1. |
||||
|
This is the last chance
Ever since the house burnt down
Lonely alone, is only alone
Calculated alchemy, of Jack, Coke and vanity
This is the last chance
Lonely alone, is only alone
Ever since the house burnt down
Lonely alone, is only alone
All that I want is drenched in the eyes
Splinters in brine
Handprints in wine
All that I want is hopeless remorse
Painful remorse
Endless remorse
All that I want is drenched in the eyes
Splinters in brine
Handprints in wine
All that I want is drenched in the eyes
Drenched in the eyes
Drenched in the eyes
Hopeless remorse
Hopeless remorse
All that I want is drenched in the eyes
Splinters in brine
Handprints in wine
All that I want
Hopeless remorse
Painful remorse
And spit on the spine
All that I want
Splinters in brine
Handprints in wine
And spit on the spine
All that I want
Is drenched in the eyes
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Charting the pace of the lice on the linen
Scouring the papers for news of our children
All I want, is us alone
Somewhere out of town
You fucked up, me tied down
Sucking the holes for the last of the venom
I, asked her to, slowly feed you
She, requested, a shopping list
I, responded, it’s not my job
To, determine, the course of death
Praising the neighbours for skinning the dogs
Shaking the infant to hear how she coughs
All I want, is us alone
Somewhere out of town
You fucked up, me tied down
Me tied down
Me tied down
He, objected, “Why am I here?”
She, ignored it, “Open your mouth”
He, dejected, lowered his jaw
Then, she gave it, her everything
To, her credit, she shut him up,
I, remember, the sense of fear
When, I cut my, own body up
And, didn’t have, the heart for it
The heart for it
The heart for it
Pounding lovers’ lips alone
Force fed trash
Leaving fragments of the bone
Six, five thousand, or others?
Four, eight thousand
|
||||
3. |
Lambs To The Laughter
08:53
|
|||
|
Don’t talk over me
I just need a minute
Where were you last night?
You’re pathetic
Don’t talk over me
The things I’ve known, adorn my bones
Crawling into the pig tin, only twelve hours to go
Slithering creep of the shore, gumless teeth of the mountaintops
Abalone shells and plastic cups, where the intrigue stops
|
||||
4. |
The Shower
08:12
|
|||
|
False arrest
Carwash of cigarettes and bourbon stench
False friends revoltingly … alarmingly undressed
Slippery, stained fingers, slip-slide and clench
Happy hour?
Happy hour?!
Unhappy disaster
Scratching grooves into flesh, to what end?
Unloved one’s love bodies in plaster
You’re shuddering? Take my scarf
Ungrateful. Go home, you’re drunk
Or another? Fuck, why not?
We’re fucking dripping, and we’ve got what we’ve got
The shower
No story
It’s fucking cold
In the shower
Limp spaghetti
Jeans over handrail
Creaking floor
ITV4
Sucking on dead dry dirt
Sand teeth tectonic cracks
Deep stitched in tongue
Stillborn helix neck to spine
Limp wrist, waist of a stranger
Coughing of the neighbour
Underwear, everywhere
Underwear, everywhere
Hairbands, tins with ash
Shaft of light, lids collapse
Hairbands, tins with ash
Shaft of light, lids collapse
Where is the shower?
Where is the shower?
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
Hell breaks loose
I’ve had my day of glory
Paranoid, hypocrite in white jeans
Bleeding dentures in a zip-lock bag
Think of the home, of the home that you’ve broken
Throw your lungs open, in hoping they’re open
Cinching the Ides, Cinching the Ides
Children in high-vis, and cancer survivors
Cigar marks
Sobbing strangers fucking in car parks
Scarred tar stacked higher
Than Marvin Gaye’s question marks
Warm wounds kissed clean
For baby’s ashes in the apple carts
But will it take a butcher’s knife?
To know that we’re all in love?
Let’s be pleased with it
Your lies in bad jeans, bad genes
Turncoat lizard
Wide smile and bright teeth
|
||||
6. |
1893
05:52
|
|||
|
Collapse of grin
A century ago
I don’t eat anymore
I don’t eat anymore
The abortion clinic opened
The day after you were born
After you were born
And we drift across
Acres of pine trees
In hope and memory
Perfectly placed
Bones interlaced
But you’re deceased
The scheme of skin
Un-fresh sheets
Around me
Around me
Oh, save me?
Threadbare and cheap and burdened
As an early ghost to a sullen womb
Screaming, in love, in a servant’s corridor
And I’m not yet born
And I’m not yet born
|
||||
Truthseeker Music Falmouth, UK
Record label based in the UK. Owned and run by Alex, Phill and Stephen.
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