I believe this is another amazingly on point and nuanced commentary on the insanity that follows emotionally abusive relationships. The abuser has no anxieties, no emotional pain, or salience/memory for that matter, so the survivor appears to be the crazy one, obsessed with the abuse and that buzzword that seems to ignite arguments about diagnosing people without a degree, etc. funny how you say the words domestic violence, abuse, abuse survivor and boom the subject changes. Anyways, I especially relate to her midnights becoming afternoons, complex PTSD often leads to this phenomenon, whether due to purposeful sleep deprivation by the abuser, or just hyper vigilance associated with the PTSD, along with the fear of facing people, especially your loved ones, who
Never actually understand, even if they try, because all they see is you, on fire, screaming about the arsonist that no one ever sees, and who has been spreading lies about your alleged mental instability, deceptive personality, etc. the whole time. While the last thing survivors need is more blame, our society supports a narrative that blames the objectively innocent party because the blatantly guilty party has spent their entire lives fabricating a persona and we’re just being human, and human psychology is quite counterintuitive especially in the context of trauma. Look at Amber Heard. Vilified and not believed, regardless of what any abuse survivor could recognize as a fellow survivor instantly. But Johnny depp is a malignant narcissist, a man, and wealthy as all get out. It’s sick.
One evening while out strollin' a friend
I chanced to see
He was begging behind a bottle
On Spring and Bowery
He said, "I got some news for you
Only cost a couple of bob
About a buried treasure
Back home in Ballydehob
Well, I gave him all the bucks I had
And he took me by the hand
I know you love musicians
I've got news to beat the band
For back there in me native town
In the Allied Irish Bank
The long lost tapes of Hendrix
Are hidden in the vault
You can talk about your pyramids
And your pints of Guinness stout
But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
Will leave them in the dirt
So I stole me boss's credit card
To the airport I did jog
Very soon thereafter
I arrived in Ballydehob
When I hit the Allied Irish me
Fatigue turned to desire
I beheld two hundred pounds
Of sweet Maggie McGuire
She cast her eyes upon me
"what are you doin' in me bank?"
I'm here on a secret mission, doll
Oh no, not another Yank
I hate the very sight of yez
Apart from your president
That man can stimulate me
Any way he wants
What are you doin' later?
Yera, I'm not up to much
Would you care for a pint of Guinness?
I never touch the stuff
But one pint led to two or three
Six to seven or eight
Until I was shakin' hands with meself
And that girl was feelin' no pain
She was startin' to look beautiful
Though there was three of her in sight
Six hundred pounds of lovin'
What do you have in mind?
Oh, sweet Maggie Magurie
There's one thing I'd adore
To go down to the vault of your bank
And do it on the floor
No bother, a stór
That's easily arranged
So we stole into the bank
And down the creaky stairs
Soon we were inside
The vault and dentin' the very floor
I could see the tapes of Hendrix
And they hidden behind the door
I never had such a night of love
She knew every trick in the book
Over, under, sideways
By the mornin' I was shook
When she finally keeled over
I gently moved her weight
With her snores wakin' the very dead
I headed for the tapes
Then all at once
A big white flash took me by surprise
An apparition in tie-dye
Arose before me eyes
A curly headed black man
Exploded in the light
T'was the ghost of Jimi Hendrix
And him playin' the Uilleann pipes
I woke up in the hospital
A weddin' ring on me hand
Two hundred pounds of Maggie McGuire
Smilin' to beat the band
Oh, you're so romantic
No engagement did I need
Just one mad night of blisterin' sex
Brought me to my knees
So now I live in Ballydehob
Where the rain pours down all week
I'm nearly faded away from tendin'
To Maggie McGuire's needs
The moral of this story is
Don't ever find your dreams
And keep away from Hendrix
And his goddamn bloody tapes
You can talk about your pyramids
And your pints of Guinness stout
But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
Will leave them in the dirt
I chanced to see
He was begging behind a bottle
On Spring and Bowery
He said, "I got some news for you
Only cost a couple of bob
About a buried treasure
Back home in Ballydehob
Well, I gave him all the bucks I had
And he took me by the hand
I know you love musicians
I've got news to beat the band
For back there in me native town
In the Allied Irish Bank
The long lost tapes of Hendrix
Are hidden in the vault
You can talk about your pyramids
And your pints of Guinness stout
But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
Will leave them in the dirt
So I stole me boss's credit card
To the airport I did jog
Very soon thereafter
I arrived in Ballydehob
When I hit the Allied Irish me
Fatigue turned to desire
I beheld two hundred pounds
Of sweet Maggie McGuire
She cast her eyes upon me
"what are you doin' in me bank?"
I'm here on a secret mission, doll
Oh no, not another Yank
I hate the very sight of yez
Apart from your president
That man can stimulate me
Any way he wants
What are you doin' later?
Yera, I'm not up to much
Would you care for a pint of Guinness?
I never touch the stuff
But one pint led to two or three
Six to seven or eight
Until I was shakin' hands with meself
And that girl was feelin' no pain
She was startin' to look beautiful
Though there was three of her in sight
Six hundred pounds of lovin'
What do you have in mind?
Oh, sweet Maggie Magurie
There's one thing I'd adore
To go down to the vault of your bank
And do it on the floor
No bother, a stór
That's easily arranged
So we stole into the bank
And down the creaky stairs
Soon we were inside
The vault and dentin' the very floor
I could see the tapes of Hendrix
And they hidden behind the door
I never had such a night of love
She knew every trick in the book
Over, under, sideways
By the mornin' I was shook
When she finally keeled over
I gently moved her weight
With her snores wakin' the very dead
I headed for the tapes
Then all at once
A big white flash took me by surprise
An apparition in tie-dye
Arose before me eyes
A curly headed black man
Exploded in the light
T'was the ghost of Jimi Hendrix
And him playin' the Uilleann pipes
I woke up in the hospital
A weddin' ring on me hand
Two hundred pounds of Maggie McGuire
Smilin' to beat the band
Oh, you're so romantic
No engagement did I need
Just one mad night of blisterin' sex
Brought me to my knees
So now I live in Ballydehob
Where the rain pours down all week
I'm nearly faded away from tendin'
To Maggie McGuire's needs
The moral of this story is
Don't ever find your dreams
And keep away from Hendrix
And his goddamn bloody tapes
You can talk about your pyramids
And your pints of Guinness stout
But the long lost tapes of Hendrix
Will leave them in the dirt
Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher
Long Lost Tapes Of Hendrix Lyrics as written by
Lyrics © STARRY PLOUGH MUSIC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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