1. |
The Smoking Skull
06:08
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When I say 'Golden' you say 'Virginia.’
Golden. - Dooberstein.
Golden. - Dooberstein.
When I say 'Danny,' you say 'Dooberstein.’
Danny. - Kebab.
Danny. - Kebab.
When I say 'Donna,’ you say 'Kebab.’
Donna. - Hang-up.
Donna. - Hang-up.
When I say 'Telephone,' you say 'Hang-up.’
Telephone. - Aspasia.
Telephone. - Aspasia.
When I say 'Redtube,' you say 'Aspasia.’
Redtube. - Virginia.
Redtube. - Virginia.
Virgil's slouching in his pants; he's been slumped there all day.
Smoking porno, blorting fags, not taking me out to play.
I would dream but Danny Dooberstein is maître d'.
Today will be just like yesterday again.
He's writing invisible plays.
An invisible plague.
He's writing invisible plays.
An invisible plague.
Calling up chat shows to order take-outs.
Keeping statue-poised, disguised from steak-outs.
Eyes closed, unzipping, dreaming of fake-clout.
Then a knock at the window; your beating heart.
Then a call of your name and you're breathing short.
Then their ear to the door, and your begging thoughts,
‘Please leave me alone,
I got deadlines to meet.’
Writing invisible plays.
‘Dead lines to meet.’
An invisible plague.
‘Deadlines to meet.’
Writing invisible plays.
‘Dead lines to meet.’
An invisible plague.
‘Have the rats got inside?
I see slug-trails, but no fucking slugs!
Are those blue-bottles in my red wine?
I see spiders crawling out of the plugs.
Who went and let them in?
Who is out there?
Who spinns?’
Only outing this night is to a Black Mercedes,
Two minutes with Deano, then a corner store lady.
‘
Just chilling boss, killing boss, tomorrow you slave me
But tonight I'm calling up chat shows to order take-outs
Keeping statue poised camouflaged from steak-outs
Eyes closed, fist-pounding, wrecking to fake-clout
Then I'm knocked.’
Load up torrents, send them away.
Today we'll gunge like yesterday.
Piano sits in the corner, unplayed.
Today will be silent like yesterday.
Roll up soldiers, smoke them away.
Today we'll be numb like yesterday.
Today will be like yesterday.
REBEL. REBEL. REBEL.
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2. |
The Levels
03:26
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Got the wrong clothes. Got the wrong hair. You can't go in there!
Watch friends pay; their pennies disappear. Caveat emptor.
Fashion fucks surround; posing indie tricks. So alternative!
Rejected by the birds with the noses turned.
No need to watch you, fool. You're not noticeable,
Like the Pied Piper DJ paid to play what's cool.
Brain on a spit. Now eat it!
Drink your equity. Swallow pleasantries, 'til you're brimming and
Spewing rhetoric; a false history. Do it for your country
With a blowtorch and Fe2O3, magnesium and aluminium.
Dead fish in debt. No possibilities swimming up-stream.
With all that anger stealing your energy, you watch your dreams perspire,
In the fire. Coal to the cold machine. Frankenstein.
You are his very best fiend.
Row. Row on. Row on faster.
Maybe a black sheep or an ugly duck, left behind to suck
On dirty underwear of the incontinent. You've lost countenance
And after all this time, you still praise the shrine that keeps you in this trench.
Row on. Row hard. Faster for your Master.
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3. |
LDN Doesn't Exist
04:36
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London doesn't exist.
London doesn't exist.
It's just something that they'll tell you when you're pissed
To keep you in the Itching Ground.
There's something in M25.
The Big Smog I think was how it was described.
Some religions say you must live within to be alive
But they have investments in an Itching Ground.
Aspasia's got a Mayfair address.
I point my camera whilst she rolls 'round her bed.
When the photo's are done, she begged, 'remove all of the dread.’
Her dad still thinks she's eight years old.
You can find Spicey down the Isle Of Dogs.
Gobbling up generations of people's ill trust.
The pyre keeps getting higher the more memories he eats up
’Til his appointment with the Wicker Man.
People see The City in their dreams.
As if the ticket unsticks and licks their wounds clean.
But you need more than the ease to escape from the freeze
And the victim that you keep on the thrown.
So tell 'em you're from Outer Space.
An alien with no pride of place.
With a manefesto that reads,
'You are what you make,
And what you make is born to flower in the Now.’
London doesn't exist.
London doesn't exist.
It's just something that they'll tell you when you're pissed
To keep you in the Itching Ground.
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4. |
La Petite Mort
04:33
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If this is the morning after; a crater in the pillowcase.
Where have you gone?
I can hear a distant laughter.
The location I cannot trace.
A ticking bomb
For a customer that is saving face.
I thought the deal was obvious.
I'd wired the money to your account.
But you leave me like this?
With my bedside drawer now empty.
Nothing to suck at with my mouth.
I smell piss.
All these sheets will need throwing out.
Fuck me. Fuck me now.
I can go another round.
It says she's Evil when she's horny;
Drinking honey-slides from honey cracks.
Get her from Dusk 'til Dawn;
A Serpentine, Sucking Salma Hayek.
A snort of snuff!
And I've had enough of streaming porn.
Dial the number, and take a breath -
Tonight's the night pinky's going home.
Fuck me. Fuck me now.
I can go another round.
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5. |
This Fucking Enigma
05:14
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First off: Intervention.
A penny for every thought.
Will you please say something? Just fucking
Talk of medication.
Big Brother to keep a watch.
'Ere, Tiny Tim. Please hand me that
Crutch in my conversation;
A hammer hard to my crotch.
Keeping me dazed through the daytime,
And buzzing when curling up.
When will this spinning stop?
Get your hands off me!
Leave Jesus alone with his God.
Leave Talus with his pornography.
Leave Aspasia with her drugs.
Upped the dosage; still no rush.
If I knew
If I could help you
What works for now
Might cease to do you good.
Yesterday was a good day.
Today I unplugged the phone.
Try to focus on little victories
But there's a dog in the corner growling,
With spicey eyes and
A hunger that knows no limits.
My belly binges and overflows.
Skin this bird. Turn the oven on,
And I'm burning up
Like a rumour from the hills.
Maybe one day a prisoner’s name
Will Spinn out into the world.
If I knew
If I could've helped you
What worked for me
Might poison in your blood,
Rotting future skin.
Keep on trying.
Wings to fly.
Pigs to fly.
Truth to power.
Pigs to fly.
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6. |
Flick! We Go On
03:11
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Umbilical strangulation
Avoided by a lubricated outer-membrane.
A dolphin through a hoop
When anonymity suits.
But a camouflaged Puss in Boots
Applauding whatever Emperors' Clothes.
A jealous Pinocchio sings,
‘Old Othello's wife's cheating, ee I ee Iago.’
Never heard of Normandy,
Or hearts that get down on one knee.
Everything; remote controlled.
A robot that's predisposed to
Rebirth in every situation,
Guided by the immediate population.
A mind by democracy.
Dropping from the bridge, a pooh-stick thinks it’s free,
Until it's expelled to the sea.
Flick! We Go On.
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7. |
Ground Zero
01:57
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I'll come up in a few days
To see what my son has made
But right now I can't see shapes,
And for now I must wait:
In the silence at the school gates,
In all the faces, all the faces of your classmates.
In the drunken songs and the smashed plates.
In the wings we had planned to make.
You'll rise up in the out-takes.
Surprise us all on your birthday.
Somehow, and in some place.
Not right now.
Now we must wait.
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8. |
Mirror
02:05
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She knows what she needs
But lives with a body that makes her do the opposite.
She plans her exit in written lists,
Of all that she shouldn't but can't resist.
Day is not done 'til every vice
Is sewn into the fabric of this mobster wife,
Who is just a slave to her husbands life.
Strip her naked
She's his mirror inside.
Wakes up each morning to the same tests,
Fearing with every second the threat of the same mess.
She is too frightened and long distressed
To start-up from this lethargy.
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9. |
Event Horizon
04:28
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Up the ladder
You will be looked after.
Down the adder
There is endless laughter.
Shall I run?
Shall I stay?
Is this really the place that I should play?
If every window is a door
Then I'm happier hugging the floor.
Happier hugging the floor.
Happy on the floor.
He did it and she did it too.
What are the chances her foot would fit?
Now together forever into the blue.
Should I kneel?
Should I Spinn?
Is this really my long-lost twin?
If every lover is to leave
Then I'm happier burning these trees.
Happier burning these trees.
Happier burning these.
Some for country, some for Queen.
I wonder if I'll ever trust enough
To give my blood to something clean
Should I fear forevermore?
There are worse things than losing it all.
If every jump a memory
Then help me to bend my knee.
Give me the count of
Three. One. Two.
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10. |
All Roads From Penrose
04:55
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Refused each invite with a lie, but what I missed becomes the frequent story.
A sentimental toke before I flush supplies, but they wash up in a new delivery.
I tried to hold on to your advice, but those red eyes made the grip so slippery.
I threw ten smiles; some boomeranged, some others left in Chinese lanterns,
But I feel so handsome down this road, unafraid of where it goes, hoppetting like a toad,
Because my life walks Echers stairs everywhere.
My soul; a Penrose Triangle to bare.
What you give is truly what you wear.
Nine swords in your sleep.
Wake up tortured from grief.
A brother that you killed lies bleeding in Crete.
Leave that beast in the jail.
Set a ship with white sails.
Dress yourself in hope for the love unveiled.
[transpiration condensation precipitation surface-draining accumulation evaporation condensation precipitation ground-detention infiltration water-channelling evaporation interception]
To take the low road, or the high.
Rush for the crown and you'll feel behind,
But standing still's an endless climb.
And in my mind; I see two towers and lightening,
With one man falling, another wire walking between
His lost love and the one he dreams.
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11. |
The 9th Step
03:37
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I borrowed a pen, and I wrote myself a list.
For all the pain I had kicked around, I was banished with the solipsists.
Now Descartes had a friend who helped him make the leap
But I'm going out alone; try and make sense of some things I messed up.
Sophie - I'm sorry that I beat on you under false pretenses
Just to try and hide my jealous side by attacking all of your senses.
And yes, I'm sure your friend massaged your feet, 'cause he's oh-so-altruistic
But I should have trusted you to be faithful through his flirty tactics.
Talus was streaming incongruous musings on all that he cared to detest.
He didn't notice your exit 'til all of his rhetoric had dried in the silence of the guests.
And although he was sorry he made you feel ashamed about the Family crest,
He stubbornly, slowly supped at his pint until his face was soaking wet.
Now you're madly repeating that you're societies victim, can I guess who you are sorry for - still?
Displaying hot-rock holes in your interview clothes 'cause you fear your own potential.
But as the years go by, your body'll kick and cry for the man in the mirror culled.
The faun who has failed, at least has his tale, so Spinn your wheel into the world.
I'm sorry that your daughter didn't pick someone that you could call 'son’
But your midnight prayer got answered mon pere, so maybe you'll get lucky with her next one!
I was surprised that night she handed me your rubbers and your bottle of Jamesons.
I never knew what you did for your business, or what you did for your Catholic predilections.
I'm sorry that I say I'm so sorry so much.
I've been doing it for years now. It's gonna be hard for me to stop.
But time feels more precious now, and there's not much on the clock.
Let this moment make me better.
I’m gonna take that out for a walk.
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12. |
Building 7
04:50
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There are people dancing in Building 7.
That party's really shakin’.
No-one knows their hips are bumping and grinding
'Cause no-one's really lookin’.
All the A-list stars avoid that bar;
They've worked far too hard to share this evening.
They'll be holding golden and silver medals
From Twin podiums.
Bowing to oligarchs, shaking their hands.
Princes publicly greasing the wheels of chance.
Two strippers start kissing, frisking their pants
As a child kicks and screams,
'I do what I want!’
Record-breaking ratings up-and-down the land
As Madame Tussauds unveils Maddy McCann.
Spicey minces up to The Son Of Sam,
Saying something 'bout bastard children be damned!
There are people laughing in Building 7.
They're having a bake-out out back there.
No-one knows their satire or crude impressions
'Cause no-one really cares.
All the Baron's of Oil with their Trouble and Toil are far too spoiled to share the limelight.
They'll be draped in silk from Dolce and Gabbana
Up 110 flights of stairs.
From muttering men, chewing their pens.
A careering boss who thinks she has no friends
Except the cuts in her thigh to release endorphins,
And a slice of the pie before all that dry heaving.
75cl’s helping you swim the evening.
Through all the drunken phone-calls, all apologies penned
And another theophany as the world seems to end.
There are people waving from Building 7.
Stevie Smith is waving back
But no-one sees the roof that's slowly crimping.
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