Mother Said Saint Jimmy
You met him in a bar
(Or something)
Blown out of your mind on your own fine wine
And him tipsy as Hell
On vodka and life
Shook his hand in the dark while hard rock blared
Don't remember the song or the place
Remember the way that he looked instead,
The attitude that he just didn't give a fuck
Young and high, sweet as sin, tattered pants, sharp as a fucking needle
Shared some crystal blue drink that might have been absinth – and might have been poison
For all you were fucking aware
And you danced that night, not hidden in the shadows, with this boy
Almost touching, giving way to soft skin unaltered by age and drink
Like yours is
You kissed him in the dark, in the alley behind the bar
(Or whatever)
Pressed so fucking hard against him you might as well have pushed him straight through the wall
But that was it, sweet and short and hot and hard
Hadn't seen him since
But that was many years ago
Now you watch from the sidelines, as he belts out words you've no chance of understanding
He sings like lightning, quick and harsh
Brutal and beautiful
And your jeans are tight, but they're always tight, and come on – seriously, he's a fucking boy
(Faggot faggot faggot)
But it's the after party that makes you tick
The wine's been poured, it's your label but you aren't bragging, as you watch the posers
Drown in their glasses
And he sees you
(Of course he does, you're wearing that damn hat)
And waves you over and you meet the band and you meet the lady
Seem to remember her face, got someplace better to be though
(No, you fucking ain't)
And you take your leave with a nod and a smile
Swear to God he looks sad, spot him looking at your ass, stares out the door as you leave
Fucking lady – you had him first
But still, that was many years ago
Now you think about him, what he's doing, who he's sleeping with
Once he wrote you a letter, how you're doing, where you've been
Heard you had a kid, great me too
Did you write back, you bitter old man, not for the longest time
Fucking drunk as Hell when you plucked up the courage but he didn't seem to notice
Just wrote right on back again
Sends you a photo of his homage outfit – dude's in a fucking skirt
And you jack off thinking about his skinny body under all that fabric
And what it maybe feels like after all this fucking time: aged by booze and sex and high
(Yeah, like you're fucking perfect)
You think about him with your friends, your lady, your lad, your band
When you're smacking off alone at night
One hand on your cock while the other cradles a glass of whiskey
Counting Bodies like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums blares in the background
Cuz you fucking felt like going back
To that goddamn night
When you should have fucked him
All those years ago
And does he think of you
When he's jacking off, stood up in the shower with his face against the wall
Is it your face in his mind;
Your hand on his dick;
Your fingers up his ass;
Your teeth at his nipple;
You tongue in his mouth;
Your words in his ear;
Is it you that he wants, pressed against the cold shower tiles while the steam from the water
Mingles with the steam from his tiny body
As he shudders and moans
Screams and gasps
Into his own hands
Is it your name that he screams when he comes?
No, probably not
But it hurts no one to dream
St J that he is
Fucking haunting you now cuz you didn't have the courage back then
To stand with the posers, to put up with the sluts, to hold him at night
You were the one that walked off, cuz you couldn't handle your shit
Of course it's not your name that he screams now
It's you that's screaming his
So don't fret precious, cuz he ain't it!
(God fucking dammit, it was so long ago)