Sweet Dempsey waiting on a number,
Cups his sweating hand around dice and blows,
Breathes his reeking trust on tumbling bones,
In love with the air around a hundred thousand bad throws.
It's jackpot plus in which he trusts. Someday I--
Sweet baby sucking on a number,
Sweet Dempsey gladly trips switch after switch.
He can feel himself drain out through his fingertips.
The conception of a near miss.
It's jackpot plus in which he trusts.
Keep dropping it in cool on the machine,