28 May 2004 @ 01:10, by Robert Oveson
If the Divine Design was the 'what' then the Wild Ride is the 'why'. It's not about sex as much as union with the cosmic consciousness, part of the whole OrgasmoVolution thing. These are song lyrics and a tribute to the Doors, I think Jim would have liked them. I would be most pleased if there were any musicians that could put this to sound.
Wild Ride
Moon rose full about an hour ago, and we're dancing around a blaze and singing out for more. So let's all come together and call up the spirit of Jim Morrison to the Door.
Saturday night. It was a Saturday night. High on energy on a Saturday night.
Hot rock wails and snakes around the fire with nothing on but tight jeans and sweat. So hang on tight, it's going to be a wild ride, and we ain't seen nothing yet.
Saturday Night. Another Saturday night. Anything can happen on a Saturday night.
We were out together, taking a chance, to prance, perchance to trance on the dance floor. When exhausted we talked forever, then we went back out for more.
Saturday night. Oooohh Saturday night. We danced away Saturday night.
Back home and hesitant, waiting to commit, wanting a promise without regret. The anticipation of not knowing, heart beating hard, scared and wet.
Saturday night. Please let this be the night. Let this be the Saturday night.
That first touch on naked flesh, and with eyes wide open draws us forward to our fondest wish. That spinning sensual bliss, of falling through, a depthless soul kiss.
Saturday night. Uuuuhhh Saturday night. Who hasn't been kissed on a Saturday night?
Looked into my eyes and said my mind's wide open and I've nothing to hide. How about you and do you want to come inside? Then with patient panting passion we reciprocated to a red hot hard wild ride.
Such a steamy red hot Saturday night. Sweet sweet memories of Saturday night.
Sacred ectasy combined with compassion, with thunder rolling and lightning flashin', we were riding it home on a wave of screaming wild mattress thrashin' passion.
Saturday night. Lost in time on a Saturday night. Who hasn't been lost on a Saturday night?
Now I know there's more and a part of who I am, and where I've been, is defined by the night we made love on the astral plane, and came again, and again, and again, and again.
It was a Saturday night. Thank God for Saturday night. Forever Saturday night.
Falling back to ground embraced in afterglow it's just me and you. Don't worry about falling in love with a romantic old fool, and then wondering what you're going to do.
It all depends on if you want to.
Do you want to?
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