stewart@harpo.UUCP (Stewart Weiner) (12/19/83)
A VISIT FROM SAINT VICIOUS 'Twas the night before New Year's, when everyone's drunk, Not a rocker was stirring, not even a punk; The baggies were hung by the phono with care In hopes that Saint Vicious, yes Sid, would be there: The Clash were sold out, but we stayed in our sheds, While visions of tickets still danced in our heads; Linda with hash-pipe and I, dressed in black, Had just settled down for a long-playing track-- When out in the alley there arose such a clatter I crawled from the couch to see what was the matter. Away to the window I lurched with a crash, Tearing a poster I had from the Clash. The strobe light, the acid, and new-snorted snow Gave a luster of day-glo to objects below; When what to my unfocused eyes should appear But a miniature stage, and a band I could hear, With a singer who danced; by the pogo he did I knew in a moment it must be Saint Sid. More rapid than Springsteen, their rhythm it came He snarled and he shouted, and called them by name: "Now Strummer! Now Jello! Now Joey Ramone! On Shelley! On Pursey! On Cook and on Jones-- To the top of the charts, kick over the wall! Now anarchy, anarchy, anarchy all!" As punks that before a rock concert get high, When they all start to pogo, mount to the sky, So up to the window, the rockers, they flew With powerful speakers, and Saint Vicious, too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the trunk The swearing and cursing of each famous punk. As I drew on my pipe, and was turning around, Down the vent shaft St. Vicious, he came with a bound; He was dressed all in black from his head to his toe, And a chain ran from shoulder to regions below. A black leather jacket was flung on his back, And he looked like a heretic freed from the Rack. His eyes, how they flashed! His smile, how merry! He staggered right in, and his breath smelled like sherry: His darkly blue hair was drawn up in a spike, And the rest of the punks were attired alike. A portable mike he held tight in his hand; "Holiday In The Sun" issued forth from the band, To be followed by "Anarchy in the UK," And "God Save the Queen," "EMI" and "My Way." The band played so loud, albums fell from my shelf, And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and some dope for my head Soon gave me to know I should pogo instead. He spoke but a word, and that was "The Clash," And gave us all tickets, and ounces of hash! Then putting white powder inside of his nose, And spitting it out, he said: "F*ck all discos!" He sprang to his stage, to the band gave a shout, And away they all jammed, till St. Vicious passed out; But I heard him exclaim, with the last of his might: "SCORCHING PUNK ROCK TO ALL, AND TO ALL PUNKS GOOD NIGHT!" by Stephen Donaldson & Bob Martin, reproduced without permission from Surplus Value magazine.