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The Friday Night Apocalypse Stew

Back in the early 70s in my early 20s while working at a lock and key factory in North Philly, I lost the inspiration to write, and came back to it partly by working on song lyrics, lyrics that there was no music for. Later, after 50, not that long ago, I picked up the guitar and started to play and think of some music. It takes me a long time. Perhaps I’m the last rose of summer. I am just about ready to start unfolding petals.

A white trash witch named Dolly was my baby
Every day she read my cards
She said, “Don, soon the end’s gonna come
And the end is often hard
Though to begin or end are painlessly the same
Most of us only get as far
As a sacrificial torture rack before nothingness
Life the whip lash, we the scar.”

And Dolly had a baby
Uncircumcised she raised him up
She said, “Liberty’s desire manifested physically
Boy, you walk the streets with a hard-on.”
Then she conjured up a thunderstorm
Consumed its fire, drank its rain
That was when some Christians came
To burn a cross and pray
Well, the cross burned so bright that though it was night
Well, it could have been the day
When Dolly, “Son, there’s no right or wrong
You can do just what you want, baby
But watch a blind child tear apart what is closest to his heart
See his hate intensely loving
In his oven jelly-rolling Jews, baby.”

The Fuehrer and his lady
Thought it best to rise at dawn
To pour the gas and strike the match
An put their makeup on.
The Pekingese was barking
Such a cute dog, so well bred
Isn’t it the perfect day
To put a bullet through his head?

“O dear Eva, we make such a pretty flame
But don’t you know for one more kiss
Well, I’d do it all again
Though I’d be careful who I swallowed
I’d be sure with whom I ate
And I’d always know who I was gunning down
When I did it in the street
No, it’s never wise to hypnotize
Those who walk a vicious dog
Or seek them follow those silent souls
Who write their talking on the walls
They don’t mean anything at all
Walls crumble after all
Just like when empires fall
They don’t mean anything at all.”

When I first started to put music to this song, I discarded the original first stanza because it seemed too long. My nephew Daniel suggested that I add it again when we performed. So the original is back. Here we are where we started. In my early 20s I thought I was something of an Anti-Christ and wanted to shock the hell out of everybody. This isn’t my goal today, but I am going to let what is already here stay.

Lady Pizarro played the piano
laid me adagio across her bed.
She sang, “I just had you sold
fort a coin of gold
and five minutes worth of head.
Come on in, my faggot Jew boy
bring your severed bind guru.”
Well, my Inca knows
and he lays them low
then he shows me what to do.

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