lirik lagu mario william vitale - hendrix
headphones bleed
from the chords i believe
were struck by the master
the master of hands…
of ”ladyland”, electric
a vinyl worth the weight
of three bricks of gold
for its’ platinum sold, and-
i could never trade that thrill
that marrow bristling chill
for a sack of dollar bills
on e-bay’s net exchange
for i may be old and strange
but am not that far deranged
and, ahhhh…the jagged mid-range tone
sweet and smooth like sculpted stone
before the days of cellular phones
when jimi blew my fosgate cones-
in acoustical bliss
with a mind-chasing hiss
like a boa or cobra
in peak tone and pitch
and the demon of demons
with his tie-dye bandana
toothpick, his stage manna
‘sweet decibel demon’
twang-god for all seasons
of titanium tweeter domes
disturbed watts and ohms
[but, wait just one minute
while i’m still on and with it
…can ohms really be disturbed….watt the #@*k? ]!
saw hendrix and his gypsy band
woodstock, new york’s farmland
’twas the late summertime
of the year sixty-nine
max yasgur played host
his speech drew much toast
and, the ambiance, hell…
that’s what rocked the most!
jimi’s mind-laced montage..
with snow white band;
jimi’s fender m-ssage…
with a sk!lled left hand;
and long black neck
playing fast to his riff
til’ he climaxed…
over young girls ogling
and the wind crying mary
at his beckoned call –
for a virile encore…,
‘electric ladyland’….no doubt
for the final close-out
and, from beginning to end…..
p s y c h e d e l e i d e! !
all this has now p-ssed
with a path left of dread
and that day… jimi’s hour
when he saw the watch tower
too late, so its said
hendrix was dead…
‘cept for the echo
that sweet twanging echo
that strange stalking echo –
queer altering sensation
improvised tittilation –
tintinnabulation…,
the psychadellic rush
of feedbacks and thrust –
the thrill of the shrill
still ringing my ears
and after 35 years
i can now barely hear
was it worth it…i’ll say
tomorow…today;
you bet…. your best purple haze!
[and wasn’t dolby a friggin’ marketing scam…d-mn straight…]!
and, people, i swear
on a stratacaster
as black as the light
of those strobe-lit nights
and my wildest plights-
that still follow me
relentlessly
incessantly
clamorously…
quite hauntingly!
that sound……………
……………………. …….,
that perpetual sound;
soprano high
as a tv test pattern
from nineteen-fifty-eight
that ruled the b–b-tube
of black ‘n white nights
’til the morning prayer spared us
but this? !
it never stops…
and never will
nope…’not until
destiny says…lo!
it’s time i go
to that plane afar
where all guitars
meet all sitars
all along the f’ing watch tower
with morrison the lizard in power
jimi, yes, i know, my friend
………………………………
we shall meet again, in ”the end”
with mojo…and other voices
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