In the Eaves of the Fall

I: Prelude

Wake up: Are you really there?
The voices are telling you otherwise
(what voices?)
Flesh is pocked with midnight scars
Carved your middle name across the crook of your arm
You won’t forget who you are
(about to become)
It’s raining in the wings
Drag yourself to your feet
Wipe the layer of dust from your cheek
(Enter Stage Left)

II: In Which Our Hero Sheds a Tear (or two)

Okay, so let’s set the scene
A pitiful protagonist stumbles and falls on scarred knees
Wipes his brow with a blood-stained handkerchief
Fumbles with a pocket watch that is ticking in reverse
Counting the fleeting seconds of past days
His happiness is always just out of reach
(canned laughter)
A bead of sweat rolls off his furrowed brow
And lands with a small splash upon the floorboards
Beneath they are waiting to make an entrance
Through a creaking trapdoor hinged with misery
Their smiles will not falter
Faces painted, they will tease
‘Such a morose man! Nowhere to go, no one to see!
Such a horrid hunchback, drowning in self pity!’

III: Oh My!

How can I share these terrible things that lurk inside the dungeon of my mind?
You would all turn your faces away in shame
But no, I wouldn’t lay the slightest blame
When you hauled this sorrowful bag of bones to the guillotine
Let the keen edge of the blade lacerate
Severe the head from the neck – and not a second too late!
Oh no, I wouldn’t shudder at the songs you would sing
Telling the tale of the beast that was slain
In all honesty I would most likely do the same
Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!
How time does fly
Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!
How glorious the man does die!

IV: Escapism

Dear _____,
I seemed to have fled the clutches of the carrion feeders
But the ghosts of the maidens fair
Do haunt my sleepless dreams
How can one cease to remember?
If you do know, please tell
I’ve had about enough of this torment
My poor soul can’t take much more…
Love ________.

V: A Candle Burns upon the Altar

With these wounded hands
I do beg you
With the rosary wrapped tight around my wrists
I do beg you
Please, please, please
Oh lord! Have mercy!
Have mercy, I,
I beg you…

VI: Interlude

(Bugger this I’m off to the pub!)

VII: Sur Avec le Spectacle!

Come one, come all
It’s all here:
Incriminating photographs, a dresser draw, a gun!
Oh the mystery, the magic, the miserable and the tragic
Our protagonist has life in him yet!
Left behind a blood-stained trail of bodies and regret
But what does the future hold for this poor tramp!
Will he find redemption? Secure his place in Heaven?
Or burn in the fires of Hell for evermore?
(crowd cheers)

VIII: The Billhook Blues

(to the tune of The Laughing Policeman)
I have a trusty billhook
It is so big and grand
Sever a limb, cut a throat, take off your very hand!
I have a trusty billhook
It is so big and sharp
Castrate a child, whack a wife, it’s coming in the dark!
I have a trusty billhook
It is my one true love
I have a trusty billhook
Watch out from above!
(audience gasps)

IX: Victorian Swoon

Rose petals fall like crimson rain
This umbrella cannot keep me from the cherub cupid’s reach
I swore this wouldn’t happen
My heart is too frail, too weak
To beat down your door like the arm of the law
But I’m afraid it’s too late to retreat….

X: From the Bottom of a Well (my baby sings)

Oh darling, what am I to do?
Plant a tender kiss upon your lips
Or send for magician – to cut you into two
And make you disappear, like a disheveled, disowned son
A lonely dove will sing
“What was good enough for two, now only pleases one”

XI: I Shall Reap Revenge upon Your Belligerent Soul and Your Seven Beautiful Daughters

Sir, as you lie here dying, let me read to you from this stained scrap of parchment…
I: Bled to death from a wound of a gun
II: Melancholic from that loss, herself she did kill (boo hoo hoo)
III: Taken by the tumultuous waves of a stormy sea
IV: Insane from syphilis gifted by a handsome whore
V: She was buried alive!
VI: Absinth, sugar and deadly nightshade – what a delightful mix!
 VII: Skull bashed in by a hired brute named Bevin

XII: Finale

Wipe off the makeup: wallow in despair
The voices had one more surprise
(oh the voices!)
Flesh is sallow and sagging under the eyes
Carved a legacy upon your heart
You won’t ever forget who you are
(never going to be)
It’s soaked with blood in the broken wings
Sigh, and skip the last six feet
And speak the name you held between your cheeks
(Exit Stage Left)

(repeat steps I through XII until the end of time)
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Brecon Road

I bow my head and scuff my sneakers along the autumn damp asphalt
Blowing plumes of spectral-like smoke as I meander miserably by
I stood smoking outside of your house
Peering through trees at the curtained window
Where behind I fumbled inebriated in your bed
And chased you onto the frosted floor
I can’t help but wonder how attractive your little sister must be by now
Well someone has to answer my curtain call

Upon the sidewalk I’m dissipating into the orange glow of the streetlamp
Ghostly remnants reminiscing to when you showed him your dirty underwear
While I just sat and stared helplessly
A hapless boy not hitting a home run
Now I’m fleeing from wedding receptions
And making worthless vows yearning for somewhere fictional

If the words are worth the wasted breath
I think I smoke too little and think too much
My best friend is a pen that I can’t even hold in the right hand
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Orange Jumpsuit Death Dance (Immorality not Immortality)

It’s Me Versus Myself
The guillotine and the severed head
Didn’t just choose to play with knives but to make love to the blade
Bleeding all over the dash while I steer the ambulance trying to keep a straight face
In short; I’ve fucked myself and I’m keeping the baby
Rosemary had it easy compared to this
Sex-bead rosary’s clutched tight in a calloused fist
Full of second guesses never receiving even fleeting glances
I think van Gogh had it right
Starry starry night, paint your pallet with blue and lead
What I wouldn’t give just to die in my old town
On a miserable morning in July
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Prisoner's Cinema

Enveloped by the blanket of late dusk
Spring storm murdered the incandescent light
Of the neighborhood mid-chapter
The spidery fingers of the palm rake unforgiving
Across the only small window
Thoughts start to wander like an inquisitive dog
Close your eyes and watch the dancing lights
Flicker, skip and morph into something semi-coherent
The interior narrator whispers softly,
Did you do the right thing last December?
When you left her on that dismal day in Paris?
The only contact you now have with her
Are your eyes meeting fleetingly from a heavily creased Polaroid
Taken by a stranger with a cigarillo infront of the Eiffel Tower
But you just had a feeling didn’t you?
The rain comes harder now, battering the tiled roof
Took directions from your misled heart again?
Thought you were doing the right thing?
What are your thoughts now?
What are they?
A thick bolt of Miami lightning tears across the ominous sky
You count the seconds between the flash and the thunder
Are all the swift sporadic exits caused by questionable intuition
Just a side effect of sensory deprivation?
Just keep telling yourself that.
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