Don’t tell my sister about your most recent vision
Don’t tell my family. They’re all wicked strict Christians
Don’t tell the hangers-on. Don’t tell your friends
Don’t tell them we went down to Ybor City again.
Don’t tell the dancers. They’ll just get distracted
Don’t tell the DJs, they already suspect us Don’t mention the bloodshed. Don’t mention the skins
Don’t tell them Ybor City almost killed us again
We are the theater
They are the people dressed up to be seated
Looking upwards and dreaming
We’re the projectors
We’re hosting the screening
We’re dust in the spotlights
We’re just kind of floating
Don’t drop little hints. I don’t want them to guess
Don’t mention Tampa they’ll just know all the rest
Don’t mention the bloodshed don’t tell them it hurts
Don’t say we saw angels. They’ll take us straight to the church
They queue up for tickets
To see the performance
They push to get closer
Looking upwards with wonder
We are the actors
The cameras are rolling
I’ll be Ben Gazzara
You’ll be Gena Rowlands.
Sometimes actresses get slapped
Sometimes actresses get slapped
Sometimes fake fights turn out bad
Sometimes actresses get slapped
Some nights making it look real
Might end up with someone hurt
Some nights it’s just entertainment
Some other nights it’s work
They come in for the feeding
Sit in stadium seating
They’re holding their hands out
For the body and blood now
We’re the directors
Our hands will hold steady
I’ll be John Cassavettes
Let me know when you’re ready
Man, we make our own movies