reinhold horst from essen writes:
found the website and downloaded
now happy to listen all day
to the deep ocean of a dead band
he wants more history
more more more please
well, hold on to your lederhosen
here’s a story for you reinhold:
in plymouth california on an abandoned walnut farm
in a big house with vaulted ceilings overlooking
a dark pond where the dead elizabeth grace once emerged
naked and dripping in all of her perfect way
max and byron were hiding in the master bedroom
writing music with a guilty feeling, hearts pounding
hurry hurry before he comes home let’s set the bridge
max’s fingers fumbling out a bass line
byron singing in a tense whisper
the sound of a car on the long dirt road.
coming nearer — it’s him. jesus christ.
everything put away and byron runs for his upstairs bedroom
doors closed. sitting on beds. waiting.
the front door swings open
‘honey i’m home!’
max and byron shrink and clench
like mussels torn from their shells
an arm clears the counters down in the kitchen
plates and glasses bottles and jars all
glass smashing on the floor and now
he kicks a hole in the wall.
up the stairs.
byron’s door kicked open –
‘FUCK YOU!’ comes the scream
and the door slams shut again.
the house is silent.
byron goes to work.
the next morning the car sound fades
and brings byron and max out
on goes the bass amp and out comes the microphone
guilty guilty hurry and back to the bridge
ten days left to live this way
ten days of guilty little mice
chewing out the first three songs
tails twitching at every sound
fleeing when the dirt road rings
with the thunder of The Demon
captain wilson cries out loud
you have shot my brothers down
you know i’m not real i couldn’t be real
i’m just getting better at keeping my picture steady
feel strange really feel strange
falling head a hundred foot flames
and the brickbats fell
they drove away
and then, they say
the lamb that day
became the sheep.