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Lolita


The music that she listened to made her feel understood.
It consecrated her life. It made her godlike.
She did everything that came at her.
She felt indestructible, looked simply incredible,
the pinnacle of dumb American youth.
With the hips and the breasts and the lips and the legs,
she was pretty phenomenal.
Every drug and every thug, she did it all,
and chased it down with whiskey.
Somehow she survived. Yeah, she's still alive.
She remembered reading "Lolita",
and liking what she learned from it.
But now the scene has sorta changed on her.
She's not a girl anymore,
but she's still able to manipulate ya.
And the years are catching up with her,
pretty soon they'll be outpacing her,
and it seems uncool to be out on a Tuesday night.
Taking trips to the toilet --
not for fun, but to stay awake
not for fun, but to get all right.
It seems a little bit shameful to be sitting on a bar stool,
flirting with some damn fool just to get a drink bought for ya.
Yeah, the years are catching up with her,
pretty soon they'll be outpacing her,
she can only look back and envy her dumb American youth.

 

"Lolita"

32" x 8 1/2"
acrylic on wood
21 September, 2002

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