Just ordinary Friday night screams

She sits on her bed chatting carelessly to a friend
Cushions supporting her back supporting the life perfectly formed in her stomach.

They creep and crawl in the sticky night canyon warmth
Cutting the telephone lines, trudging up the hill, over the fence and down the driveway
There's a Porsche, a yellow Firebird and a Camaro.

He sits on the side of the bed next to his pregnant friend
They're talking and laughing and happy.
He's drinking beer. He's probably high.

Bang. There's a boy in a car and one kills him.

She too is in bed, the brunette. She's reading. She's comfortable.
She's safe. She's content.

One goes to the electric gate to keep guard
She spies the dead boy in the car.
The three others go around the back and break in.

He's laying on the big beige sofa in a mescaline daze
He too is safe, he too is content.

One enters and sees a man on a big beige sofa, seemingly asleep.
Another one checks the bedrooms and sees the beautiful mother-to-be in bed chatting to her friend who is probably high sitting on the side. And she sees the brunette in another bed in another room, immersed in a book yet she looks up and waves. The another one goes back and informs the other two that there are three others in the house.

Somewhere in the distance a coyote howls. The only sound for miles.

The one holds a gun to the head of the man dozing on the big beige sofa.
Who are you?
I'm the devil and I'm here to do the devil's business.

The neighbours will recall hearing screams.

Just ordinary Friday night screams.