Skip to content

“One Crowded Hour”

22 June 2011

By Augie March

Now should you expect to see something that you hadn’t seen
In somebody you’d known since you were sixteen;
If love is a bolt from the blue, then what is that bolt but a glorified screw?
And that doesn’t hold nothing together.

Far from these nonsense bars and their nowhere music it’s making me sick,
And I know it’s making you sick .
There’s nothing there, it’s like eating air ,
It’s like drinking gin with nothing else in,
And that doesn’t hold me together.

But for one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room ,
And I sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom.
I thought I had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June,
But one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin.

And I know you like your boys to take their medicine
From the bowl with a silver spoon,
Who run away with the dish and scale the fish by the silvery light of the moon,
Who were taught from the womb to believe till the tomb
That as far as their bleeding eyes see
Is a pleasure pen, meant for them, builded and rent for them,
Not for the likes of me,
Not for the like of you and me.

And for one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room,
And I sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom.
I thought I had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June,
But one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin

Oh, but the green-eyed harpy of the salt land,
She takes into hers my hand.
She says, “Boy, I know you’re lying
Oh, but then, so am I,”
And to this I said, “Oh well.”

Now, put me in a cage full of lions, I’d learn to speak lion.
In fact I know the language well;
I picked it up while I was versing myself in the languages they speak in hell.
That night, the silence gave birth to a baby;
They took it away to her silent dismay,
And they raised it to be a lady.
Now she can’t keep her mouth shut.

And for one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room,
And I sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom.
I thought I had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June,
But one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin

For one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room.
Well, I played a few songs for those bumps in the night,
In fact, I played this very tune.
You said, “What is this six-stringed instrument but an adolescent loom?”
And one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin.

Advertisements
No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: