— When Lord Gloves started to lose his touch, he blew it all cuz he was in a rush. His ideas like petals in his fist were crushed, but we told him not to worry cuz he don’t know much. Once he was like Viv Richards before the sticks, when he scored a century on only fifty-six. The day will come again for a Lord Gloves scene, a moment like when Viv pissed off the Pretoria Regime. South Africa offered a seven figure check, to break the boycott and come play a Test. Well Viv told them to go fuck off, Lord Gloves your dignity will be reward enough.

But no one cares about cricket in this town, they only grab a six when the sun goes down. They drink and brood on the things they hate, they hide from their wives and they masturbate. Somebody said James Baldwin I’d guess, when the hate is gone only the pain is left. So they gotta see red or they’ll go insane, crash like Clemente in a cargo plane. Lord Gloves y’know I saw Clemente play, when Mom was shopping in Sears on a sunny day. She parked me in front of the appliance, which unto this day I pledge allegiance. From the magical precision of Roberto, to the racist violence of the cowboy show. I can’t tell you Lord Gloves all the time I missed, TV is not a substitute for experience. And now I am old and alone and poor, no one cares about trick roping anymore. No one wants to pay for that hard work, they just crank themselves like soda jerks. No one wants to burn the oil of the midnight lamp, no one wants to wear the dress at the mining camp. They’ll stroke their guns and they’ll have this dance, but when it’s their turn to be the girl they won’t exchange their pants.

So Lord Gloves don’t despair, throw your hands up in the air, this is tragic but compare, to the collapse of Night Ranger, synth player busted with child porn, their reputation now forlorn, no amount of Jesus could make him stop, cuz like they said, ‘this boy needs to rock,’ pure inspiration is no solace, remember DF Wallace, you saw a film that was so great, according to the keepers of the great art gate, you were embarrassed to see it wrong, but it was simply much too long, you’d rather claw over every little thing, on the power of your own two wings, one day the power in your voice will sing, you’ll climb again into the ring.

So soon Lord Gloves you will rise again, the truth will triumph in the end. You will broadcast a shadow so large and true, those lying bastards will all refuse to compete with you. And thus Lord Gloves my song is at an end, before I head down the road let me call you a friend. Your nobility shines through the gathering dust, you’re a man of strength who deserves our trust. Thanks for the time to sing my song, I’d like to end it with the crash of a suspended gong.

Neil Michael Hagerty is a songwriter/guitarist/producer. He previously played guitar in Pussy Galore, before forming Royal Trux in 1987. Since 2001 Hagerty has recorded albums both under his own name and as Howling Hex. He is also the author of two books, PUBLIC WORKS and VICTORY CHIMP (which exists in paperback and as an epic 4 CD audiobook).