My friend Verne was here playing murder ballads on her banjo, so I wrote one!
lyrics
Oh the last time that I saw my lover alive
WAs a pallid sunny day in fall
Into my hand he slipped his mother's wedding band
All set with a turquoise skull.
All acid in our kiss, and whiskey on our lips,
We pinwheeled off into the growing dark.
We rang the brassy bell on the old glass carousel
And married in the Brooklyn Bridge park.
I was sixteen when I first saw that man
Strong as a tree, with red chucks and Ray-Bans.
I climbed up on him, broke my dear old daddy,
Wrapped my legs around him , rode him to the city.
To the city with my big man.
Oh I loved him, I was so young then.
Still I loved him. I am older now.
I once loved him, but I've learned a thing or two.
Oh my lover laid his head upon our wedding bed.
He snored so loud it shook the empty room.
The floorboards heaved a sigh and the lone bulb cast its light
Upon the perfumed token of our doom.
Tucked beside his heel, like a dagger, cold as steel:
Oily words upon a rosy page,
Fifteen filthy lines from my sister Caroline,
Twice my size but only half his age.
"My lover," said she, "I miss you terribly,
I hope that wedding fools my sister good.
Still her wild heart, then forsake that silly tart,
And come to me just like you said you would."
I clawed the air for the bedside table,
Lights flickered low as a votive candle,
Groped in the drawer for the ivory handle
Of my mama's pistol with the 8-inch barrel.
8-inch barrel at my big man.
Oh I loved him, I was so young then.
Still I loved him, I am older now.
Once I loved him, but he'll learn a thing or two.
My lover, he died, with that gun between his eyes
I pulled the trigger, didn't shed a tear.
I fled the sordid scene as the sirens filled the eve,
But as I left I whispered in his ear:
I love you
I love you
I'd have loved you
I'd have loved you
I'd have been your lovin' wife, right 'til the day you died
But cross me and you'll cross the river Styx.
I'm young and I'm sweet and I'm ripe as a peach,
But bite too hard you'll get the bitter pit.
Hello, and welcome to my lair. The story of my life is long and confusing, much like my digestive tract, and my animal-name.
I won't bore you with the details, suffice it to say that I am a prowling, howling, Brooklyn beast. The full moon makes me want to sing with reckless abandon and eat arepas. This wolf is looking for shows and new friends. Howl at the desolate sky if you can provide either!...more
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