I’m going back to Las Vegas for every time I didn’t wake up to you crying in your sleep. For every time I said the wrong thing. I’m going back for the flashing lights and plastic women. For the free well drinks they bring you at the slots. For the ashtrays over gaudy carpets. For the heat. For the time you denied me everything, curled back into your bedsheets. For your groaning from the old springs. For the magic shows and bar tricks. For every single time you called me beautiful.
I’m going back to Las Vegas with no money and a lot of baggage. In a red velvet shirt, biting a cigarette. In the name of Vulgarity I’ll smoke constantly. When my bus gets in, it will rain in Vegas for the first time in 27 years. It’s the place where dreams come true. I heard that somewhere. I’m putting it all on the table, to the high rollers.
I won’t bluff at all. I won’t fold till sunrise. If I happen to win anything, I’ll laugh at the irony. I’ll come home and buy you whiskey. I got nothin to lose, baby, and only through that will I win.
Your skin is something that will give me nightmares. Your pull is something that happened yesterday. You’re golden, sweetheart.
This is a fiction song that I am afraid to write.
And so for one last time:
