Black Dahlia

The stage is bathed in blood red light, the air is thick with smoke and the scent of leather and sweat. And your front row center, lost in the dark, sensual rythym of the music. The air hums with energy. Nicks lips brush against the mic as he hypnotizes the audience. Dan's head is banging to the deep thrum of his guitar. Johns hands are a blur as he hammers out rythym on his drums. Your eyes are closed, then you feel Nicks hand against your cheek as he leans close, to pull you onto the stage.