"So, any idea on where you'd like to go?" *Besides my place, or your place. Heck, anywhere dark, quiet, and private.*

"Actually--yes. I had somewhere I planned on going Friday during the day and evening. You're welcome to come with me, if you like," she offered.

"Shopping?"

Mozell snorted. "Do I dress like a mall rat? No. One of the things that attracted me to Vegas was the fact that it's Convention City, and there's one this weekend I intend to hit."

*Urgh. Seminars on arcane computer and electronic stuff. Oh, well--the fifties dating guides suggested trying to get involved in your partner's interests.* "Computer techs?"

"I'm sure some of them are. They're having the Sci-FiHorrorFantacon at Circus, Circus."

Greg gaped. "That's right! Man, I had completely forgotten about that! That'll be great. We can spend the day, then have dinner and maybe go to a club, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan. Come in costume, and you get deep discounts on a lot of things."

Greg frowned. "Crap! I don't have time to dig up a costume."

"Are you kidding me? Got an old lab coat you don't need any more?"

"Yeah, there's a spare that got pretty badly stained."

"Splash some red food coloring on it, muss your hair a little more, grin like a maniac, and go as a mad doctor."

He rubbed his hands. "This is going to be good! So, what's your address?"

"It'll be easier if we meet there."

*Crap.*

"How about right outside the place at, say, nine?"

"Looking forward to it." There was a pinging sound from across the hall. "Whups! Gotta go."

Mozell watched Greg stroll across the hall. *Oh, I do believe I detect a bit of a strut there, Greggy. Veeery good. I had a hard time not jumping up and doing the Snoopy dance. In fact...* She got up and shut the door, then hopped up and down joyfully. "Eee-ha! I got a cute one on the hook, and he's legal, and has a job, and everything!"

She sat back down. She considered spinning in her chair, but decided not to risk her knees in the close confines of the office. *I just hope I don't either scare him, or convince him that I'm the Whore of Babylon. Cause as sweet as you are, doll, I don't drop my panties on demand for anyone. Kinda hope you don't feel the same, though. It'll save a lot of time if I don't have to actually molest you.* She sighed. *Subtle is nice, but it takes so much time.*

She sighed. *And I just realized I'm going to have to unpack like a madwoman, in case I manage to lure him back to the house. Not that I mind him seeing it in the state it's in, it's just that there aren't many uncluttered flat surfaces if I get feeling, mmm, spontaneous. Oo, and there's a question--do I buy my own supplies, just in case we do go back to my place, things get frisky, and he hasn't thought to bring anything with him?* She thought. *Ah, I bet he started planning a trip to the drugstore the minute I said yes, the sweet thing. Speaking of sweet things, I wonder how adventurous he is? Maybe I ought to grab a bottle of chocolate syrup on the way home...*

The Next Day--Wednesday Night

Nick peered into the paper sack. "Greg, what sort of test are you doing that you need two tubes of red food dye?"

"I'll take that, thank you." Greg took the bag away from him and stuffed it in the pocket of his lab coat.

"You're not going to drink those, are you?" asked Warrick. "I don't think the alcohol content is high enough to do you much good."

"Laugh all you want," said Greg complacently. "That's going to help me slink my way into the heart of yonder fair computer tech." He gestured across the hall. Nick and Warrick glanced over. Mozell happened to look up and catch their gaze. She immediately lifted her arms over her head, wrists turned gracefully inward, palms to ceiling in the classic ballet pose, cocking her head. Then she went back to her work.

"Greg," said Warrick, "I don't think any slinking need be involved.

"I want to know just how you think this stuff is going to help you when you go a'courtin'," insisted Nick.

"Well..." Greg went to the door, twiddling his fingers at Mozell before shutting it. He quickly used his hands to smooth his unruly hair into a slightly less chaotic state, then pulled a pair of wire rimmed glasses from his jacket pocket and donned them. "Picture me wearing a tie, and the lab coat generously splashed with red." He spread his arms. Warrick and Nick exchanged looks. "C'mon, guys! Don't either of you watch horror movies?"

"I prefer action," said Warrick.

"If I go with a woman, I don't pay much attention to the movie," added Nick.

Greg gave a martyred sigh. "Reanimator." Nothing. "Bride of the Reanimator?" Still nothing. "Oh, come on, guys! I'm gonna be Doctor Herbert West!"

There was a pause. Then Warrick and Nick muttered various statements such as, "Sure." "Yeah, I see it now." "How could I miss it?"

"You two are hopelessly main stream." He glanced fondly toward the closed door. "I bet she'll recognize it."

"I think she'll have a good chance," remarked Nick. "She was reading a Fangoria magazine in the break room yesterday. One with an exploding head on the cover..."

"Oo, yeah!" enthused Greg. "That's a collector's item. That's something else neat about her--a lot of people would just keep it sealed in plastic, but she reads it."

"Yeah, well, Sara asked her to put it away because it was ruining her appetite."

Warrick said, "And what was Mozell's response to this?"

"She blew a bubble, snapped her gum, and said that it was foam latex and blood squibs, and was Sara sure she'd chosen the right profession? But she did fold the magazine to hide the cover."

Greg blinked. "That issue was worth $150.00 the last time I saw it offered anywhere for sale. You can't find an issue now unless it's maybe on eBay. She likes alternative music, swears in different languages, collects horror magazines, attends fan conventions in costume, works on computers, is a smart ass, flirts, has breasts, and admits to not being a virgin. She's a geek's goddess! If she can cook anything more complicated than boiled water, I'm marrying her, and if she can't--I'll live with her."

Amused, Nick said, "She might have something to say about that, Greg."

"What? It'll just require one or two words--either yes, or I do."

Warrick shook his head. "Or it could be 'no', or 'you're nuts'."

Greg just smiled. "I have a feeling that she'd see nuts as a plus." He was whistling as they left the lab.

Nick and Warrick, out in the hall, exchanged looks. Nick said, "Shouldn't we have warned him that she's planning to take him to a karaoke bar?"

Warrick shook his head. "She specifically asked us not to."

They knew because Mozell had been studying a phone directory when they, Sara, and Catherine had gone to the break room the day before. Catherine had peered over her shoulder and said, "Karaoke? Funny, you don't look Japanese."

"I've consumed enough anime to qualify. You don't have to be Japanese to enjoy karaoke."

"No," said Sara, "but it helps to have a high tolerance for cheese."

Mozell, unsurprisingly, wasn't fazed. "You ought to see my nachos, Sideboard. They look like cheese soup with chips and peppers."

"I have to agree with Sara on this," said Catherine. "Karaoke makes me think of leisure suits."

"Only on Disco Themed nights. That gives me an excuse to break out the hot pants, puka shells, and platform shoes."

"No tube top?" Sara's tone was snide.

"Nope. I jump up and down when I sing ABBA." She casually leaned back, letting her bosom push forward. "Some people don't have to worry about popping out in those situations," she darted a glance at Sara's shirtfront, "I'm not one of them."

Nick said, "I had a date bring me to one of those once. She did Celine Dion. I still have nightmares."

"I like to think of myself as non-judgmental," said Warrick, "but I have to join the majority on this one."

"The only reason I'd go into a karaoke bar would be if it was on fire and someone was trapped inside," said Sara.

"Well, Sidelong, I, personally, can think of nicer fates worse than death, but whatever floats your boat." Mozell tapped a page. "Kokomo Karaoke. Friday nights they have specials on any drink served with a paper umbrella, and they have pint sized Mai Tais. Greg and I are so there." She got up and left.

Grissom entered right after her. "Why was she muttering about getting someone drunk and having her wicked way with them?"

Greg paid for the privilege of parking in the garage that was attached to he casino, rather than risking trying to find a space on the street. With a good sized convention, open spaces were going to be few and far between, and he had no desire to waste time looking for a space, then hiking back to the casino.

Once he was parked, he spread his lab coat out on some newspapers, and checked to be sure that the heavy swatches of denim from an old pair of jeans were still pinned in place. He didn't want to risk losing a shirt if the dye seeped through, He could have doused the jacket the day before, but he'd decided that he wanted to have the stains fresh and moist--the effect would be better. He took the two tubes of red food dye and generously dripped and splattered it on the jacket, sitting back several times to study the effect. Finally satisfied, he got out of the car, donned the jacket and prop glasses, and started toward the casino entrance.

There was more of a bustle near the entrance than there usually was on a weekday, due to the convention. He couldn't help but grin when he saw that a lot of the people going in were in costume. As he approached he noticed a Jedi, a Jason, and two Star Trek crewmen (one Original Series and on Next Generation) entering--but he didn't see Mozell anywhere. Perhaps she'd gone inside? There was a red headed woman in a neat, dark pantsuit standing near the doors, and he went to her. "Excuse me, ma'am, but have you seen a woman here who seemed to be waiting for someone?"

She turned and looked at him. In a bland, level voice she said, "Doctor West, your pick-up lines could use a little work."

Greg blinked, peering closer. "Mozell?"

She lifted a laminated card that was clipped to her lapel. "Special Agent Dana Scully to you, Goreboy. My partner has an X File with your name on it. He thinks you're involved with some weird sort of experimentation with bringing back the dead, but I'm of the opinion that you're a garden-variety sex fiend. I hope, I hope, I hope."

Greg laughed. "You are so cool."

She smiled. "Gotcha, huh?"

"I had no idea. That red hair fooled me entirely."

She patted it. "Cost me almost fifty bucks, but it's worth it. It'll do duty for Halloween for years to come. I had to style the damn thing myself, though. You'd think that with the success of X Files there would be an easily accessible Scully wig out there somewhere."

"And you recognized me!"

"Hey, how could I not? God, I love Reanimator! The movie that gave whole new meaning to the term 'giving head'. Now, let's get going. I want to check out the dealer's room before all the good stuff is gone."

They got inside, heading for the dealer's room, and were almost immediately closed upon by three men--one short with thinning hair and specs, one tall with glasses and long blonde hair (dressed like a roadie), and one with a beard who was dressed like a very well paid accountant. Greg, being no fool, recognized the Lone Gunmen (or their clones) immediately.

Greg was a little worried for a second, thinking they might be crazed fans who'd mistaken Mozell for Gillian Anderson (she laughed when he told her that later). Mozell acted quickly, she reached into her jacket, pulled out a gun, went into an approved firing stance, and shot each one in the chest in rapid succession--with candy pellets. They laughed. The blond one said, "Serves us right. We should have remembered she comes armed."

The bearded one examined the pellet. "I thought they quit making ammunition for those hazards after they took them off the market."

"They did--but PEZ makes a good substitute." She shot a pellet into her own palm, then popped it in her mouth. Chewing, she told Greg. "I quit shooting them into my mouth after I almost choked on one."

"I hate to be a party pooper, but carrying any sort of gun, toy or otherwise, in a casino is not a good idea," said Greg.

"Greg, it's yellow plastic. If it looked the least bit realistic, I wouldn't have risked it. But I'll put it up." She tucked it away.

The trio started talking all at once. "McClain! This is where you moved?" "New costume! You look terrific!" "Shouldn't you be with a Mulder facsimile instead of a splatter punk?"

"Hey!" said Greg.

Mozell greeted each man with a hug. "Yes, this is where I ended up. I finished my degree, and I can now say that my employment is actually gainful. This is a colleague. Let me introduce y'all. Herbert West, AKA Greg Sanders, this is Byers, Frohike, and Langley, also known as Jim Robertson, Leslie Benoit, and Duane Hebert. Great group concept, guys. But Jim, if you get separated from the others, you'll have a hard time convincing them that you ought to get the costumed discount." He shrugged good-naturedly.

The Langley clone was watching Mozell with shy admiration. "You look better in that than Gillian does. I like it."

She arched an eyebrow. "As much as the Valkyrie costume I was wearing the first time we met?"

He blushed. *It's him,* Greg thought. *She said she did it the first time at a convention in costume. Damn! First date and we run into her old flame! What god have I pissed off now? On the plus side, he is a lot younger than she is, so maybe my chances are good.*

She'd turned to Greg. "It was awful. I had a wig made of yarn--a big, thick braid down my back, like Duo from Gundam Wing, but white."

'Langely' gave a dreamy smile. "It was great. The leather grained naugahyde looked really authentic."

"Creased my skin like I'd fallen asleep on a chenille spread, though. Took forever for the marks to fade."

The blonde man blushed again. "Sure did."

*I think I dislike him,* thought Greg.

"Mozell, are you doing anything later?" 'Langely' continued.

*Oh, please don't let me get dumped for a fictional conspiracy theorist.*

"Yep." She slung an arm around Greg's shoulders. "Got an all day date going on with this gorgeous stud here.

*Oh, ho! I just got a 'you lucky bastard' look!*

"I've located one of my specialty bars for later."

*And now the look just went to 'you damn lucky bastard' with a little 'you're in for it now'. I wonder what that's all about?*

The five went into the dealer's room together. Mozell made a beeline for a table that was selling back issues of horror magazines.

Leslie Benoit, the Frohike of the group, noticed that Greg's eyes narrowed every time Duane got within three feet of Mozell. "She hooked ya, huh?" he said shrewdly.

Greg regarded him with amusement and a touch of exasperation. "Really take after your screen persona, don't you? I haven't even known her a week."

He shrugged. "How long does it take? Duane was thoroughly under after two days at the convention. I think if they'd lived in the same state, he'd have tried to hook up with her seriously, but..." he shrugged again. "She made it pretty clear that she liked him a lot, but she wasn't interested in anything more serious right then. That was five years ago. We've all stayed friends through the net, and hooked up at conventions a few times. Duane's got a steady girlfriend now, but I dunno if he'll ever completely get over Mozell." He grinned. "He was a twenty-two year old virgin when they met. He won't talk about it much, doin' the gentlemanly thing, but from what I gather, even if Mozell didn't have any practical experience either, she had lots of theories."

Greg's eyebrows came down, and he gripped the collar of the shorter man's leather jacket, pulling him up on tiptoe. "Excuse me?"

"Calm down, Romeo. I have the greatest respect for the woman, and absolutely no ambitions toward her bod. I'm gay."

"Oh." Greg released him. "Sorry."

"Don't mention it, cutie."

"Did you by any chance give her a poster just before she moved?"

He beamed. "Yeah! My lover's a graphic artist. He did it special for her."

"He's very talented."

"I'll tell him you said so."

Mozell came back. "Newest edition of The Psychotronic Handbook and two issues of Deep Red."

"Deep Red?" said Greg.

"You don't know Deep Red? Oh, you poor deprived child. This is a pull-no-punches horror media mag. One review of Dracula's Dog said that it sucked farts out of dead cats' asses."

"That's honesty."

"You damn betcha. What next?"

"Tom Savini is giving a talk," volunteered Jim.

"Where? I didn't see him on the list!" she yelped.

"Calm down! He's a last minute guest."

"Damn it! Why don't people tell me these things?! I could have brought my copy of Grande Illusions or Creepshow for autograph. Do you suppose he'll sign my chest?"

"From what I've heard," said Greg, "Probably." *And I don't guess I'll be able to smack him if he does, considering that he's famous and all that.*

It turned out he didn't have to worry about that. The crowd was so huge that they weren't able to get anywhere near the stage. They all had lunch together. Greg sat on Mozell's right, and Leslie quickly slipped in on her left--earning him a glare from Duane and a smirk from Greg.

After that there was a special effects seminar. Greg volunteered and got a very realistic, very juicy looking black eye applied. When he went back to his seat, Mozell petted his shoulder and murmured, "Poor, hurt baby."

*Maybe I should have gotten Duane to take a swat at me.* After lunch there was the costume contest, and they hung around for that. Mozell knew that her costume was too subtle to stand a chance, and Greg wasn't going to compete since it meant that he'd have to be up on the stage, away from her, so they sat in the audience and cheered for her three friends. They ended up winning in the Group category--nice plaques and gift certificates. Greg finally decided that they were nice enough guys, but he was glad when they split off to go watch the movie marathon. He had nothing against group dates--back when he was in junior high.

As they stepped out of the casino, Greg said, "Where do you want to go for dinner?" He straightened his tie. "I have a jacket in the car, if you want to go somewhere nice."

"I dunno. Is there anywhere that will take checks or credit card?"

"Will you please not be ridiculous?"

"Why? That's when I'm my most charming. And you're right, I was being ridiculous. This is Vegas--of course they take credit cards."

"I mean that you will keep your cash and cash substitute in your cute little shoulder bag. This is a date. I only let you pay your own entrance fee because you'd already bought your ticket, and I only let you buy your own lunch because I couldn't afford to feed those three water buffalo we hooked up with, too. Date--guy pays. Okay?"

She smiled. "Old fashioned."

"When it counts."

"I'll have mercy on your wallet. Lead me to the nearest all-you-can-eat buffet, and prepare to be either appalled or impressed."

"I know a great Chinese buffet, and I happen to like it when a woman has an appetite."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna love me, then."

As they ate, Greg said, "You said you had some idea of where you wanted to go after?"

She smiled. "Yeeees."

"Uh-oh. Are you going to be dragging me to some sort of BD/SM club?"

"Why Greg, you sound hopeful. Nope, haven't been here long enough to locate one of those, but I have located one of my other favorite environments."

"That would be?"

"You'll find out."

A little later they were standing somewhere Greg had honestly never considered he would be--a karaoke bar. There was a man who bore a distinct resemblance to Ernest Borgnine on the dais singing an off key version of 'I'm Gonna Make You Love Me'. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to a music club? We could dance."

"I learned to dance during disco, Greg. Could you handle doing The Bump?"

"I think I could enjoy that."

"Next time. I want to sing tonight. Do you object?"

"Would it make any difference if it did?"

"Not really. I like you, and I want to finish the date, but I really want to sing."

"I have no problem with this at all. You are indicating that there will be a next time?"

"Hey, if you can still face the prospect when the evening is over, you betcha."

"There's a table near the dais. Waitress lady? Two of those big ass Mai Tais, please."

There was a small line to perform, so they'd finished the first drink before it was Mozell's turn, sitting through 'Walk Like An Egyptian', 'Stop! In the Name of Love', and an elevator music version of 'Hooked on a Feeling'. Greg had to grab Mozell's wrist to keep her from tossing peanuts at the last singer. She was of the opinion that the man who had once recorded that version should be hunted down and be hooked through various tender portions of his anatomy.

She was going to be up after the next singer, and said, "I'm not dressed appropriately for this." She stood and took off her jacket, then started unbuttoning her blouse. There were immediate whistles and howls. She arched her eyebrow, and called, "Don't get your hopes up," as she pulled off the shirt. Underneath she was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that had a line of kick-dancing neon green lizards across the front. "If I wanted to go topless, I could get paid for it."

She trotted up on the stage and took the microphone. "Hiii-dee! Ah'm just so proud to be here! I'm gonna do two songs..." there were a few groans, "and anyone who objects can wrassle me for the mike, but I warn you that I make a professional wrestling villain look like a paragon of restraint, sportsmanship, and fair play." That earned laughs.

"Now, then, I'm about to prove to you people that a country song can be sexy. Shameless."

Someone hollered, "Billy Joel did that!"

She yelled back, "I love Billy, but Garth made it his! And girls, if you can hear Garth sing this song and not get a tingle in interesting places--check your hormones."

She started to sing the song. She wasn't pitch perfect--there were a few places where she lagged a split second, or jumped in a smidge to fast, but she wasn't trying to sing pretty. She was selling it. *Ooo, and she's selling it to me!* Greg thought. *I haven't had this much eye contact since the last time I visited an optometrist, and he damn sure wasn't this sexy.* He gulped down his second Mai Tai.

She was just coming to the end. "Oh, I'm shameless, shameless as a girl can be. You can make a total fool of me. I just wanted to you to know. Oh, I'm shameless, I just wanted you to know. Oh, I'm shameless. Oh, I'm down on my knees..." And she did drop to her knees, earning yells of approval as she gazed right at Greg and warbled, "shameless..."

He was feeling distinctly warm, and turned to order another Mai Tai--to find Nick standing behind him, staring at the dais, open mouthed. "Nick! What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Uh... I know one of the waitresses." A waitress set Greg's Mai Tai on the table, and Nick smiled at her charmingly. "Hi."

"Cool it," she hissed. "My girlfriend is here, and she's jealous."

"Have a seat," Greg invited.

Nick did. "There's a little blonde trying to dispute Mozell for the mike, Greg."

"Brave little thing, isn't she?"

"Either that, or foolish, or drunk."

The crowd seemed to be in favor of Mozell continuing--that was if they were to go by the fact that a couple of large men (bouncers, Nick hoped) picked the challenger up and carried her out of the room. He'd turned to watch her exit, started, and said, "Warrick! What are you doing here?"

"Er... There's a really good Chinese place next door, and I spotted Greg's car outside, and he wasn't in the restaurant, so I thought I'd check here."

"Good enough excuse." Greg shifted his eyes to the other new arrival. "What about you, Catherine?"

"I came with Warrick. I was in the mood for take-away ribs," she said quickly.

"Yeah?" said Greg. "Where are they?"

"They were out."

"Riiiiight." Greg lifted his voice. "Sara, what's your reason?"

"Sara?" The other CSIs turned to look. Nick said, "Sara, come out from behind that potted plant."

Sara, looking irritated and embarrassed, said, "Oh, all right. It sounded like someone was being killed in here--I'm a CSI, so I came in to investigate."

Mozell waved from the dais. "Hey, guys! Sit down. Get Sara a drink. She looks like her bra is pinching again. Okay, my tribute to the great Meatloaf. I'd do Paradise by the Dashboard Lights, but that's more of a duet, so here we go."

The music was low and throbbing, her voice was husky, almost growling. "I was nothin' but a lonely girl, lookin' for somethin' new. And you were nothin' but a lonely boy, but you were somethin'--somethin' like a dream come true. You were the varsity tackle and a hell of a block, and when you played your guitar you made my little world rock. Oh, ev'ry Saturday night I felt the fever grow. Do ya know what it's like?" The question was low, intimate, suggestive. "All revved up with no place to go."

"I didn't think a girl could sing that song," Warrick whispered to Nick.

"Well, that girl apparently can," Nick whispered back. "Look at Greg." Greg, eyes never leaving the woman on stage, was upending a glass. "How the hell many of those has he had, anyway?"

"I don't know. I see... five umbrellas. She must've had at least two of them."

"Yeah, but he's starting to drink hers." Nick leaned over to him. "Greg, buddy, shouldn't you slow down?"

"But it's hot in here, Nick." He loosened his tie. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

Mozell was singing, "In the middle of a steamin' night I'm tossin' in my sleep. And in the middle of a red-eye dream I see ya comin'..." She crooked her fingers at Greg. "Comin' on ta give it to me!"

He rose slowly from his seat and started for the dais. Catherine murmured. "Good lord! It's like one of those Warner Brothers cartoons where Bugs Bunny smells perfume, then floats through the air after the scent."

Mozell grinned at him as he climbed up on the dais with her. The crowd had started clapping and stamping. There were a lot of cheerful drunks present, and they loved a show. She sang, "All revved up with no place to go. Do ya know what it's like? All revved up with no place to go."

She nodded to him vigorously, grabbed his collar, and held the microphone between them. Greg started singing with her. "Ah, baby I'm a hunter in the dark of the forest. I been stalkin' you and trackin' you down. Cruisin' up and down the main drag all night long. We should be standin' at the top of the world, instead of sinkin' further down in the mud. You," she pushed his chest, "and me," she bumped him with her shoulder, "round about midnight. You and me, round about midnight..." Their voices were rising in one accord. The noise in the bar was getting louder. "Someone got to draw first, draw first, someone got to draw first bloooooood..."

Greg lunged forward, kissing her hard and fast. Cheers erupted. He pulled back and crowed the next line, "Ooo, I got to draw first blood!"

Mozell was laughing so hard she couldn't sing most of the next verse. She finally caught her breath in time for the rapid-fire last verse. By then the entire bar, including Nick, was chanting the last line through its shouted repetitions. Catherine was smiling, shaking her head with a hand over her eyes. Warrick had to sit down, and Sara... Sara just looked stunned. When it was over, there was applause. Greg and Mozell held hands, bowing--Mozell tapping one toe behind herself in a mock curtsy.

"If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it."

All the CSI's turned and stared. Catherine spoke first. "Gil, what are you doing here?"

"There's a crime scene next door. They told me that a witness came over here for a drink."

Everyone smiled. "Yeah, right," Nick murmured.

A uniformed officer came up to him. "Mister Grissom, we've located the guy. He's throwing up in the restroom."

"Thanks." Gil looked at the others. "I'll be interested in hearing more about this tomorrow." He left.

Shameless
sung by Garth Brooks

Well I'm shameless when it comes to loving you
I'll do anything you want me to
I'll do anything at all

And I'm standing here for all the world to see
Oh baby, that's what's left of me
Don't have very far to fall

You know now I'm not a man who's ever been
Insecure about the world I've been living in
I don't break easy, I have my pride
But if you need to be satisfied

I'm shameless, oh honey, I don't have a prayer
Every time I see you standin' there
I go down upon my knees

And I'm changing, swore I'd never compromise
Oh, but you convinced me otherwise
I'll do anything you please

You see in all my life I've never found
What I couldn't resist, what I couldn't turn down
I could walk away from anyone I ever knew
But I can't walk away from you

I have never let anything have this much control over me
I work too hard to call my life my own
I have never let anything have this much control over me
I work too hard to call my life my own
And I've made myself a world and it's worked so perfectly
But it's your world now, I can't refuse
I've never had so much to lose
Oh, I'm shameless

You know it should be easy for a man who's strong
To say he's sorry or admit when he's wrong
I've never lost anything I've ever missed
But I've never been in love like this

It's out of my hands

I'm shameless, I don't have the power now
I don't want it anyhow
So I got to let it go

Oh, I'm shameless, shameless as a man can be
You make a total fool of me
I just wanted to you to know

Oh, I'm shameless, I just wanted you to know
Oh, I'm shameless, Oh, I'm down on my knees... shameless

All Revved Up With No Place to Go
sung by Meatloaf

I was nothing but a lonely boy looking for something new
And you were nothing but a lonely girl
But you were something
Something like a dream come true

I was a varsity tackle and a hell of a block
When I played my guitar
I made the canyons rock-but-
Every Saturday night
I felt the fever grow
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go

In the middle of a steaming night
I'm tossing in my sleep
And in the middle of a red-eyed dream
I see you coming
Coming on to give it to me

I was out on the prowl down by the edge of the track
And like a son of a jackal I'm a leader of the pack-but-
Every Saturday night
I felt the fever grow
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go

Oh, Baby, I'm a hunter in the dark of the forest
I've been stalking you and tracking you down
Cruising up and down the main drag all night long
We could be standing at the top of the world
Instead of sinking further down in the mud
You and me 'round about midnight
You and me 'round about midnight
Someone's got to draw first
Draw first
Someone's got to draw first blood
Someone's got to draw first blood
Oooh I got to draw first blood
Oooh I got to draw first blood

I was out on the prowl down by the edge of the track
And like a son of a jackal I'm a leader of the pack-but-
Every Saturday night
I felt the fever grow
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go
Do ya know what it's like
All revved up with no place to go

I was nothing but a lonely all-American boy
Looking for something to do
And you were nothing but a lonely all-American girl
But you were something like a dream come true
I was a varsity tackle and a hell of a block
And when I played my guitar I made the canyons rock
But every Saturday night
I felt the fever grow
All revved up with no place to go
All revved up with no place to go
All revved up with no place to go
All revved up with no place to go
All revved up with no place to go