(I like to think this captures a bit of Ms. Blake’s attitude:)

 

Anita Blake: A Day in the “Life”

(tune: “Threes” by Leslie Fish)

 

Deep within the evening I get dressed to go to work

My boss says I can’t wear black but he still thinks I’m a jerk

He thinks I scared the customer with something that I said

But since I put my zombies back, yes, “clients” end up dead

Three things don’t get dressed without, though skirts don’t always fit:

A backup gun, some silver knives, and a not-too-friendly wit

 

We gather in the graveyard to chat up their Uncle Bob

And silent as the grave—no, no that’s the lawyers on this job

I keep thinking there is something ’bout this gig that isn’t jake

I ponder as I kill the goat and call the dead to wake

Three things taint a raising: that’s a human sacrifice,

The dead who once had power, and when my boss gets too nice

 

And all too soon I get the call that means I’m needed quick

It might be cops who found a corpse with whole new kinds of ick

Or someone saw our vampires and “just won’t understand”

Or clans of fearsome werebeasts need someone to hold their hand

Three roles that my mama never told me not to fill:

To raise the dead, hunt murderers, and teach a wolf to kill

(I’ve got a baaaad feeling about this, lukoi…)

 

The trail leads to monsters, I know ’cause they come to me

And haul me to their secret court that really wants to see

But no-one told the guard who tries to bar me at the door

I say there’s lives depending on it, he says this means war

Three things call up power, though my enemies can scoff:

There’s sex, and there is blood, and there’s the things that piss me off!

(Alright, that’s only two things… what do you mean, just one?)

 

So on I go to stand before the baddest of the bad

And each one is a nightmare that I never knew I had

And some say I’m a nothing, and some say I’m a prize

And I’ve one chance to stop a war, and look into their eyes

Three ways scenes like these can end with dozens truly dead:

The monsters’ pride, the victims’ folly, or something that I said

(Who, me?)

 

After all the screaming’s done, and I have done my share

I stagger to my feet and limp off from the monsters’ lair

Now if you think I’m making up a couple of these facts

Then you don’t want to know just what I go do to relax

Three things I should never touch: a charged-up rune to Hell,

A werewolf with his claws out, and the third I’ll never tell

(Well, maybe I can, since I just felt him doze off—

In my bed, damn him!)

 

The next day I scrape one more outfit up and I walk in

And Burt is cursing o’er the cash I’ve added to his bin

Do my vampires know his tax auditor? Bet he never learns

It’s just another episode of As the Casket Turns

But if taxes are blood-sucking, then there’s three things you can’t flee:

There’s death, blood-drains, and Beast Within… but tell me which is me!

(I’ve written a lot of songs over the years. But this one began with an image I had when I first started learning music, and when I finally was ready to write it I knew it would be my favorite.)

From the Tower

I stand on the wall and look out at the waves

The river that runs to the sea

And think how I came here, how I must be brave

How odd that it happened to me

So much to see of the dark all around

War-creatures’ tramp must be shaking the ground

And shaking the hearts of the men who are bound

To fight for the chance to stay free

I know I should run but gates seal us in

And looking at faces so steeled to win

I finally can feel that I’m not who I’ve been

And almost I can’t wait to see

What will be

 

So far from home and my folk I was drawn

The life that was drifting on by

I followed my friends but oh where are they gone

Under this dark stormy sky

Down trails we’d fly from the things on our track

Stare through the night for a shadow more black

And cling to our guides as we’d feel the lack

Of the courage to do more than try

But creep through the leaf-fall or push through the snow

Rest with fey friends but too soon we must go

Bearing their hopes and remem’bring each blow

They face so it’s not we who die

Death looms nigh

 

Yes here from the tower I see it all now

The storms and the wide lands so clear

It wasn’t just pride when I made my own vow

But feeling what they too held dear

Those crowding near or the folk of my town

I feel them here as we’re all looking down

And no dirty goblin will e’er take that crown

Not even the dark ships we fear

Though I’m down in halls ‘neath the clashing of steel

To stare down a madman who can’t see what’s real

I’ll swear all my life this one moment I feel:

From those black sails the White Tree flew clear!

Shed a tear

 

 

(Here’s another song that actually starts with a similar setting, and goes in a very different direction. I wrote it partly to see how elaborate a rhyme scheme I could work in, but listeners often ask if it’s meant to honor someone else’s story, like From The Tower is — but this story is one I created for the song.)

Pressure Front

Rise you wind, blow from the skies you wind,

Or someone dies herein, they come, they come!

Push away thoughts of my friends, obey the trance, war ends today

Armies pour through our walls, lift our doors, unless my gift is more

More than dreams of clouds and wind, I am sure

But it seems our clouds and wind do not stir

 

Around the streets, my will must sound the streets and fill

So pound hoofbeats, sky’s still too still

They’ll soon pass the moor, guards call they mass as thick as crawling grass

But with thorns and eyes of steel they warn and I can feel men torn

Torn to fly before the kill-thirsting swarm

Or die beneath the still waiting storm

 

Past them I whip, they’re standing straight, some quip withstanding fate

But gripping hands they wait, just wait

They don’t care if my words lie, or spare a glance, but I did dare

Still no crack of thunder flashing, black winds from us smashing back—

Now I curse those winds that howled within my hopes

And worse, what winds still do sing in our ropes

 

Not so proud, no reason arc past crowds, no reason

Mark the clouds, so teasin’ dark, so dark

I still hear my dream-wind crooning clear though war will soon be near

We quail down as eyes now fail to pierce the rising gale

And the lightning’s grown to flower, I see

That tonight I’ve drawn its power at me

 

So ride direct through night, no brawn protects tonight

It dawns electric bright, ride on ride on!

And it roars through men, pursues me toward me, I pound through the horde

So it’s wheel and dodge until I feel the blast or killing steel

That frees the winds and all from my side

We’ll see how many fall in my last ride