There once was a man
Who rode by the tracts
With the reins in his hand
And a Winchester on his back
And the hot sun shone
On the badge on his vest
And when he looked ahead
He only saw to The West
His name is Humphrey
The man with half his sight
You can trust this
When his Justins meet the dust
He’ll mete out justice
Just as long as it’s not somewhere to his right
His name is Humphrey
Humphrey
On the owl hoot trail
From LaSalle to Cheyenne
The Black Hat brigade
Got the drop on our man
But he roped them all in
Sure and swift
‘Cause the ambush they laid
Was off to his left
His name is Humphrey
The man with half his sight
You can trust this
When his Justins meet the dust
He’ll mete out justice
Just as long as it’s not somewhere to his right
His name is Humphrey
The man with half his sight
You can trust this
When his Justins meet the dust
He’ll mete out justice
Just as long as it’s not somewhere to his right
Humphrey
Steve Hankes - vocals
Jeff Kleiner - harmonica
Lauren London - vocals
Copyright 2024 Zach London
If I only write one line a day
It isn’t much at all
One line a day and in a month, I’ll have a hit
If I only lose one pound a month
It isn’t much at all
Just one pound a month and in a year my jeans will fit
The funny thing is
Unprick my fingers
They bleed in reverse
I know it seems wrong
But the thing is
The funny thing is
This family curse has a theme song
What are you studying?
Like, like now, or in general?
Either.
I’m double majoring in longitudinal systems and formatted studies.
We share a tiny orbit
It isn’t much at all
And we are nodes, the antipodes of the circumference of the heart
We spend each day in parallel play
And do not touch at all
And it’s both relief and tragedy when our planet’s blown apart
The funny thing is
Unprick my fingers
They bleed in reverse
I know it seems wrong
But the thing is
The funny thing is
This family curse has a theme song
The funny thing is
Unprick my fingers
They bleed in reverse
I know it seems wrong
But the thing is
The funny thing is
This family curse has a theme song
Lauren London - additional vocals
Nate Kurcz - additional vocals
Adam Martin - additional vocals
Copyright 2024 Zach London
Part 1: Estella
Narrator:
Long ago when the sky was younger
Shone the guardian warden star
Chorus:
Estella
Narrator:
Gazing down on the Earth with envy
Longing for to walk among its many many wonders
One night shone on a sculpting master
Breathing life into marble slabs
Estella:
If you do this for alabaster
Surely you can shape a star into a mortal woman
Chorus:
Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
Part 2: Chip Away
Estella:
Sculptor, come chip away this light and this fire
So I may fare as a maiden or matron
I am a granter of wishes, name your desire
And I shall be your beneficent patron
A bell that turns into a boat?
The ability to speak with furniture?
A shoe that spills jewels on the floors?
Just speak your request and all this shall be yours
Sculptor:
I have no wish to sail on a magical bell
And I have no need for remunerative loafers
My chisels tell stories and what stories they tell
So why, why would I talk with dressers and sofas?
Estella:
How ‘bout a bassoon that controls the four winds?
A whistle that summons the ghost moths?
Sculptor:
I will not be tempted by trinkets for fools
And if I should sculpt you, it won’t be for jewels
Just leave me the dust I chip off with my tools
Leave me the dust I chip off with my tools Estella:
And do we have an accord? Do we have an accord?
Do we have an accord? Yes, we have an accord
Part 3: Scour and Chisel
Sculptor:
A five point star
Step in my abattoir
Scattering starchips on the floor
Scour and chisel
Rasp and grind, there’s
Four points left
I’ll gouge a mighty cleft
Luminous bits of charred debris
Scour and chisel
Rasp and grind, there’s
Three points now
Chorus:
Na na na na na na na na na na
Sculptor:
Radiant chunks of residue
Scour and chisel
Rasp and grind, til
Two points remain
The pain of art, the art of pain
Chorus:
Her light is all but gone
Sculptor:
Scour and chisel.
Rasp and grind, til
One, the last
Vestige of your cosmic past
Sculptor and chorus:
Mallets and calipers
Polish and glaze
Sculptor:
Scour and chisel
Rasp and grind and gaze
Chorus:
Gaze into the looking glass
Gaze into the looking glass
Part 4: Face and Form of Maiden
Narrator:
Now with face and form of maiden
She set off from the sculptor’s hearth
Estella:
I was with embers heavy-laden
But now I’m free for drink my fill in all the ways that humans will
Chorus:
Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
Part 5: Fifty Years
Estella:
Fifty years itinerant have passed
Fifty intrepid years since once recast
I have felt the slake of a stomach stuffed
I felt the ache of love rebuffed
I have come to care
That this life is so frail and unfucking fair
And it’s perfect in every conceivable way
My erstwhile confederate, the Sun
Shines infinite lumens down on everyone
But at night it burrows deep in the west
Beauty only exists when luminesced
How the shrouded yearn
All the graces of night beckon my return
Fifty years and I have to go back to the sky
Part 6: That I May Be Restored
Narrator:
Once a gleeful gadabout, the Star was sorely sad about her lot
Praying that the pretty pile of pulsing powder particles was not lost
Had the man who whittled her retained a little bit of her for then, friend
Even a percentage of a part of an appendage he could mend
Estella:
Sculptor, fetch thy sculpting tools
That I may be restored
My largesse is bountiful
Name thy reward
Sculptor:
I am old, I sculpt no more
My legacy’s my name
All the glory I have known
From your ashes came
Narrator:
He had spread her silt on every effigy he built ‘til it was gone
Spraying stellar dust on every statuette and bust and every bron-ze
Exhibiting his art in every topiary garden in Japan, and
Every city square and every town and county fair in all the land
Estella: Sculptor:
Sculptor, fetch they sculpting tools Look at thy form
That I may be restored Lifelike and smooth
My largess is bountiful You were my masterstroke
Name thy reward My greatest truth
Sculptor: Estella:
I am old, I sculpt no more Paint me with fire
My legacy’s my name This much you owe
All the glory I have known Was it not thy adze
From your ashes came Plundered my glow?
Estella:
Baneful sculptor, you’ve grown fat
On my celestial gift
So now I take your carving hands
Merciless and swift
Part 7: Temples and Galleries
Narrator:
She stepped back from the wounded carver
Mutilated and mangled and maligned
Estella:
I can be a warden nevermore
Nor a guardian for mankind
Narrator:
Shamefaced, she fled realm of mortals
Took her place in the Western sky
Knowing not her ichor flickered on
Brightening the world by and by
For in temples and galleries
Sacred gardens and castles and pilgrimage sites
The world over, those sculptures gave wonder and light
Narrator and Estella: Sculptor:
For in temples and galleries And galleries their creations shined
Sacred gardens and castles and pilgrimage sites
The world over, those sculptures gave wonder and light
Narrator:
For in temples and galleries
Sacred gardens and castles and pilgrimage sites
The world over, those sculptures gave wonder and light
Jonathan Amaro-Barron - Sculptor
Lauren London - Estella Malcolm London - Chorus, additional guitar and music on "Fifty Years"
Scarlett London - Chorus
Copyright 2024 Zach London
Can I fix this moral strabismus
So I can finally mind my own business?
Solid, solid, solid, solid maybe
Do I build cities, build roads and settlements
Or do I just succumb to the elements?
Solid, solid, solid, solid maybe
Maybe
Alas, catastrophizing
Won’t make the choosing easier, easier
Robbers don’t read
Readers, they say, do not rob
So unlock your doors
Strew your books around like a slob
A slight sleight- of-hand and perception
Do I bite bite at your planned misdirection?
Solid, solid, solid, solid maybe
The shot pans from me to the anchor
Could that shot be any point blanker?
Solid, solid, solid, solid maybe
Maybe
Alas, catastrophizing
Won’t make the choosing easier, easier
Robbers don’t read
Readers, they say, do not rob
So unlock your doors
Strew your books around like a slob
Robbers don’t read
Readers, they say, do not rob
So unlock your doors
Strew your books around like a slob
Lauren London - additional vocals
Copyright 2024 Zach London
