Jeremy Messersmith. Knots. Zeneszám

Black sweatband, sticks blur in her hands; she's the drummer
She weaves a beat through Kinks and Deep Purple covers

Can't shake her off
She keeps me tied in knots
I'm tangled from the inside out

Strung out and tired, a funeral-crier; I'm heartsick
So I twist and turn till the ropes start to burn and I'm frantic

All those uptown boys making noise but she just yawns
With a wicked back beat, she flips them off and then she's gone