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As the Screw Turns
Joey Batey
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Lyrics
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Translation
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But you want to tell us what you're writing, don't you?
Aye, you know he does
Go on
Ah, come on, bard
I'm getting old. And I have come to realize that
I won't be around forever
But my stories might be
Picture it, if you'll abide
Oxenfurt, my collegiate pride
Uh, will the whole thing be in song?
Yes, bitch
My head was mending from an ache
Anarietta gave my heart a break
Not exactly how I remember our time in Oxenfurt
Was on a stroll I oft would take
It's funny how the world can feel
The opposite of what is real
My mood is grim, that is no lie
Yet still, the sun hangs in the sky
Yeah, I know this isn't your sort of thing
But, you know, just sort of go with it
I couldn't help but hear you're down
Perhaps you'd like a reach around?
I thank you, love, I shall abstain
Unless the Witcher'd like a go?
She's very good - just sayin'
No
As for what would fill my soul
A distraction, hobby, or a goal
Ladies and gentlemen, Valdo Marx
There once was a man from Ebbing-
Could that be my answer there?
Where?
-Who had a problem bed-wetting
He'd lay down his head
Asleep in his bed
And awake to find piss in the bedding
That lad may lack credentials
But I cannot deny the potential
My task is big, I must admit
But first things first, the perfect fit
Embellishments and finery
The boy just needs refinery
Show off what we've been up to
I'm ready for my big debut
Did I offend?
You did, my friend
We don't do velvet
Burn this
Besides, being a bard is about so much more
Than the trappings of fashion
Next is my style of performance-ship
To craft a tale is truest wit
For some, it may be clothes or hair
Or how they dance on air
To quote a dear friend
"No"
Pray tell me more, my hunger's deep
How do you track which trends will keep?
'Tis here I keep my greatest works
My precious dreams
And unrealized cirques
I'd be all right deprived of garbs
Without these, I'd be cursed
If hesitation strikes my bard
Mm-hm, mm-hmm
Do keep your own heart well on guard
Mm-hmm, mm-mm-mm-mm-hm
I'll understand, respect your choice
Some songs could use a second voice
Take this one about the chill
Of winter's breath upon the hill
What themes of loss
What mighty quill
I see in you a younger me
You'll get there, pray, eventually
God strike me down for carin'. What happened next?
The fucker stole his songbook
Whenever will this feeling end?
Or are these symptoms of a trend?
New dulcet tones from over there
You think he'll wanna yank me hair?
Consensually mind, yeah?
Ladies and gentlemen, Valdo Marx!
Around your house
Do my eyes deceive?
Now white with frost
Are sparks of ice and floe
Or is this true?
Your longing eyes may grieve the loss
A final turning of the screw
But naught will change your woe
This truly is perverse
He took everything from me. Everything!
Valdo! Valdo! Valdo! Valdo! Valdo!
Let's go
Val can keep
His stolen songs
Stay haunted in his devious wrongs
But my whole life
The things I've seen
They are chronicled in binding seams
It's this
This is what I am meant to give
These words and stories
They'll outlive
Bra-fucking-vo
Let's take that fucker, Val
That is but one chapter in what will one day be
"Fifty years of poetry." I thank you very much
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