Standing in side shadows, I was given my cue, when the guitarist played
an acoustic version of Gloria, slow, with the chords kinda frayed 
as I swayed, swaggered and strutted into the dim spotlight of the stage
tellin' myself I'm just an organic prison of wicked words, time to open the cage
with rage to push it all out and time to thank God I'm this wasted
there's a punk chaos in the air, hangin' thick, I can't wait to taste it
from another pasted audience, so diverse, both good and bad
elements of dark daydreams and wet nightmares that drove me mad
and sad, like so many Song-Babes before her, Gloria was dragged out
when she slowly spreads her melodic legs, again, to carry the words I shout
to the semi-settled spectating freak shows, a strange silence seemed to hold them
when I grabbed the mic like a bottle and gave no warning when I told them . . . 

                                           " Gloria's not comin'. . . 

                                              another dark discovery  
                                              with no recovery
                                              nothing to say
                                              just fade away
                                              questions will come
                                              most of them dumb
                                              playin' me out
                                              leave it in doubt
                                              damaged and dark
                                              I'm on my mark
                                              get ready - get set 
                                              choke on regret
                                              wonderful mystery
                                              forged history
                                              crash 'n burn
                                              live 'n never learn 

                                              I said she's not comin'  . . . "

The guitarist wound down as the audience rose up in a roar and did their thing
I was pelted with beer cans,  food and whatever else the back rows could fling
the front rows sprayed me with various liquids and launched a barrage of spit
standin' there covered in their trash and noise knowing . . .  they really dig my shit