1. |
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Super Unpleasant Companion
Weight without warmth
Papery facsimile
You never saw me
Weight without warmth now
Blew a hole through
I never touched you
All feigning and fawning
O balsawood bullshit
Something in the nothing in the eyes
(The eyes don’t have it)
I am your O so unpleasant companion
But am I reaching out to touch?
Or am I reaching out to choke?
And I low
And I’m never known
And I’m low
I am never known
And I low
And I’m never known
And I’m low
I am never known
And I low
And I’m never known
And I’m low
I am never known
And I low
And I’m low
And I low
And I’m low
And I low
And I’m low
And I low
And I’m low
And I low
And I low
And I low
And I low…
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2. |
RePentheus
02:19
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RePentheus
O you said you know
He loves us all
You said you daren’t tell him “no”
And even so
In afterglow
He’ll mark you where it won’t show
And hours crawl
Adagio
You say “I love you” although
the blood it flow
And lachrymal
And there he stands just like some cardboard king in impotence perverse nothing
no, is held within
Is sickly thin
Is like a toddler draped in piss in vinegar O immolate that sir
now, and paint the town
O burn it down
And shred that verkakte crown
O sister, rise
Animal cries
Naked and mad O Bacchae!
O mobilise
Free to despise
O bare thy teeth brutalise
And then destroy
This mamma’s boy
And then it’s bloodshed ahoy!
For kings are things
That only bring
O supplication and the violation of all that you are now so O
O kings are things
That only bring
The supplication and the violation of all that you are now so O
He is a boar
She: carnivore
O mama omophagia!
He is a bore
She: carnivore
O mama omophagia!
He is a boor
She: carnivore
O mama omophagia!
He is a boar
She: carnivore
O mama omophagia!
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3. |
Dry
03:45
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Dry
Dry for days
The brown breath of the barroom
stinks and stales and stays
Stuck between the cold of the glass
and the cold of the shoulder
The practise of abstinence makes the heart colder
Time grows as thin
thin as the blood of the man who's drowning in
It's not mother's ruin
that's so busy screwin' you
but father's self-loathing distilled and then drank, it's true
For beer may be brother to bruise
and a midwife to misery
But you take it away, then you'll see (then we'll all see)
Time grows as thin
thin as the blood of the man who's drowning in
Time grows so thin
thin as the grave we'll all be drowning in
They're waiting to drink and their tempers are frayin
Blood-alcohol's boilin and people are prayin
Half empty or full none of them need remindin
There's air where the drink should be flashin and blindin
and burning their throats, dulling senses and vision
Avoiding the punch and the slash, the incision
They're moanin and bitchin, their gun fingers itchin
Their blackjacks feel heavy, their switch blades a-switchin
Time grows thin
spill the blood of the man who's drowning in
Time grows so thin
spill the blood of all the men who're drowning in
Never!
(Never)
Never ask why
No, never ask why
The answer is: DRY
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4. |
A Dereliction of Judy
04:36
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A Dereliction of Judy
The killing of women is an industry
You said “Pretty girls are the despots of small towns”
“They stride liquid-hipped down estate alleyways, lounge under the circus illuminations of shopping centres; draw on slim cigarettes, swallow playgrounds whole. They are extra-terrestrial and impossible.”
“If you grew up in a small town, as I did, you know them,” you said, “you’ve seen them,” you said, “names are on the tip of your tongue even as I speak. Despots. Tyrants. Unauthorized monarchs.”
O woe on thee!
O woe on thee!
There is the sense of some great and terrible loss, perhaps the image conjured is of a childhood keepsake or treasure slipped between floorboards or pulled from your fingers, a childhood keepsake or treasure fallen into a great black space, a mouth, or a well. A lucky penny: falling. A favourite toy: falling. A piece of you: rudely excised and falling.
A single high note descending, a viola, perhaps a cello, dry-stringed and in free fall, no end to the depth of the tone; down and down. Down and down.
The sound of tearing.
You thought yourself somewhere but then, somehow, you have been shown to be, have found yourself, quite elsewhere, your feet on shifting ground. Something about a broken promise, a fraudulent IOU, the reneging on an invisible contract.
But then the keepsake is you, you the favourite toy, you in freefall, inhaled by that black throat; you: falling.
Your self-pity and your cowardice are your defining characteristics. You wear them like a stain. Like a playground tattoo. Like a birthmark.
Pretty girls are the target, but all will foot the bill.
Pretty girls are the target, but all will foot the bill.
O woe on thee!
O woe on thee!
There is the sense of some great and terrible wrong, perhaps the image conjured is of some balsawood construction, some rickety injustice.
And memories of childhood tears, of toes made fists in your shoes, of the strangled cry of tantrum, of notfairnotfair.
Flashes of stock footage, of slaughter, of butchery, animals skinned, peeled, gutted, cored like apples, some inner kernel, some oily mass, some slick crimson knuckle pulled from them; shelled like peas.
And all of this congeals into a kind of grand fresco of pain, and your mouth becomes a mask of it and your fists curl themselves like startled snails and fear is everywhere on you, like an army.
And you just want to hurt something. And you just want to kill someone.
And you just want to hurt something. And you just want to kill someone.
And pretty girls are the fodder of small towns.
Pretty girls are the fodder of small towns.
Pretty girls are the fodder of small towns.
The killing of women is an industry
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5. |
Four Buttons
02:52
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Four Buttons
It seems like a prevarication
An exercise in distancing, denial
But in reality it’s an arm’s length saviour
A move sideways to go forth
Say all is something else
Say all is something else
Say all is something else
(This isn’t this but what it represents)
Simile and metaphor
The corridor is a leviathan’s throat
His nose a cockroach in my kitchen
Supplant and ideate
Supplant and ideate
Supplant and ideate
(And while THEY dither, YOU act)
A shank shines in that corridor
He counts four buttons down
He counts four buttons down
He counts four buttons down
(Five shalt thou not count, no)
The shank is but a viper
He counts those four little buttons down!
He counts those bastards down!
(Then a smidge to my left, his right)
That viper in my hand
That viper in my hand
That viper in my hand
(But that viper remains in his fist)
His fist
In his fist
The corridor is a flooding tunnel,
The flooding tunnel a leviathan’s throat,
The leviathan’s throat is a playground slide down to a furnace
He is cheap statuary
He is cheap statuary
He is cheap statuary
O use your imagination
He counts those four little buttons down!
He counts those bastards down!
(Down, down)
He’s counting buttons down
He’s counting buttons down
He’s counting buttons down
(Fascia, rib, then the final sprint to the finish)
My finish that is
Unless I can-
Unless I can-
But I can’t
I can’t
I can’t
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6. |
The Navvy’s Hymn
00:53
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The Navvy’s Hymn
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
You dig a hole, you see what’s down below
You dig a deep enough hole, you see hell’s undertow
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
You dig a hole, you see what’s down there
You see Jesus aflame, red skin, no hair
You dig a hole, you dig a deep enough hole
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7. |
Herniate!
02:07
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Herniate!
This man is a rupture
Assumption free, a muscle pinched
He's chasing meritocracy
X marks the spot too easily
Presumptive incumbent
of the glory days to come
A muscle pinched twixt thumb and forefinger
Terrible things will happen to this man
This man is a missile
He's facile and fallopian
He sashays by the altarpiece
A beetle through the bacon grease
Immovable object
that was never there at all
Unstoppable and farcical
Nothing of note will ever happen to this man
Spitting vinegar strokes
'til our glory days are done
The lava rises in many guises
An appetite for this man or that man
An appetite for this man or that man
That man!
That man!
Herniate! Herniate!
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8. |
Fill Your Fucking Boots
03:40
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Fill Your Fucking Boots
When I die bury me in the town from which I fled
In that bed of bile and bad temper, self-regard, cold distemper
Plant me in that place, let me be the poison seed in your soil
I’ll kill you all
Let me taint the water, let me perish the roots of your crop
Bury me in that earth, I the salt, the dearth beneath
I’m the end you’ll never see coming, the smothering hand from below
I’ll be your fall
I’ll kill you all
And you’ll drink me in
Like pure grain ethanol
I’ll kill you all
And those bitter tides below your feet will go unseen
And bleed in the streets that spat on me
and punched me this way, they punched me that
And burned my friends alive in tiny bedsitting rooms
and broke my heart
I’ll make you crawl
I’ll make you crawl
And you’ll drink me in
Like pure grain ethanol
I’ll kill you all
And you’ll drink me in
No one there to hear your call
You’ll down me straight
You’ll feel the burn and well folks th-that’s all
I’ll make you fall
I’ll kill us all
(I’ll kill us)
And you’ll drink me in
Like that pure grain ethanol
Swallow me whole
No one there to hear your call
You’ll down me straight
Feel the sting, feel the burn
And well folks th-that’s all
And it’s chug-a-lug! And down in one!
Undiluted vitriol!
I’ll make you small
I’ll make you small
I’ll kill us all
I’ll kill us all
I’ll kill you all
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9. |
The Green Man
02:33
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The Green Man
She said “They came into the village
O they stole into the village
Said they fell upon the village O like locusts”
Bathing in the spoils
Bathing in the spoils
Every man and jack of them is bathing in the spoils
She said “They kicked in doors to pillage
O they kicked down doors to pillage”
Said “But never mind the pillage O like locusts”
Bathing in the spoils
Bathing in the spoils
Every swingin’ dick of them is bathing in the spoils
She said “I love a man in uniform
O I love a man in uniform”
Said “I love a man in uniform on fire”
Bathing in the spoils
Bathing in the spoils
Every double veteran is bathing in the spoils
She said “I love a man in uniform
O I love a man in uniform”
She said “I love a man in uniform on fire”
She said “I love a man in uniform on fire”
She said “I love a man in uniform on fire”
She said “I love a man in uniform on fire”
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10. |
Sparrow Wrists
03:06
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Sparrow Wrists
That poor man!
That meagre fellow
yellow of bellowing
so hoarse
Richard Pictures is worn to a basting thread
“Are we not men?” he says
Correcting the woman to his left
Richard is an island and Dr Moreau-ver
While humping his toddler fist!
Richard Pictures speaks in tongues:
“Feel my muscles”
“FEEL MY MUSCLES”
All sparrow wrists and toddler fists!
All toddler fists and sparrow wrists!
That guileless juvenile
Take time and stop a while
and spit
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11. |
You Are Not Here
04:50
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You Are Not Here
She spoke in silhouette
ten feet away
yet her voice was in my ear
She was illusion
she was counterfeit
she was perilously near
She came from nowhere
she was elsewhere
she was falsehood, she was flame
She called me stupid
cockamamie
and she called me by my name
She said I speak sincere
you are not here
you're not here and I can prove it
I only speak the truth
and I'll give you proof
I'm telling you I speak no bullshit
She said:
You are not here
She said:
Are you in Texas or in choich?
Are you in Poland or in Phoenix?
Are you lost within the Vatican?
Or drunk and bruised in Essex?
She said I speak sincere
you are not here
you're not here and I can prove it
I only speak the truth
and I'll give you proof
I'm telling you I speak no bullshit
She said
She said
She said
-
She said:
You are not here
I said:
No I'm not in Texas nor in choich
I'm not in Poland or in Phoenix
I'm not lost within the Vatican
or drunk and bruised in Essex
You say you speak sincere
That I am not here
I'm not here and you can prove it
You only speak the truth
said you'll give me proof
I'm telling you, you're full of bullshit
She said:
If you're not in Texas, nor in choich
If you're not in Poland or in Phoenix
You're not lost within the Vatican
or drunk and bruised in Essex
Then you must be somewhere else
somewhere else in truth
somewhere quite completely other
and if that's really true
If you're somewhere else
then you can't be here, my brother
I said...
I said...
I said...
I am not here
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12. |
Flathead
02:44
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Flathead
They were O so much in their blood
they were so much in love
They were greeting cards and palliations
They held hands and said the words
you’ve heard ad nauseum
Love’s numb dream, pristine
(then he took a screwdriver)
Then he took a screwdriver
Then he took a screwdriver
Flathead since you ask!
Flathead since you ask!
Flathead since you ask!
And he planted that driver
drove it in her face
The handle poked out just below her left eye
And she went down
(but not like he’d begged her to)
And she went down (but not like he’d begged her to)
And she went down (but not like he’d told her to)
Flathead since you ask!
Flathead since you ask!
Flathead since you ask!
(Ever hear of Phineas P. Gage?)
She got back up
She got back up
Her eyes rolled in her O just like marbles
And she got back up
And she blinked
and she said:
“I was mistaken, but I’ve… got a handle… on it now”
“I was mistaken but I’ve got a handle on it now”
“I was mistaken but I’ve got a handle on it now”
“I was mistaken but I’ve got a handle on it now-
(and that handle has a rubberised grip!)”
And she pulled him apart like paper
Pulled him apart just like paper soaked in claret
And she was 50 feet high, and he a smoked mote
And she was O such much in his blood and so happy they were
She: in red
He: in shreds
She was mistaken but she’s got a handle on it now
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13. |
The Melody Ouroboros
02:11
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The Melody Ouroboros
And all the songs you've heard
they have not left
They stay the weft of love to weave
with beauteous facsimile
To mend the hearts of you of me
To make us see that in our hurt
and in our pain great truth doth lie
Though blood be spilt, though heavy sigh
Though tears be cried, though hearts bereft
The songs you've heard they have not left
Though tears be cried, though hearts bereft
The songs you've heard, they have not left
To mend the hearts of you, of me
To make us see that in our hurt
and in our pain great truth doth lie
Though blood be spilt though heavy sigh
Though tears be cried though hearts bereft
The songs you've heard they have not left
Though tears be cried though hearts bereft
The songs you've heard they have not left
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The Bleeding Hours London, UK
Bluesy noise, twang, ill-feeling; no melody too pretty to be utilised then fed into the wood chipper.
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