Sha-na-na, sha-na-na

Diamonds on the soles of her shoes.
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes.
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes...

People say I'm crazy, I got diamonds on the soles of my shoes. In a way, I imagine I do. I don't suppose I'd say I've got any walking blues. Or maybe I do. Do I taste blood? Strange. I had two cups of hot chocolate tonight. Back to back. Warmed... well, warmed, then boiled the water to keep things quiet. Quiet. In an "I don't want to wake up mom" way, not a figurative "I want to keep the fact that I'm drinking hot chocolate hush-hush way." Why would I? I wouldn't, don't worry. I've got Iron Chef America, a mug from the Wiregrass Radio Control Club Scale Fly In: Ft. Rucker Alabama, a 32 GB iPod Touch in its expensive "proprietary" dock, a Chaps polo, cold Hanes socks, aches above (below?) my radii, and heavy eyelids. I really wanted to write tonight. Write? Type. Blog.

But I can't tonight. Not tonight.

Walking blues? Diamonds on the soles of your shoes.