Three Songs
from
Lambslide
Lambslide is William Blackart, Justen Roberts, and Jordan
Who Will Watch Me?
Stood in the desert tonight.
Nothing but sand and the moonlight.
She was a dancer, it was good.
An act unholy, but Lord it felt right.
But who will hold me,
Who will watch me,
When you’re gone?
Who will touch me,
Who will watch me,
When you’re gone?
Something cold touched me tonight.
Walked through the funhouse alone.
He performed magic, it was good.
Distorted bodies, sweat glistening in our eyes.
But who will touch me,
Who will watch me,
When I’m wrong?
Who will kiss me,
Who will watch me,
When I’m wrong?
Once the storm cleared, I drove back home.
Racing, thought I’d never get out.
Rain drowned the floorboards
And the streets downtown.
Looked in the rearview,
Whole city’d been blacked out.
You wrapped around me, it was good.
Evoke the secret chords,
I bind these hands of mine.
Who will kiss me,
Who will watch me,
When you’re gone?
Who will love me,
Who will watch me,
When you’re gone?
November 9
We thought we had it made.
Hit the clown right on his nose.
We cut the cake, and we poured the champagne.
Little did we know.
The world stood on a pin,
Reaching for an ancient stone.
In our sugared eyes, we’d reached the end.
Little did we know.
A flash of black,
The horizon cracked,
And we all came tumbling down.
Stretched out thin,
The waves of limbs,
All writhing on the ground.
We thought we had it made
Cruising straight the narrow road.
Who’d have thought a pothole’d be our grave?
Little did we know.
But love like life won’t stop
She’ll come down from her cherry throne
The timeline of this trial bends towards the light
Little do they know.
Do you know?
A cold grey sky,
The fields gone dry,
A hatred sparks and spreads.
But the clouds open
As the snow descends.
It’s time to start again.
Strange tango
Dance your strange tango on your tippy-toes
In the hydrant’s spray where we met.
Smell the little care and charcoal in the air.
Please wave to me, I’ve been waiting.
You’re a bangle bright on a hot summer night.
Now that I’ve seen you, I must pray,
And stand here every day outside this crap cafe.
Back to life, you bring and bring these streets.
I can’t watch, not like this.
You blow some perv a kiss.
I have more than lint and change to give.
Blow your horn, smile, or fume. Just spend each yellow afternoon
On the porch with me, listening,
As the pleased wind of G-d makes the wheat fields applaud.
Each sigh dripping through a stained ceiling.
Like a teenager’s first car, I’ve hallowed my father’s farm,
And for you the same, my god how great you are.
So what’s your call? You can fold, grab your coat, and then walk,
Or you can bet it all.
No more tending. No more well-groomed weeds.
Let my work speak. Let my work speak.
And when we’re old and gray, withered on the vine.
You’ll fall to sleep, and I’ll be close behind.