Living Room

from by Billy Moon



My living room was the only venue we had.
 We needed to play a show. 
We waited till my parents left,
 the weekend before graduation I said: “call everyone, tell them we’ve been waitin”

The same faces staring back

the same places haunting me

for all my efforts and what they may lack
I was only demanding my own autonomy

I was jealous of your Telecaster but I knew I couldn’t play guitar as well as you could. 
I found old recordings, ‘member you once told me: “I can tell you wrote that song ‘bout her” ?

Gathered in communion
 still in standard tuning, 
sound echoed off the walls

of our living rooms and basements. 
No means of escape,
just teenage concert halls

and we thought of a narrative,
 a narrative to carry our hearts and our heels from rust on steel and I kissed as a roman candle blew out into the field

so naive, we believed our love was real.

Like some little kid,
just out of frame
waving their arms,
screaming their name.
An integral part that keeps you awake,
it’s still in your heart

it can’t go away.

Were we just sitting around waiting for stones to bleed?

fumbling in the dark for which we could not name but need?

She said "I can feel it, there’s something hanging over me
swimming in shallow waters searching for the deep.

And we fell in love with the myth of our age; threw our rural anxieties up against a blank page.

We were free like all the others but we still called ourselves caged,

cause we were just begging for something to liberate.


from Punk Songs, released September 14, 2018


all rights reserved



Billy Moon Hamilton, Ontario

"You should change your artist bio, that one that's up there doesn't sound like you"
- my mom



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