This song started with me dropping my head into my hands, addressing a friend who was not present but who was being talked about by a pair of caring but exasperated friends, saying, “Sheena… no… Sheena.”

You probably get the drift.

But no vexation is so troubling — or irritating — that it can’t be turned into art. Well, maybe not art, exactly, in this case. But something trapped in the no man’s land between edification and amusement, yet somehow probably failing both.

Sheena eventually quit her wild ways, grew up, settled down, and, last time I checked was a happy suburban soccer mom.

She was lucky.

 

Sheena No Sheena (No Sheena No)

Sheena was a spy
for the FBI
her contact never showed
and she never wondered why

but the saucer people came
and the hours just disappeared
the dreams began again
and the eyes behind the mirrors

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no

the house began to talk
and the giant spiders came
she went out for a walk
she was gone for seven days

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no

in the morning she was fine
her eyes were bright and clear
I’ve got two left she cooed to me
and dropped one in her beer

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no