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lyrics

TELEVISION

One night I walked into this bar in downtown Pittsburg. It was winter -- stars flashing in an endless cold black sky. Nothing moved. The street was frozen and still. There was total silence. It was a monochrome night: banks of white snow -- the deepest darkest shadows I`d ever seen. I got off that street and stepped into this bar.

The place was empty except for a drunk slumped across a piano vamping desultory minor chords. He wore a T-shirt with the legend: I am a consumer monkey. A row of shabby stools stood against the bar. More shadows. The TV on, the sound way down: a cartoon exuding bursts of Technicolor into the gloom.

I took a stool and ordered a beer and a shot. I downed the shot and took hold of the icy beer. The bartender wiped down the bar and stood with his arms folded beneath the TV. I tried to avoid looking at the guy, but my eyes were drawn to him. Each time I looked at him he looked at me. I sipped my beer as a scrawny cat threw an axe at a runaway dog.

A guy came into the bar and sat at the stool next to mine. He ordered a beer and a shot. He downed the shot and sipped at his beer. The bartender wiped down the bar and stood with folded arms, his face glowing green and blue in the flaming TV light.

The guy beside me said: “D`ya wanna buy a Warhol?”

I looked at him. He was an old guy, craggy yellow face, perfect teeth, Nylon hair sticking out like a broom from beneath a beat-up black hat. He had the word `Life` tattooed blue on the fingers of his left hand. I said nothing. He repeated his question.

I sipped at my beer. He downed his -- took out a knife -- cut off a finger from his right hand -- adjusted his hat and left the bar. I watched as the finger bled onto the bar. The bartender looked over. I looked at him. He came over -- wiped up the blood and the yellow finger -- threw the cloth in the trash -- and gave me a free shot.

As I left I looked back -- the bartender was stood beneath the TV -- face turned eyes closed to the colorful benevolent screen. He was bathed in holy blue light. The drunk was asleep, eaten away by malevolent shadows.

Outside the street was still -- it was a monochrome night-- the stars flashed their cold coded message to the world. I could hear a dog barking a long ways off. It was getting late...



...................................

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from Pittsburg Warhola / Download, released January 8, 2021
WRITTEN AND PRODUCED BY PETER DALTREY

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