Billy Markham's Descent

Billy Markham sits on an unwashed cloud, his hair is matted and mussed,
His dusty wings have been cast aside and his harp strings have gone to rust.
There’s dirt beneath his fingernails and a glazed look in his eyes
As he sits like a burned-out acid freak and stares across the skies.

They had bathed his body in milk and myrrh; they had robed him in silver gowns;
They had straightened his warp in his guitar neck, and gave him a golden crown;
They had set him a place at the table of joy and the fountain of knowledge, as well,
But he searches the heavens with haunted eyes — for his mind still walks through Hell.

His thoughts are down in that nether world, in that burning fiery rain.
His thoughts are with his momma, how he longs to soothe her pain.
His thoughts are with his little girl, how he’d love to ease her cryin’.
His thoughts are with his own true love, how he’d love to bust her spine.

So late that night, while the heavenly harps play In the Sweet Bye and Bye,
Billy Markham reaches the silken rope that hangs down from the sky.
He has stripped himself of his crown and robes; he has clutched the silken cord;
He has swung him down without a sound, so’s not to wake the Lord.

And down he winds through the perfumed air, down through the marshmallow clouds,
And he hangs for a while o’er the rooftops of earth, lookin’ down at the scurrying crowds.
Then down through a manhole still clutching the rope, to a stench that he knows quite well.
'Neath the sewers of the street, till he feels his feet touch the shit-mucked shores of Hell.

He has scaled the crusted, rusted gates, he has thrown a bone to the Hounds.
He has floated the putrid river Styx, still down and further down.
Down past the gluttons, the dealers and pimps, down past the murderer’s cage,
Down past the rock stars searching in vain for their names on the Cashbox page.

Down past the door of the Merchants of War, past the Puritan’s slop- filled bin.
Past the Bigot’s hive, till at last he arrives, at the pit marked BLAMELESS SINS.
He has found the vat where his momma boils; he has lifted her gently from the deep.
He has found the grate where his little girl burns; he has raised her and soothed her and rocked her to sleep.

He has found the pit where his sweetheart sleeps; he has spit on the fire where she lay.
He has cursed her as a whore of Hell; he has cursed and turned away.
“From this day”, says Billy, “I place my faith only in mother and child,
And never again will I look for love in a bitch’s cum-stained smile.”

Then up, back up the rope he climbs, up through the sufferin’ swarms,
Past the clutching hands and the pitiful screams with his two precious loves in his arms.
Just one more pull — just one more pull — then free forever from Hell,
Just one more pull then — “Hello, Billy!” — and there stands the Devil himself!

And now he wears his crimson robes and his horns are buttered bright,
And blood oozes through his white-linen gloves and his skin glows red in the night.
And his tail coils tight like an oily snake and the Hell-fires flash from his eyes,
On those craggy rocks, he stands and blocks the way to paradise.

“Well, what have we here”, the Devil says, “in my domain of sin?
In all my years as Prince of the Dark, it’s the first case of somebody breakin’ in.
And of all the daredevil darin’ dudes, well, who should the hero be?
But my old friend Billy Markham — who once made a punk out of me.

I heard you was in Heaven, Billy, fuckin’ angels all day long,
What’s a matter — wouldn’t that heavenly choir sing none of your raunchy songs?
Or maybe it’s the thought of the loves you sold and you couldn’t live with the shame.
Or maybe, like every other loser, you just can’t stay ‘way from the game.

You write your songs about standin’ strong, you sing about bein’ free,
But like a pussy-whipped fool who keeps on bitchin’ ’bout his lover, you keep bitchin’ but comin’ back to me.
You made me the laughingstock of Hell and the whole world laughed with you,
Now here you come crashin’ my party again; now tell me, just who’s devilin’ who?

Now, I didn’t invite you down here, Bill, and nobody twisted your arm,
But you’re back down here on my turf now, down here where it’s cozy and warm.
So no more dice and no more games and no more jive stories to tell,
Just the Devil and a man with some souls in his hand hangin’ ‘tween Heaven and Hell.

But what is this?” the Devil says. “Only two souls you’ve set free?
You seem to forgot and left one behind; now, who could that one be?
Could it be your own true love, the one with the angel’s smile?
The one you curse with each bitter breath ’cause she played with the Devil awhile?

You call yourself free?” the Devil laughs. “Why, you prudish, uptight schmuck,
You’d leave your sweet love burn in Hell for one harmless little suck.
What would you rather she had done, leaped in the boiling manure . . .
So’s you could keep your fantasy of someone sweet and pure?

She saved her ass — and so would you — but still you curse her name.
Shit, you’d suck a million dicks to escape one childbirth pain.”
“Hey, it’s easy to talk to savin’ ass”, says Billy, “forgiveness is easy to say,
But when the shame burns worse than Hades’ fires — how do you talk that away?”

“Shame?” laughs the Devil. “She’s only a woman — she did what she had to do,
And right or wrong, she needs no curse from the hypocrite lame like you.. .
She shall rule with me in this Kingdom of Flame, she shall sit next to me on my throne,
While you live with the truth — that the Devil’s heart has more pity than your own.”

“Hey, wait a minute”, say Billy Markham. “I can’t believe what you just said,
You givin’ me this whole philosophy shit just ’cause you like the way she gave you head.
Why, you poor closet romantic, that chick was suckin’ for her life.
Just wait see what kinda head you get after you make her your wife.”

“In Hell”, shouts the Devil, “that’s blasphemy! I should burn you to dust where you stand,
But the venom you’re carryin’ in your heart, that’s torture enough for any man.
So get your ass up that silken rope, climb back to your promised land,
And hold your illusions of momma and daughter tight in your sweatin’ hand.

But you’ll see that they’re just bitches like she, and you’ll scream when you find it’s true,
But stay up there and scream to God — Hell’s gates are closed to you.”
And Billy Markham, clutching his loves, climbs upward toward the skies,
And is it the sharp night wind that brings the tears to Billy’s eyes?

Or is it the swirling sulphur smoke or the bright glare of the sun?
Or is it the sound of the wedding feast that the demons below have begun?
As the Devil, he sits with his betrothed and they pledge their love in the steam,
While halfway up the silken cord, Billy Markham screams!