The Longest Song Ever Recorded
Do you dare?
For my 2023 album I Have Nothing Against Homosexuality So Long as No Fellow Male Tries to Force Himself On Me, and at This Point, I Don't Think I'm in Much Danger I conspired to write the longest song in the world, a song that, over the course of several hours, would come to be as numbingly boring as David Bowie’s “Fame”.
I began work on “My Poor Heart’s an Open Book”, or whatever it’s called, in June, and finally completed the last of its 7612 verses in late September. At 11 hours 41 minutes and nine seconds, it’s longer than Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well”, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird”, Bowie’s “Station To Station”, Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” and “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”, Traffic’s “The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys”, the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray”, Iron Butterly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida”, and Jethro Tull’s “Thick As A Brick” combined.
When the San Francisco Giants played at Candlestick Park, they handed out plastic “medals” to attendees of night games who could withstand the place’s frigid winds until game’s end. For anyone who can listen to all of my song in one sitting, I am offering a free subscription to A Legend in His Own Minefield. Be forewarned, though, many’s the big steroid abuser who began the song all machismo and muscle, and by the end had been reduced to a whimpering little wuss!
I always take the safe path. The other one might lead
somewhere dark and scary where I’d be made to bleed
chorus:
My heart’s become open book that no one wants to read
Republicans are loathsome, a foul and heartless breed
They ridicule or turn their backs on those who are in need
I can’t abide the politicians limiting our speed
Florida and Texas should be made to secede
Behold the flash Italian cars all begging to be keyed!
I haven’t been indicted yet. Don’t ask me how I’ll plead
No electric scooter can replace a trusty steed
I don’t think you’re a baker although I know you knead
The world is going to hell but those we voted for won’t heed
the scared meteorologists. It’s terrifying, indeed!
The academic upstairs won’t wear anything but tweed
We argue sometimes heatedly but mostly we’ve agreed
My next door neighbour Olaf ain’t no Viking. He’s a Swede
IKEA, though is Danish, if it’s furniture you need
I’ve been hassled often after games I’ve refereed
I know that life’s uncertain though and nothing’s guaranteed
Some folks look down on rescue dogs and must have pedigreed
When it comes to pets, though, l’ll stick with my centipede
My bladder said I’m bursting, What a thing to have decreed
I did what any fella would. Found privacy and peed
Your grandest expectations I’m attempting to exceed
Sometimes I can’t help feel though like a kitten that’s been treed
Gordon Gecko shot to fame by celebrating greed
He used lots of toot, I’d guess, but very little weed
Please excuse me now. I’ve got some riot acts to read
Praise to Mr. Jesus. After all these year I’m freed!