The Art of Tombstone Pinball (Tommy Suite)

The Art of Tombstone Pinball has been published in All of Me Vol. IV, courtesy of Shadow Spark Publishing.

Listen to The Art of Tombstone Pinball by Richard Charles Stevens (Tommy Suite)

Listen to Pinball Wizard by The Who

I wanted me dead
At least that was the consensus of the voices in my head
Arms and legs outstretched
I fell into self-built abyss
Storm clouds frowning overhead
Bound to see the captive led
To final resting place of faith in name of shadowed kiss
Fear and loathing fed the coding of the serpent’s hiss
Intermittent dosage then became a thousand merchant ships
Leading me on fraught course to the source of my disturbance
With precious little in reserve to swerve towards excursion trips
This one time pinball wizard lacked the gizzards to hit tilt
Caught in winter blizzards with fair-weather friends remorse and guilt
Deforming to the hilt were thoughts of besting my high score
Just another jilted wilted eyesore
Had I taken my advice
Then I’d have been controlled device
Hardwired to the self-destruction
Pending further health reduction
Cell disruption on percussion
Basic functions out of sync
Fading fast like powdered zinc
Sinkhole ever looming
Felt high time to sprout the wings
Out of favour since the brink
Show devout empowering fine tuning
Enshrouded in my deepest core
The essence underspent implored I venture deeper
Be the keeper of a soul worth striving for
Find a cause emphatically worth dying for
Leave pragmatic thoughts to those not coping with traumatic losses
Wrench free of the static force and head towards volcanic source
Seek the heat so deep within that we blow smoke rings breathing in
Settle in for overdue reflection
Could it be this soul of mine had warranted a mention
Seemed to be good reason this was drawn to my attention
No time left to toast the host of such enormous tension
No time left to toast the host of such enormous tension
No time left to toast the host of such enormous tension
Life had taught its most important lesson
Had to be prepared to play at martyr
Bleeding so profusely some would rumour this stigmata
Brand me a pariah and condemn me to the pits of hell
Some place I’d be pained to kiss and tell
Judgement called and broad eyes narrowed
Walled me into crawlspace hallowed
Sourced the crux to all of me
State of flux no longer so befallen me
(All of me)
(All of me)
This one time pinball wizard then hit tilt
(All of me)
Fought through winter blizzards
To the river to replenish mystic quill
(All of me)
(All of me)
(All of me)
The voices in my head still insubordinately request
Acquiescence to the death of me
Seldom less than to the hilt suggestively
However I will never lend remorse and guilt an audience
To all of me that halts the final breath of me
Should a single soul request parole from bitter end
Then finally I’ve bested my high score

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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