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letra de the joust - laurie shaw

in the hotel parallax, being fitted for my gown
while the manager’s cigarillos turned the ceiling brown
the trainer kept on saying “what a lovely little town”
the message on the bouquet read “friend you’re going down”
my forearm was all healed but my sternum hurt a lot
the page of cups was taking my horse out for a trot
he tied him to a turnstile and he found a secret spot
and started smoking magic sage he’d mistaken for pot

everything he lookеd at was double exposed
and his mouth startеd feeling like wood
he tried to get the horse to come to him but the horse misunderstood
i was signing the bosom of a part time maid when he entered the foyer
saying “christ the horse has gone!” (i nearly broke his nose that day)
but we found the horse chewing grass a yard from the hotel
it’s hooves were glued to the spot and it’s hair was caramel
i walked it with the page while his eyes oozed styling gel
he asked me about you, i said “i knew her very well”
in the hotel parallax, the soaps are very thin
i was watching a pundit roundtable when the manager came in
the rival stepped off the plane to meet a million carboard signs
they beat up the security and met very heavy fines

there you were in a glamourous dress like a courtyard of pressed flowers
he was pushing all your b-ttons with his persuasive powers
he’d been un-popping your b-ttons in the first class lounge for hours
i wanted to meet your car out front but the crowd would not allow us

you were trying to arrange a future he said, “leave it all to chance”
when you stepped out of his sidecar, you were carrying his lance
you thought you saw me smiling from the back room at a glance
but it was just an addiction inheritor watering the plants
it’s not jousting etiquette to pass rumour around
especially to the press who were swarming ‘round the grounds
a man with a polished paunch said “time to place your bets”
“sceptre” was written on the hotel serviettes

his entourage was eleven strongmen deep and then when he passed
“do you think you can beat him, son?” some wide eyed reporter asked
i said “honestly, bouts like this go either way
but i think i know his weakness if i can get her to stay”
i heard him serenade you… (no you didn’t not quite yet… but now)
i heard him serenade you with a harp down by the pool
he didn’t even use a harp, he didn’t use a stool
i watched the local township unveil a monument
they lied through their t–th, “we hope you win the tournament”
in the hotel parallax, the morning of the match
there was so much in and out, i put my door on the latch
we drove down to the track and they bandaged my hand
and they put on my breastplate and i walked out to the sand

but the rival had robbed the page’s satchel
and he’d tried to calm himself pre-bout
he had sweat dripping off him
and his eyes were darting when he stumbled out
he’d smoked the sage that belonged to the page
that was beyond a doubt
he got on his horse and five second later
he rolled off as a dismount

things were going c-ckahoop in the commentators box
the rival was in desperate need of a snooze and a detox
i looked at the referee he was a handsome silver fox
he said “you’re triumphant by default”, joustings so unorthodox
it was the end of march at the vernal equinox
the rival flooded your room with tears, you were perching on the rock
i gave you a call i said i’m going for a drink down to tynemouth docks
that’s a sensible way to try and reconvene, a jousting match is not

- laurie shaw

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