Misty’s in the pretty girls’ lounge again,
Dancing with rose tequila in her lucky hand.
Started a blaze now dampened by sprinklers’ rain.
She’s a simulant queen in a quartz land.

When she’s down it’s a long way up,
But when she’s up it’s a short way down.
It’s that pink haze, gulping it down like a sippy cup.
Precious as a Pegasus on a merry go round.

Misty’s back home in her hanging lounge,
Saying the salad’s shamrocks are looking funny.
The taste of last night’s liquor...