I had the opportunity to play a show at a local club a couple years ago while the “Girls Gone Wild” crew were in attendance. It was chance to see another side of life that I had not been a part of in the past and I knew that if I didn’t take the opportunity, I would probably wish that I had for the rest of my life. Here is a poem that I wrote about the event and my thoughts on how it all played out. I’m glad that I took the opportunity ... but I wouldn’t do it again. Things got really strange, and I saw a face behind the eyes of some of the people that I’m not really sure was human ... read on ...
Maidens Beware (Girls Gone Wild)
Twas early spring, under the planting moon,
When the great horns did call.
And the song was heard both far and wide,
For the clans to gather, one and all.
For a night of revelry and merry delights,
They came from ‘ville and ‘nelle.
Into the long-house of the “Duke of Spirits”,
Where the motto reads, “N’er ask, and n’er tell”.
From outside, the laughter could be heard,
As the ‘cullis was let down.
So the villagers could make their pilgrimage,
As they drifted in from town.
Swords were locked up or banded,
By the ‘Master of Arms’ at the door.
So if later, trouble did ensue,
The culprits could be taken to the floor.
Patrons lounged on covered benches,
And exotic furs were cast around.
And music by invisible minstrels,
Drifted up from the very ground.
As we entered the hall from the entry,
The heads all turned to stare.
To see which gender the new arrivals might be.
On our chests, would it be ####, or hair?
The grog was flowing quite freely,
And sweet wines and hardy liquors,
And serving wenches were dancing about,
As couples in dark corners made sweet amours.
The crowd cheered as the minstrel band cranked up,
And dancers formed their lines.
The maidens were seen showing their breasts,
Some, time after time after time.
And there were small ones and large ones,
And cup shaped and coned,
Some were droopy, and some perky,
And some firm little domes.
The men were all quite cheerful,
Drinking, laughing, raising their glasses.
While those fine bodied nymphs,
Were shakin’ them bodacious asses.
It was sweet abandon that ruled the day,
But still within semi-moral lines.
It was shaping to be an awesome party,
As we broke for some nectar of the vine.
The dancers were deliciously decadent,
Swaying seductively to the beat,
Then a fog slowly entered the room,
Staying low to the floor, at their feet.
Oblivious were the merrymakers,
The fog slowly caressing their legs and thighs,
And smoke began to stream from their nostrils,
And fire could be seen in their eyes.
The room began to seem surreal,
And people like puppets on strings.
The decadent dancers became violent,
Sexual debauchery the new “in” thing.
Demons dressed as normal men,
Had magic torches on boxes held high,
And the dancers were drawn like moths to flame,
As their souls and innocence was sucked into the box’s hungry eye.
One moment the room total chaos,
Then magically, they were gone.
A highly charged, volatile mob in their wake,
Not knowing whether to fight or run.
A coach was chalked in a nearby field,
The windows dark as pitch.
Demon horses left on their own, to graze,
Beside the road there, in the ditch.
I’m not really sure what went on inside,
But the sounds did seem to suffice.
The demons must have taken their prize inside,
And they feasted on their sacrifice.
I gathered together what I could of my clan,
And prepared for the long run back home.
Leaving some kinsmen was a necessary must,
Save the women first, ere you have none.
I don’t think we’ll be makin’ this journey,
When the horns sound next spring.
The price on our souls is much too high,
And our halos … naught but a dark ring.
Duane Clancy 4/5/10