by Matthew Hodges and Sander Timmermans
Strange times these are, strange times and cocaine, and it was times just like this that messed me up, so much so that I had to resort to cocaine to pull me right, fuck yea, right as a kite! My baby, you better make sure that when im done polishing this revolver, well you better make sure I cant fucking find you. So one shiny black shoe steps into the gutter while the other leans up flat against the wall as my faded blue jeans wrap my legs. I have no doubt that this filthy half tarred road recognizes me, I can almost hear it say “there he goes, ranting off about some crazy shit again”. Last drag and I flick the yellow to the ground, that was a fine smoke, just like the master blenders intended back then. So I stand a while leaning against the wall, eyes faced to the sky and I blow the last of the good blend out of my lungs. No clouds in sight, a gleaming 45 and the pride of Peru ripping through my veins, what more could you ask for. Mans best friend is loyalty, four legs and a tail or just a simple six shooter, I happen to trust the latter. My baby as much as I love you, good times are getting better so im setting us free, and theres a box, a pine box with your name on it, you see, im not an angry man, maybe edgy, but definitely not angry.
Walking up the road to the tune of broken glass under my heels while dogs bark furiously behind rusty gates, they bark and they bark but they are muted by the thumping of my adrenalin soaked heart, theres a gauntly old man on the corner waving his stick at me, slashing at my intentions and attacking my right to walk freely with a loaded gun in my hand. I was brought up with kettle lead respect, and swift kick in the poes manners, beaten into my head from an early age, so to the old man, I greet and I smile and I keep walking, walking to my baby. You know sweety, I cant stop loving you, what I can do though is stop you dead in your tracks. Heel, toe, heel, toe, im all machine and this road is mine, my shoes are polished, im a walking gun and im fuelled by endless yellow lines of uncut heaven. A smith n Wesson reflects the two o clock sun through my pitch black Ray Bans, heel, toe, heel, toe, I love you and im coming to show you. Caleb cuts into Barton and Barton into Victoria as my stride just swallows the streets, women clutching kids divide and run, but not as fast as their men. Who stops a flaming heart with two legs and a 45 walking through the streets of Woodstock? No one, no one in my Woodstock, I love these gutters and they love me and we have each others backs, but she just got in the way. So I walk, I walk hard and fast and I crack dead end jokes with myself and I scream in hysteria until the tears drip off my chin, then the hysteria subsides, but the tears they keep dripping, and then the rage comes, deep gut wrenching cocaine induced rage, and I walk, hard and fast. My legs are steel and im moving with ease now, cutting the air, theres no resistance and im on my way, im on my way my baby, im coming to show you. Pavements narrow up, they taper and disappear so I walk a dead straight line down the middle of the road, cars turn down one ways at the sight of the volatile grin on my face. Dead straight and hard, just like a machine, furious, vicious and savage just like love, a walking weapon that hammers the tar with every step closer to my baby. So I pass faces, faces that look alike, they all look alike because my chemically drenched brain is too numb to distinguish the contrasting features between acquaintances and people ive never met, and in the haze and in the deafening blur and in the tightening grip of some mind burning psychotic frenzy I drop to my knees, in this road I drop to my knees and I pray as hard as a man in his last hour, “oh dear God, give her to me please and make her mine, please make her mine dear God”. True sincerity only exists when every layer of skin has been cut away from your body, and your heart exposed and raw and burning from the air has nothing more to protect it.
On my knees now with gun in hand as Carrey street eyes look on, so I raise my head and get back on my feet and once again im all machine, “im a fucking machine” I shout “cant you see!!” and then I walk on and as I walk on i shout out again to all the Carrey street eyes and ears “im going to my baby, im going to show my baby”. Every stride now brings me closer, closer to home and closer to her. Charlie, Charlie yellow and rocky, Peru, Colombia, Brazil, across the sea straight into my face and into my brain down my arms and into my gun. So I know the way and my legs lead me there and I turn corner after corner until one final stretch of muscle burning road separates me from the great escape and freedom from this hell. I attack the stretch and march the slope as the adrenalin burns down through my veins and paralyzes every nerve in my body, im all weapon now and im coming, im coming to show you my baby. Im walking this long concrete plank now and im grinding my teeth to the roots and swallowing fillings, my right hand quivers and itches to push six rounds out of this barrel.
“Your pretty eyes
Your pretty eyes
At other guys
Was your demise
So pretty eyes
Pretty eyes
Lead for your lies
Lead for your lies”
I am closer now and the high pitched screaming in my head drowns the sickening convulsions of my heart in my chest, 34 is in sight, number 34 Roberts road, pepper tree, blue tin letter box and that half painted gate are within my reach. The neighbors are all out, they must be getting ready for the show, they best take their seats now because im ready, im ready to show my baby. As I arrive at 34 and as cocaine backdrops drip down inside my nasal passage and the blood runs steadily out of my nose, but i am invincible, i am all machine and i stand ready outside number 34 Roberts road, outside my babies door and outside of my mind, completely out of my mind. Banging and knocking, banging and knocking on this fucking door, “its me, its the postman, and i have a message for you!!” i shout, they wouldnt let me in otherwise, they wouldnt look at me and they wouldnt even spit my way. Screams and crying ring out from neighboring stoeps as this postman bangs a 45 calibre Smith n Wesson against the front door of 34 Roberts road. “Here we go, here we go Matthew” i grunt as footsteps become louder behind the door, the rattle and the turn of the handle sends me into shock and lets me know its time. I love her, i fucking hate her and i love her so much, its time. As the door swings open it reveals the heaven i have chased for so long and it reveals the hell that has burned me for so long. My baby, look at you, just look at you, just look how beautiful you are, and as the rage runs over my body like boiling water, she screams, in her frozen state the screams throw from her body, out of her mouth and out of her eyes, her pretty eyes, her pretty pretty eyes. Her scream cuts the air to shreds and shatters any other possible noise that may have been lingering or floating by. My baby sees my right hand, raised, firmly gripping the 6 rounds of her destiny, she sees the blood flowing from my nose and she sees the love in my eyes and in my actions. “do it, fucking do it!” And then i contract my right hand, i squeeze and the bang is loud, its deafening and powerful and its
kick is vicious, vicious just like my love, just like the love of the first bullet hitting her chest, and i contract my hand again and again and again, 6 times i contract my right hand around the trigger and handle of my 45 calibre revolver and 6 times my baby is hammered back, i love you so much.
The ringing stabs my ears and the smoke tears at my eyes and i can see my baby laying in the doorway, she is beautiful in red, her dress is red, her shoes are red, her long hair is red, her face is red and the walls are red. So, my love.
“lead for your lies
lead for your lies”
So i stand and i know now she will always be my baby and her pretty eyes will always be mine, so i smile and as i smile i feel a deep powerful thud and i feel the bones in my spine shatter and splinter to pieces in my body and another thud crushes my ribs and as i turn and look i see the cops, i see the sparks and i see the smoke as they fire round after round at me, and then i drop to my knees and i think of her eyes, her pretty pretty eyes.