mind - the vestibule, the atrium and my
Valve, six cylinders prepped for roulette once I yell "Go Black Jack!"
And thy tavern du esprit, for whatever it is worth, just cut off your
Tab, demanding now that you pay down on this lush ol' House....
Subliminal messages - the scent of decadence which surrounds.
A big swig o' my Lynchburg Lemonade, a puff for my posterity,
And how shall I bet the house, for I am afflicted with the louse of
Cerebral resistance to intellectual discourses plaguing my head
And thy heart which beats colder by the second - and as I roll that
Snake Eyes, I have my little Ace in the Hole - I hold the deck and
Ye shall await for my command pertinent to the heart's discontent,
And what of you? Shall you vent? Shall you recant that ground as
You remain touched down on Earth rather than the meanderings
Into the supernova of the mind - the vestibule, the atrium and my
Valve, six cylinders prepped for roulette once I yell "Go Black Jack!"
And thy tavern du esprit, for whatever it is worth, just cut off your
Tab, demanding now that you pay down on this lush ol' House....