1. |
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I want to be dead with my friends.
I want to be dead with my friends.
a wide eyed, brilliant, dynamic rest.
I want to be dead with my friends where the iron sharpens the iron sharpens the iron.
I want to be dead with my friends.
I want to be dead with my friends.
a vulgar, loud, unforgettable end. I want to be dead with my friends.
let boredom cease the beating of our purple hearts.
against this, even gods fight violently in vein. what chance could we have stood?
we were the last of the lost, but now we are the first of the fashionably late
loved ones decompose and you’ll gather ‘round the bones. but most of us are wholly ghost. all of us were wholly ghost.
we made the scene when we made a scene, and though it was brief it meant everything.
what a pity, now they’re bound to make us saints.
against this even boys fight violently in vein. What chance could we have stood?
we were the last of the lost, but now we are the first of the fashionably late.
I refuse to be the only man put to rest in a mass grave. you were all there with me.
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2. |
Holy Book of Dilemma
01:49
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insect lust or insect love.
there’s no telling them apart if you’re not a bug.
but from down here I can see the gears
the guts of the watches, molecular tiers.
now, if you’re a bug in insect love then you only do things with other bugs.
but if its lust (and survival is a must) than the things that you do are to other bugs.
there are laws built into the nest and this is the crux of it. but how do you apply this to the world?
we are given too much room to be expected to do only good. we are more curious than bold and we were quiet before we went cold.
animal art or animal shit? boot legged thoughts or collegiate wit?
It all looks the same if it ain’t holy writ.
but from up here I can see the gears, where the guts of the clocks mimic the heavenly spheres.
our mathematics and our faiths are just ways of devouring space while we continue to devolve. separate hearts are the whole of the law.
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3. |
A Wild, Shameless Plain
01:49
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old black tusks ripped off of the beast at the bank of the swamp and carved into statues of arthritic gods or the handles of blunt swords that you’ll one day run upon, with your eyes covered in moss.
shot down in its sleep. the big game of the world wide garbage heap.
you mounted its head on your wall. the prize? hollowed out eyes, mold
in the cracks of its skull. the fur is matted with blood and its tongue wet with mothers milk.
gates opened wide and bedlam came. wise men were forced into a laymans trade.
with nothing but time, chaos reigns.
a great quiet has followed you to here. a blustering wind with nothing of worth in its heart or hands.
your legacy is “a dull catalogue of common things” **
you’ve never even seen the blood you’ve drawn or looked in the eyes of the kill you claim was yours before taking your picture with it.
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4. |
Typical Miracle
02:25
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I need a new rock bottom.
I’ve got to find a beloved back alley.
I’m bored as hell in sodom and eden is just another dry county.
the local haunts have been blessed, all their spirits dispossessed.
even our bed is the second best and the end isn’t near it is now.
these drugs won’t even bring me down.
I wanna dance but I don’t hear a sound.
you cant fuck when your friends are around but my slow death drew a crowd.
can’t take two sins off of one ox. pile them on because she wont spare the rod.
you don’t drown faster the deeper you sink so you best make peace and take in the sea.
nurse that stray black dog. stay low. keep digging.
divine light continued to shine for so long that the battery died
and no spark could be seen in my eyes so it waved death down.
the rapture came and it went while my faith was treading cement.
I’m hell bound but I’m heaven sent so I’m lifted back into the ground.
I’ve ascended back into the ground.
there was whiskey in the devils blood and there was blood in my cup
so I will make me a better grave.
I will find my own way.
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5. |
I Suck (Blood)
02:55
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I’d rather beg your forgiveness than solicit permission.
I’d rather know that it broke your heart than doubt that it will
every time we divide we put zeros under the line and we publish it as our proof that nothingness is divine.
I cant find a way to grind your heart to a halt. it was probably just the wind.
I don’t ruin you like I did.
I would rather be jealous man than an off duty cop.
I tried to be a babe-in-arms, not a bull in a china shop
A sheep in wolfs clothes, I’m a hangman without a rope.
Who am I trying to kid? I don’t ruin you like I did.
when you live your life being scared to death than you might as well be wounded.
if you spend your nights being short of breath then ill keep these shadows moving.
If only you could see me now.
I’ll take what I can get even if it’s restraining. Orders.
hold your fire.
what do you take me for? did you think I could garner attention with tact? what do you take me for?
what am I trying to prove? what have I done to you? feft at the altar and asked for a bed, what did I expect you to do?
give me an audience. black, loveless eyes.
I have hundreds of costumes but not one disguise.
places everyone. Fangs out.
I’d rather beg your forgiveness than solicit permission.
I’d rather know that it broke your heart than doubt that it will
I would rather be jealous man than an off duty cop
I tried to be a babe-in-arms, not a bull in a china shop
I will see you in the dark- a castrated stranger with candy hearts
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6. |
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at the bottom of the first drink I found my nerve.
at the bottom of the next one I met my girl.
at the bottom of the third drink I found a fourth
and at the bottom of that one was a Trojan horse that carried in demons who brought their brides and they tempted darkness where I lost my mind.
well the fifth drink found it and carried it home where my girl was waiting one foot out the door.
another night spent gathering dust. mug shot of a marble bust.
ruination leaves the lantern lit so I know where the good lovin’ is.
I used to be a goddam saint.
I said my prayers and I handled snakes until the road introduced me to sin.
I only shook hands with drink but he had his friends with him.
I curse the day we raised our glass up like a bridge to let the devil pass because he ain’t never left this town and only beaten and unborn are living with him now.
I used to be a holy man. “Once put an onion in a beggars hand” *.
but now I’d rather not believe. how could a man I’ve never met be so cruel to me?
at least I’m in good company.
I’ll drink to that.
dash the cup. fifteen years has been long enough.
put the child in an unmarked grave and burn the black book, page by page.
go alone, there is your road.
for once, I’m awake and I will not serve madness.
I am not the company I keep.
dash the cup. fifteen years has been long enough
put the child in an unmarked grave and burn the black book, page by page.
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7. |
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wherever I go, there too shall be grief (my love) doting on me, tenderly.
vacant praise for her hollow man. such poise. what loyalty, what elegance.
inspired lust in a languid tongue (saved love) and found me where there once was none.
so I burned the bridge she’d have taken to leave. each one. she’s all I have left. c’est la vie.
the more it spreads the closer I come. (better off behind your back)
where we consummate in the presence of none (dead weight don’t wait)
for the violent and endless stream (a spineless yet supporting cast)
of charmless that are harming me.
from the cradle to the grave it has been a walk of shame.
what did you think that your absence could bring, old friend?
my heart, it bursts with cavities. a slur couldn’t rouse the sadness I’ve seen
look close. that beauty is life and she’s with me.
flaunted indifference is cheap cologne.
actor, you speak of me in formal tones.
to the gutless dogs that cried mutiny know this:
marooned with grief, I’m richer than kings.
from the cradle to the grave it has been a walk of shame.
I am dead, what is one less worm? seconds off of a prisoners term?
this is hell. you brought a candle to burn?
I am death. and you have marked my words.
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8. |
Revival Mode
03:46
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thanks lord, but I don’t need anymore poor advice.
I got in the cannon with a one way ticket. four riders in a town with one horse. I wagered a sure thing against what was behind the first door.
stack the chips, let it ride. out of sight out of mind.
It’s fool proof, and it wont do to make safe bets while I’m towing the line.
thanks lord, but I don’t need anymore poor advice.
I had a lock on a dirty little secret. a raging bull who was fixed to fall down.
I’ve been waiting at ringside my whole life, but he’s still swinging on.
I got debts piling high. I got addictions and ex wives but I’ve stayed true,
so I thank you for bearing witness while I waste my fucking life.
I’m ready to pay the judge now.
I need to tip the scales, some sort of bribery.
I’m not waiting this out.
I’m ready to pay the judge now.
I need to grease a palm, some sort of certainty. I’m sick of waiting this out.
I should have learned a more noble craft.
out of the library into the lab.
“will the machine gunners please step forth?” ***
there’s only room on the rescue boat for butchers and bakers and men with hope.
and will machine gunners please step forth? will machine gunners please step forth
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9. |
Drag King
04:11
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a proud hush had taken hold and you worshipped at its feet, but calm was not long for this world.
I took up arms and you begged I let it be, but reason don’t live here no more.
step aside, it’s not worth your life.
what is this “peace” that you sneak off to at night?
what sacred spot will I be buried in when I have covered every inch of land in terribleness?
I have declared a war on the silence before the storm.
don’t stop to think. Just end all good things while you can.
ruin all the love that you have or that god damned thing is bound to come back. in spades.
step aside, it’s not worth your life. I am the fear that drags you into the light.
I’ve covered every inch of land in terribleness by leading a war on the silence before the storm.
take the stillness out back and put it on its knees.
stop your crying, who do you love anyway?
who do you love? what does he have that I don’t except you ?
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10. |
Touch Yourself
02:17
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the stand in will suffice, I suppose. a tunnel painted on a brick wall.
when the crowd arrives in droves, they don’t question the depth at all.
I got a weak heart, so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know because it hasn’t said a word.
all these winters, not a sound. It probably never had a chance to thaw out.
you don’t touch what you want to survive, so this distance is keeping me alive until the ones that have loved me are dead.
I will hold my breath. and pray that my aim is true.
the meat sits in my blind spot. the maze around it is the meal I want. The meat sits in my blind spot. hallelujah, got a trophy kill.
maybe the flesh will have its day. maybe the meaning will not get in the way.
god saves every third person, but he wont help us if we help ourselves
I only marvel at existence in the language existence permits.
most hearts make terrible sounds, so I laugh.
an army of images stalks the land in search of ideas.
I am struck only when I think to step back.
so a stand in will suffice, I suppose. A tunnel painted on a brick wall.
when the crowd arrives in droves, they don’t question the depth at all.
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11. |
Indian Giver
04:09
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no broken hearted people, no crash, no flame, no sermon at a casket nor a howl into the grave. every bone was in position, every hair was in its place.
a light comes.
pulled off a dark country road. new roman suicide note. all the way closed. so it goes.
no organs to be salvaged, no teeth to be compared, we asked for no police involvement because we knew you weren’t there.
we threw a birthday party and at the table in your chair, a lightness.
pulled off a dark country road. new roman suicide note. all the way closed. so it goes.
as long as your name is on my list or your story written in the choruses then true death couldn’t get you.
but when its spoken for the last time, the weight is lifted. a third eye.
so I make a vow to forget you.
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12. |
Grudge Music
02:24
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deaf, blind granite block content to graze with familiar stock.
a local lard not an english black, we don’t venture into the fog.
homeward bound and gagged not twenty steps from the door.
dispensable as cooks at sea or journalists sent to war.
no one found me spellbinding, no one offered me a drink.
but by crippled hands at the potters wheel, I was given shape and insects appeal.
sent to work the graveyard shift at heavens JDC.
a legend to the peasants there, but lights had caught me unaware.
I’ve wandered into your graces, so how do I get out?
its been quiet for too long, but pompous phrases and alarms cant help you now.
and every pervert outside of every fence has had his fill of your kids.
he’s clocking out.
such indecisive crusaders. a martyr made into a scenic blur. a lookout into a left behind. what wounded pride.
no one finds me spellbinding. no ones buying me a drink.
I’ve been to the lions. left high and dry by the 8th circle of hell.
where are the spoils?
I want the ticker tape parade. damn these filthy rats.
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13. |
Business Casualty
02:45
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blood letting just to slake the lust of the little fangs writhing around the trough.
oh how they run.
while my love, back home at our infirmary, is drying up.
her heart beat is on hold so if tomorrow finds her dead, I’ll blame the ones that “loved” me best; that worthless lying crowd of snakes and the committee of pigs that suck on the breast of a pregnant pen and shit out promises.
I’m chastened by a spiteful and unrelenting “gift” like a horse at the end of a whip, yet still holding up.
but my love, she doesn’t reap what I sow. we cannot dine on bread alone. give me the fuck what I am owed.
because daddy needs a new pair of shoes and my girl is too gold to be blue.
I have given you everything but it is never enough.
my heart beat is on hold
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14. |
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still balancing the bar, stiff-necked. withstanding change like a tragic play or holy war between the sects.
the carnival stands but the cities will tend to move.
like planets around a star, or water circling the drain?
soul less potboilers. avant guardian angels on the wrong page of the map.
avant guardian angel I am heartache, let me pass.
still holding up the wall. still life.
a landmark placed for the photo op. he’s got no teeth, he doesn’t bite
an empire falls but the cockroaches stay to breed.
Is it superior genes, or won’t death collect such awful things?
yes its garbage, but does that mean that its art?
gourmet carnage, a pulse without a heart.
if you leave it hanging long enough, someone will be amazed and just because its personal doesn’t mean its not cliché.
if it doesn’t look like something now, steal it before it does.
avant guardian angel on the wrong page of the map.
avant guardian angel I am heartache, let me pass
I will be there to help straighten out the frame that so proudly displays my own death certificate.
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