Wes Leslie Ends Meat

by Wes Leslie

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released April 1, 2010

Wes Leslie sings and plays guitar, tambourine, banjo, melodica, keyboards and percussion (drums, milk crates, guitar cases, hole punch)

Wes Leslie thanks his broskis, friends, mother, family, John Langan, and Jhameel

Additional keyboards on “Fag City Single” by Cornelius McMoyler
Cover artwork and screen printing by Ariel Carroll-Johnson
Wes Leslie lurks (facebook.com/wesleslie), blogs (wesleslie.com) and tweets (twitter.com/wesleslie)




Wes Leslie San Francisco

Wes Leslie sings bedroom soul music.

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Track Name: Fag City Single
Where cement turns to gravel turns to dirt, and you grab a handful and praise the Earth, look for a run-down house with cooking supper and a subsequent mother. There’s a brightness lighting up the basement. A former flame I couldn’t not mention. He got away to the country, I called Miss Paisley lovely, called him lots of things, all the time, lost the signal—where’s the landline when you need it? When you need to say “I still sniff your blankets.”

Fag city (fog city) we’re gonna get there baby. Come with me (fog city), I’m gonna get there someday if you’ll let me. But he won’t let me down.

That last night, I put my glasses on. He biked over in those long johns, cut our hair off just to see his father’s reaction. The U-Haul already there, he said “Son, we’re moving to Nebraska.”

And you’re about to head eastbound, and you’re looking at the train in the opposite direction. And all of a sudden one of you starts moving but you can’t tell who. Are we perpetually faking the feeling of motion?
Track Name: Jesus, Come Quickly
Jesus, come quickly, and fill me, don’t leave me, believe me, it’s over without your hands. Jesus, come over, your wrists and their scars, too, and I can bathe your bleeding feet and tell you it’s all I need, so Jesus, come quickly.

If not the booze, babe, say it’s me, babe, and I’ll be here, with sober ears, you know I’m hearing what you’re saying. And it’s okay, babe, I’ve got you safe babe. And you say you’re not so pretty, and I know my arms are skinny but I can try.

Jesus, come over, don’t mean to be so sober. To struggle slash sink, sparkle and speak, I invade the freezer for something to drink, oh Jesus come quickly. Don’t write me up, I’ll light you up, we’ll have enough, come quickly.

And you say you’re not so pretty, and I know it feels shitty, but you’ll be fine.

I’ll be here with sober ears. I’ll waste away a couple hundred thousand years and we’ll be fine.

And the week will always start again, babe.
Track Name: Split And Divide (the Motorcycle Industry cover)
Amanda, how many songs do I have to write before you call me up, say “Hey, was that one about me? Maybe you’d like to talk. Or maybe you’d like to watch me paint my fingernails on the Goodwill couch. Tiny turquoise elephant, put that cigarette out.”

But I haven’t seen the Hudson in a while, and your apartment always had the best view.

And how’d you get your guitar to sound like that, like the fake metal frets are cutting through the crap that everyone’s singing about these days? If you need me I’ll be on the fire escape.

But you won’t. And I do. Do you remember Halloween? Eating candy on your stoop. Kevin’s friend said he thought I looked cute, and you did too.

And I woke up wet. My saltwater breath would taste good on your legs. And the Amtrak lines split and divide, they are taking me away.
Track Name: Swallow Song
The bus stop to the trash can is the single longest mile. The morning so hung over and it only tastes of bile. Playing sixties singers loudly, but I won't be singing no Swallow Song. And last night, she looked alright, considering, you know…The language barriers were nothing that hands couldn't handle. But I disappointed Vashti cause Italians don't sing no swallow song.

Jeans, when you left me, I was doubled-up. If you gave a fuck, I don't know. The rivers we crossed to get here, doubled-up and over. Look online in the morning to see where I was, I look online in the morning to see who I was.

Conservation of mass, and concentration on ash, we’re all over. But the principle’s that someone’s getting down about now. We had it, I lost it, called me a fag in the Czech Republic, you pay for what you get on those overnight trains. And I regret that I can’t crack the code to your Italian brain. First in, first out, a lover in London who left me down. A Belgian brew, a shattered glass, a Viennese crypt you can put me in again.

The plane ride home, the girls I’d phone if I ever touch down, if I ever hit SFO, you know it’s the only way to go, though I know, I know we got San Jo and Oakland, tell me when we’re home, man, tell me if we’re ever gonna get back home. So we make do, and we make two, you tell me all the things that you think I’m gonna do but I’m gone, you’re wrong. I’ll be singing swallow songs.
Track Name: The Rivers We Crossed
The rivers we crossed to be an hour late to your first exhibit. And I stayed awake for the next week and swore I’d never sleep again, on my alarm clock bed. Back on the bikes in the Viennese night, we made it to the party just fine. The gallery show I’d never see on my mind.

In drunk, in German, he slurred and kept running. “Did you hear he died Old Man Michael Jackson?” And I asked could I get you another beer? Oh, the rivers we crossed to get here. And all the fag city singles stopped singing for to go get high. And the somber, sober memories, like sing-alongs to Billie Jean, oh, the rivers we crossed to get here.

I braved terrorists, the swine flu, language barriers, French dudes who hijacked the iPod at the party. Now I can't listen to Maggie's Farm no more.