Johnsong from Catholic Guilt by Rory Strong

My friend John, he’s a good dealer, guess he used to sing blues.
We met a quick change of shift.
He says, “They don’t pay me a dime, no matter how much you lose.”
I let that happy motherfucker take all of my chips.

Learning to live in the land of the vine,
where the words I write fade from the page,
where destruction is human, ugliness is divine.
Playful misspellings with how my body was made.

But would you let my savior stay?

The service is on Friday and my flight lands at three.
We arrange to meet at the baggage claim.
Said, “I’ve paid some heavy tolls, you might not recognize me.”
So you stood up near the front holding a sign with my name.

Living to learn up in the great northern pine
with this hunger that I can’t seem to shake.
You read me all the stories ‘bout the water to wine.
But you couldn’t get into it on the third day.

So would you let my savior stay?

I took one with best intention.
I took two for good health.
Took three because I miss you,
and a fourth for myself.
Five and six and seven ‘til we’re all falling out.
And now we’re screaming on the sidewalk,
“Baby, don’t let me down.”

And call my savior, ask for help.

• Folk
• folk
• folk punk
• indie
• long beach
• singer-songwriter
• Long Beach