Billy Markham's Wedding

The trumpets of Hell have sounded the word like a screeching clarion call.
The trumpets of Hell have sounded the word and the word has been heard by all.
The trumpets of Hell have sounded the word and it reaches the heavenly skies,
Come angels, come demons, come half-breeds, too, the Devil is taking a bride

And out of the Pearly Gates they come in a file two by two,
For when the Devil takes a bride, there’s none that dares refuse.
And Jesus himself, he leads the way down through the starless night,
With Virgin Mary at his left side and Joseph on his right.

And then comes Adam and then comes Eve and saints move close behind
And all the gentle and all the good, in an endless column they wind.
Down, down to the pits of Hell, down from the heavens they sift
Like fallen stars to a blood-red sea, each bearing the Devil a gift.

The strong and the brave, the halt and the lame, the deaf and the blind and the dumb,
And last of all comes Billy Markham, cursing the night as he comes.
Hell’s halls are decked with ribbons of red, the feast has been prepared,
And Devil and bride sit side by side in skull-and-crossbone chairs,

And the Devil grins as his guests file in, for he is master now,
And one by one they enter his realm — and one by one they bow,
And the Devil whispers, “Thank the Lord,” and swells his chest with pride
As they mouth their blessings and place their gifts at the feet of the Devil’s bride.

Lucrezia Borgia has made the punch of strychnine, wine and gin,
And Judas has set the supper table on hallowed, bloody linen.
The feast is a human barbecue and the sauce is beriberi
Flavored with gore from the burning hordes and cooked by Typhoid Mary.

And everyone drinks of the bubblin’ brew and off come the masks of virtue and sin,
And the Devil beams proud on the well-mixed crowd and cries, “Let the revels begin!”
And the walls that separate Heaven and Hell crack and crumble away,
And the Devil laughs and waves his tail and Hell’s band begins to play.

There is Nero, madly fiddlin’ his fiddle and Gabriel on horn,
And the Black Bitch of Buchenwald beating her drum, and Arthur Rank bangin’ his gong,
And Marie Laveau, she plays her bones and Yorick, he plays his,
And Hank plays guitar with three strings broke, and that’s what Hell really is.

And Janis and Elvis and Jimi and Cass, they’re up there singin’ the blues,
And Adolf Hitler and Joan of Arc start doin’ the boogaloo.
Then Carry nation, she starts to strip and everyone applauds,
Except Lady Macbeth, who’s givin’ some head to Leonardo da Vinci and Santa Claus.

And the Marquis de Sade does a promenade, laughing and cracking his whips,
And Marilyn Monroe does a coochie show and Eve starts shaking her hips.
And Sarah Bernhardt and Jesse James, they’re taking dirty photos,
While out in the foyer, Richard the Third is comparing his hump with Quasimodo’s.

And bare-ass naked on the balustrade sits Edgar Allan Poe
Posing for a two-dollar caricature by Michelangelo.
And Gypsy Rose Lee jumps on Francis Scott Key, and does a quick trick with her fan,
While Ivan the Terrible’s trying to get into Virgin Mary’s pants.

Henry the Eighth, he screams, “More food, more music, more wine, more wives,”
While Lizzie Borden and Jack the Ripper, they’re out on the terrace comparing knives.
Lenny Bruce, he moons the crowd while swinging from the ceiling,
And Jesus and Judas have one more drink just to show there’s no hard feelings.

Then Catherine the Great, she’s givin’ her number to the horse of Paul Revere,
While Don Juan’s whisperin’ love and lust into Helen Keller’s ear.
And General Grant, he’s playing backgammon in the corner with Robert E. Lee,
While Freud and Rasputin are arguing pussy with Attila the Hun and Socrates.

And John Wilkes Booth, he’s havin’ a toot, and J. Edgar Hoover’s in drag,
While Amelia Earhart is talkin’ to Lindbergh, ’bout splittin’ a five-cent bag,
And Mary Baker Eddy’s drunk and tellin’ dirty jokes,
And Fatty Arbuckle’s shoutin’, “Hey, anybody got another coke?”

And Alice Toklas and Gertrude Stein are gigglin’ behind the door,
While the Daughters of Lot are yellin’, “Hey, Pop, let’s do just once more.”
And Florence Nightingale’s offerin’ a beer to the Man in the Iron Mask,
While Plato’s shovin’ cashew nuts up Marco Polo’s ass,

And Billy Sunday and Mary Magdalene announce they’re goin’ steady,
And Abel and Cain form a daisy chain with Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy.
Then Doctor Faust snorts too much coke and punches out Errol Flynn
Over some 13-year-old girl that they’re both interested in.

And Nero’s laughin’ as he sets fire to Mata Hari’s hair,
While Oscar Wilde says to Billy the Kid, “Hey, Kid, let me show you round upstairs.”
And the Devil, he drinks his boiling blood and glances side to side,
From the eyes of Billy Markham to the eyes of his own sweet bride.

Then the music comes to a screechin’ halt and the revelers freeze where they stand
As Billy Markham approaches the throne and says, “May I have this dance?”
“Can this be Billy Markham”, sneers the Devil, “who loves only the chaste and the pure?
No, Billy wouldn’t bow and kiss the hand of a woman he once called whore.

But whoever this poor, lonely wretch may be, it is my wedding whim,
That no man be refused this day — step down, darlin’, and dance with him.”
The Devil grins and waves his hand, the music starts gentle and warm,
As the lady nervously steps from her throne into Billy Markham’s arms.

And the guests all snicker and snigger and wait, and they watch the dancers’ eyes,
As round and round the floor they swirl ‘tween Hell and paradise.
“Oh, baby doll”, whispers Billy Markham, “I have done you an awful wrong,
And to show how rotten low I feel, I even wrote about it in a song.

I never should’ve called you a scuzzy whore — I never should’ve spit on your bed,
And I never should’ve left you to burn here in Hell just ’cause you give the Devil some head.
But if there’s any hellish and heavenly way that I can make it right,
If it costs my balls, over Hades’ walls, I’ll get you away tonight.”

And the lady smiles a wanton smile, as round and round the room they swing.
And she whispers low in Billy’s ear. . . “There is one little thing. . .”
Now the hall is empty, the guests are gone, and there on the rusted throne,
Hand in hand in golden bands, the Devil and bride sit alone.

And the Devil stretches and yawns and grins, “It has been quite a day.
Now I guess it’s time to seal our love in the usual mortal way.”
And the Devil strips off his crimson cloak, and he casts his pitchfork aside,
And he frees his oily two-pronged tail, and waits to take his bride.

And his true love lifts her wedding dress up over her angel’s head
And hand in hand they make their way to the Devil’s firery bed.
And her upturned breasts glow warm in the fire and her legs are shapely and slim
And for the very first time since time began, the Devil feels passion in him.

“Now for the moment of truth”, he whispers. “My love, my queen, my choice.”
“I love you, too, motherfucker”, she laughs — in Billy Markham’s voice.
And the Devil leaps up and howls so loud that the fires of Hell blown cold.
“Ain’t no big deal”, says Billy’s voice. “While we was dancing, we swapped souls.

Now she’s up in Heaven singin’ my songs and wearin’ my body, too,
Safe forever in the arms of the Lord, while I’m down here in the arms of you.”
“Why, you crawlin’ crud”, the Devil cries, “I’ll teach you to fuck with my brain.
I’ll give you a child who weighs ninety-five pounds, you talk about screamin’ pain!”

“Hold on”, says Billy Markham, “I will be your wife only in name –
You come near me with that double-pronged dick and I’ll rip it right off your frame.”
“Not so loud”, the Devil whispers. “If Hell learns what’s been done,
They’ll laugh me off this golden throne and damn me to kingdom come.

And you — you’ve given me my true love’s body with a hustler’s soul inside.
You know more of torture than I’ve ever dreamed — you’re fit to be my bride.”
“Well, don’t take it so hard”, Billy Markham says. “You know things could be lots worse.
Havin’ her soul in my body — now, that would be a curse.

But you and me, we got lots in common, we both like to shoot the shit,
And we both like to joke and we both like to smoke and we both like to gamble a bit,
And that could be the makin’s for a happy marriage, and since neither of us ever gonna die,
Well, we might as well start the honeymoon — you wanna cut the cards or should I?”

Now, the wedding night is a hundred years past and their garments have rotted to rags.
But face to face they sit in the flames, dealing five-card stud and one-eyed jacks.
And sometimes they play pinochle, sometimes they play gin,
And sometimes the Devil rakes in the pots, and sometimes the lady wins,

And sometimes they just sit and reminisce of the night when they first were wed.
From dawn to dawn the game goes on. . .They never go to bed.