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cities of the red night - william s. burroughs lyrics

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this must be it. warped planks in a tangle of trees and vines. the pool of the palace is covered with algae. a snake slithers into the green water. weeds grow through the rusty sh*ll of a bucket in the haman. the stairs leading to the upper porch have fallen. nothing here but the smell of empty years. how many years? i can’t be sure

i am carrying a teakwood box with a leather handle. the box is locked. i have the key but i will not open the box here. i take the path to d*nk’s house. sometimes paths last longer than roads

there it is on the beach, just as i remember it. sand has covered the steps and drifted across the floor. smell of nothing and n0body there. i sit down on the sand*covered steps and look out to the harbor at the ship that brought me here and that will take me away. i take out my key and open the box and leaf through the yellow pages. the last entry is from many years ago

we were in panama waiting for the spanish. i am back in the fort watching the advancing soldiers through a telescope, closer and closer to death

“go back!” i am screaming without a throat, without a tongue—“get in your galleons and go back to spain!”

hearing the final sonorous knell of spain as church bells silently implode into sisters of mary, communions, confessions …

“paco … joselito … enrique.”

father kelley is giving them absolution. there is pain in his voice. it’s too easy. then our sh*lls and mortars rip through them like a great iron fist. a few still take cover and return fire

paco catches a bullet in the chest. sad shrinking face. he pulls my head down as the gray lips whisper—“i want the priest.”

i didn’t want to write about this or what followed. guayaquil, lima, santiago and all the others i didn’t see. the easiest victories are the most costly in the end

i have blown a hole in time with a firecracker. let others step through. into what bigger and bigger firecrackers? better weapons lead to better and better weapons, until the earth is a grenade with the fuse burning

i remember a dream of my childhood. i am in a beautiful garden. as i reach out to touch the flowers they wither under my hands. a nightmare feeling of foreboding and desolation comes over me as a great mushroom*shaped cloud darkens the earth. a few may get through the gate in time. like spain, i am bound to the past

- william s burroughs lyrics

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