Weirdness from the wee hours of the morning.
so he threw me a slide and it slipped onto my finger; he said, "nice catch, kid, now go cut some butter" (i felt my stomach start to flutter). with the guitar around my neck like a noose high up off the deck, swinging to and fro, a hung john doe sputtered and died upon the cutter. his partner screamed and spilled his guts (as well as their contents) into the storm: quadruple murder, read the form - but i digress (the stage is a mess, please step over the clutter): my heartbeat thumped and skipped and bumped in time with the drummers drums and there i was, about to play my very first song on that day. "life was filled with guns and war" but did everyone truly get trampled to the floor? what did i sing (six sixty six), what did I bring beyond the dirty tricks that came from behind the wing? just a soft acoustic guitar, a song i knew well, and didn't falter on the way to hell - a hole into which I fell, for Howard Phillips led the way. and if there's a meaning, it takes some believing to convince me that i'm right, and when I do, i'm likely wrong, no matter the contents of the song.