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2 Cliches - 'All Done With Mirrors' and ' Flash in the Pan'
Disco balls flash and smoke lights like fire as the dancers twirl and shimmy to the latest flash-in-the-pan rapper to gesture and grimace on the big screen above, where curvaceous wenches wrench their bodies in consensual contortions.
Those below don't care that they're all viewing a magic panorama of pancake make-up and faux dazzling all done with mirrors.
Music pumps out dull and repetitive, sweet sickly serenade soothing while thugs rap about thieving and destruction, flashing their fingers, spruiking their bitches, rhyming over jagged riffs.
The smoke-hazed dance floor transforms all who sway far from common-place reality, jobs, friends or none, mobile phone bills, best friends, innocent fun without make-up on; alcohol lights up the bar as lights sparkle and our dark inner box of unreal joy, no regrets as we shake it off.
When the lights turn white, bleach of reality clears the smoke and dulls the mirrors then we will tramp out to the tame grey unglamour of day.
Disco balls flash and smoke lights like fire as the dancers twirl and shimmy to the latest flash-in-the-pan rapper to gesture and grimace on the big screen above, where curvaceous wenches wrench their bodies in consensual contortions.
Those below don't care that they're all viewing a magic panorama of pancake make-up and faux dazzling all done with mirrors.
Music pumps out dull and repetitive, sweet sickly serenade soothing while thugs rap about thieving and destruction, flashing their fingers, spruiking their bitches, rhyming over jagged riffs.
The smoke-hazed dance floor transforms all who sway far from common-place reality, jobs, friends or none, mobile phone bills, best friends, innocent fun without make-up on; alcohol lights up the bar as lights sparkle and our dark inner box of unreal joy, no regrets as we shake it off.
When the lights turn white, bleach of reality clears the smoke and dulls the mirrors then we will tramp out to the tame grey unglamour of day.