1. |
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Come in that wind will skin ye
Here’s codeine get it in ye
A hit of sweet Virginia
Will pacify the nerves
I’ll start the clock, sit you down
We’ll get you processed in no time
Never mind that screaming sound
It’s probably, I dunno, a bird
But while I’m the mayor of this town
Children we won’t steer you wrong
Come all you daughters, all you sons
You rapparees, you riot girls
Welcome to your
Welcome to your
Welcome to your world
This can be your safe space
this can be your happy place
this is where we separate
mankind from the animal
charcoal from the pearl
here is where you earn your wings
here’s your precious, here’s your ring
here is where you see the things
that straighten out your curls
But while I’m the mayor of this town
Children we won’t steer you wrong
Come all you daughters, all you sons
You rapparees, you riot girls
Welcome to your
Welcome to your
Welcome to your world
This is where we buckle up
This is where we suckle up
This is where we pucker up
Daddy watch me twirl
The price of your admission
To existence is attrition
This condition we call human
With which all of us are girdled
But while I’m the mayor of this town
Children we won’t steer you wrong
Come all you daughters, all you sons
You rapparees, you riot girls
Welcome to your
Welcome to your
Welcome to your world
And if by pricking of the thumbs
You sense a wickedness to come
Hold your nerve, banish misfortune
Sing your hurdy-gurdy songs
For when all the battle’s lost and won
we’ll gather children once again
In thunder, lightning and in rain
When all this hurly burly’s done
When by the pricking of your thumbs
Something wicked this way comes
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2. |
Republic of the Weird
04:53
|
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It’s quiet here
especially at night
but the light, the air, is clear
and if you listen you might hear
transmitted by the breeze
birds complete their sequences
of melodies
something they haven't done
in twenty-five or thirty years
even the birds are hardcore here
in this republic of the weird
The game is on, the wren
is staking out his territory
threatening war
on anything or anyone
who dares to breach perimeter
everyone is paranoid
everyone's unsure
it’s been like this, my brother
since you up and disappeared
leaving us to gorge ourselves
on monkey nuts and beer
here in this republic of the weird
The future is
there is
no future anymore
there's only here
where we’re
confined inside our cells
thrown back on ourselves
here in this republic of the weird
So maybe this is how it ends
not with cataclysm
but with birdsong –
see them soar in murmuration
see them disappear
into the upper air
go back inside and lock the door,
put out the fire, douse the candles,
take your blanket, climb the stairs
and say a prayer for all that you hold dear
in this republic of the weird
The future is
there is
no future anymore
there's only here
where we’re
confined inside our cells
thrown back on ourselves
here in this republic of the weird
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3. |
Hold That Line
03:36
|
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Look outside, the sky’s declining
shut that door and draw the blinds and
find that vial of Vicodin and
get your head up hold that line
The battery's dead, don't bother trying
pass me down that jug of lye I'm
tired and wired all the time and
get your head up, hold that line
Look online, there's cities frying
everything we've planted’s dying
there’s a god but he ain’t benign and
get your head up hold that line
I'm coming kid, throw me a bone
no suicides in a combat zone
don't move a thing ‘til I get home and
get your head up, hold that line
Hold that line – it'll all be fine
you'll be alright kid, calm down, breathe in
even though this tide is rising
even though the vice is tightening
bite until your knuckles whiten
get your head up, hold that line
Fix your hair, straighten your tie and
take this shot of iodine and
pass me on that flask of wine and
get your head up, hold that line
listen kid this compact’s binding
now is not the time for crying
to love your life is not a crime and
get your head up, hold that line
Hold that line – it'll all be fine
you'll be alright kid, calm down, breathe in
even though this tide is rising
even though the vice is tightening
bite until your knuckles whiten
get your head up, hold that line
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4. |
Dopamine
02:47
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I sold them my blood
they put me on hold
my blood was no good
they wanted my gold
I bought back the blood
and then I was told
they wanted more blood
they put me on hold
this stuff is so good
the taste is insane
we're starved and we're craving it
all of the time
you hate it, you love it
enslaved by the worm
ashamed of it, maimed by it,
can’t take the pain
They put me on hold
I bartered my heart
to pay off the blood
I parted with
to buy back the gold
to farm out more blood
my blood was no good
they put me on hold
this stuff is so good
the taste is insane
we're starved and we're craving it
all of the time
the need feeds the need
the shame makes more shame
The brain is a reptile
the slave runs the game
And this is the wound
and this is the brand
the bank account, fingerprint
retina, hand
the voice in your head,
the things the voice said
the part of you, heart of you
that wants you dead
this stuff is so good
the taste is insane
we're starved and we're craving it
all of the time
the need feeds the need
the shame makes more shame
the brain is a reptile
the slave runs the game
machines crunch the numbers
numbers, machines
the one and the zero
the dope and the meme
And this is the hit
you asked us for it
it’s what you wanted, man
this is the hit
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5. |
The Agony of the Leaves
03:34
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Man and woman drinking sake
man and woman sipping tea
we are besotted, we are happy
but in seven days I leave
you say, you’re almost handsome
but you’ll never leave your wife for me
I say, you’re awful pretty,
but it grieves me to concede
we know that when we’re put to it
we’ll grit our teeth, roll up our sleeves
and drive back to departures
man and woman, drinking sake,
man and woman, sipping tea
considering
the agony
of the leaves.
You’ve got Ronnie Spector eyeliner
and Chrissie’s leather jeans
your beauty is a ballbreaker
the aperture does not deceive
the thought of you with someone else
near makes my eyeballs bleed
with everything you love it brings
some shit you’ve got to grieve
such are the terms of this engagement
this the warp, and this the weave
of men and women drinking sake
men and women sipping tea
considering
the agony
of the leaves
And in that teashop, main street,
Royal Oak in Oakland County
in the state of Michigan, USA, I say,
‘Hey Sparky don’t come apart on me
here Sparky, use my sleeve’
you say, ‘Why did you come here Irishman,
aw Irishman, just leave,
you people speak in riddles,
you flatter to deceive
you saw upon your fiddles
you cut everything with irony’
‘That’s how we speak, Miss Michigan
don’t let it queer how you perceive –
a man and woman, drinking sake,
man and woman sipping tea
the one who stays
the one who leaves
the one beloved, one bereaved
considering
the agony
of the leaves.’
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6. |
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Well the devil says drink up your fill
the angel says you’ve had enough
that jackdaw on my windowsill
is acting kind of suave
he says there is no hell below
nor no reward above
I don’t know but I’ve been told
that hatred’s just a different kind of love
You used to say I was your saviour
but now you’re kind of vague
it's time to call the lawyers
I’ll see you in the Hague
we’ll replay every depraved act
your mother never conceived of
then make up for it in the sack
where hatred’s just a bitter kind of love
I heard Leonard speak about
the venom in the antidote
that voice gets any deeper man
we're gonna need a stethoscope
Mary Margaret moves her fingers
like they’re made of nervous birds
and you, you are the closest thing,
to a song I never heard
Some treat the courtship as a fist
some a rubber glove
some will kill you with a kiss
once was a time I liked it rough
some say love is a sickness
but sickness is subjective
friction can be blissful if
your hatred’s just a disappointed love
True love is impersonal
this I know for sure
true love is impersonal
impersonal is pure.
true love is impersonal
simple as a psalm
true love is impersonal
it doesn’t give a damn
Gainsbourg whispers fables of
the year of love, the soixante-neuf
Jackie hams up Amsterdam
the heart goes boom,
the wheels come off
Nina sings Wild is the Wind
man I don’t have the words
and you, you are the closest thing
to a song I never heard
Is this ballistic missiles coming in
or are they flocks of doves
there’s a million ways to kill, you said
hold that thought, now codladh samh
some men they will use the quill
others prefer the Molotov
that jackdaw on my window sill
says hatred’s just a blinded kind of love
Chavela Vargas fill her lungs
and a nightingale comes out her throat
that song gets any rawer man
we’re gonna need a shot of dope
Mahalia wails, a siren
luring sailors overboard
and you, you are the closest thing
to a song I never heard
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7. |
Upon That Hill
04:58
|
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There were six of us on mission
bivouacked outside of Schull
we ate from our provision
we drank more than our fill
we set off in the evening when
the kestrel finds its kill
we did what any soldier will
when we came upon that hill
We branded all their cattle
we put on ladies' frills
we threw dice for their chattels
and took apart their stills, unmanacled
their slaves and set ablaze the fields they tilled
we must've been three-quarter crazed
when we came upon that hill
Some said we lost our reason
on account of all the pills
court martial termed it treason
and sharpened up their quills
threatening to requisition
every nickel, every bill
took note of our position
when we came upon that hill
Some say the truth’s immutable
others, something you distil
to a narrative you can live with
its quintessence, if you will
there's a skill, you live with it
I guess you know the drill
I hear it yet, the kestrel
when we came upon that hill
Brother if I'm straight with you
I weary of this hell
mother I bear no hate for you
nor avarice, nor ill
but I was not cut out for the plough
nor born to dark satanic mills
and I can't recall
that day at Schull
nor details yet deposed in full
I can't recall that day in Schull
if I killed or I was killed
when we came up on that hill, captain
we came upon that hill
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8. |
Federal Hall
07:05
|
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Years into the civil war that none declared a civil war, a rumour carries on the wind, word of a gathering, a burnt-out ballroom in the basement of the Federal Hall. From all over the state they come, huddled like cattle in the backs of tarped up flatbed trucks.
Here they come, brothered by blood, by grief, bearing woes like humps upon their backs, sorrows individual and sorrows common, sorrows with no name. Up the steps and through the lobby, past the check-in desk, metal detectors, basement lifts.
The door’s pulled back. There is music, light. The cones of those ole Bose speakers throb like small black hearts and overhead the silver mirror-ball spins and shimmers, spins again. Some drink, some dance, some prefer to watch. Some pair off and pull their partners close, and if you’ve credit there are rooms to let in the gutted upstairs wing, discretion guaranteed. Every soul among their number knows the score: it could all be over in the time it takes to squeeze a trigger or to thumb a detonation code, so steal a little sweetness while you can.
For here is where they’ve set it down, the weight they’ve borne, the penance done, where they array their woes like tributes at a grotto, offerings to be burnt. That weight too great to carry is a cosmic sadness, vast, ineffable, that big sky sadness that laments for all things gone, of histories cancelled out, the ache of how it was before the war. All gone.
But not just yet. Because the hour’s come at last. They gather at the podium, all these women, all these men, not just to witness but imprint upon their minds the image of the memory as its formed, that they may tell the many others of their witnessing.
House lights dim. Drapes draw back. A beam takes form. An image of the singer, captured in his prime. He is returned, his breath revived. They hear his pick and strum. Now pass it on.
And when this rite’s complete, and when that silver mirror-ball quits its spinning and the song concedes to silence and the house lights flicker on, those assembled here will drain their drinks and say goodnight and then disperse, to suit up and boot up and scatter back into a night barely lit by the fading moon, where a day will come with a pitiless sun, or maybe no sun.
They’ll bear his song upon their coms, they’ll pass it on, it will become all songs, the sounds of some revival mass or chain gang holler or a widow’s cry for her lost-at-sea, the soldier’s foxhole prayer.
And if you weep, well that’s all right. And if what you see here makes no sense, then ask yourself, would you truly want this mystery undone. Enough to know he sings. No difference if he takes the form of a lantern shadow show, a hologram, a shared hallucination: he is among you, you can look into his two blue eyes, eyes that bear the light of death. You can watch his bony fingers twang the strings and hear the raw song in his mouth like that of a wounded wolf. You can be mended. And if only for this hour are you consoled, if only for this hour are you mended, then this hour only it must be.
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9. |
All We've Borne On Earth
04:11
|
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Mother Computer says that in our time of dying the tiny star that is a human soul collapses and a microscopic black hole forms. Inside that void, time slows to a crawl, so slow as to be imperceptible. Our human-unit version of eternity.
As I go under, daughters, place the dream machine over my skull. Use avatars to code my memories. Systems of images or sounds. My library of dreams, where I might live forever through a reconstructed past.
One day, children, you’ll build your ark. Maybe you’ll leave this world and find another world to colonise. Take shelter there. Choose the most beautiful cues with which to codify your lives. Engrave your days with every act. Save everything you can. All you’ve done. All you’ve lived and all you’ve loved. All that you have borne on earth.
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10. |
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I’m not a poet or a playwright, I make tiny marks
upon the greater navigator’s chart
that maps the heart
though maybe there will come a day I’ll speak a melody
to make a maiden or a mother smile
’til then I’ll sing a dark song
or I’ll sing no song at all
Townes Van Zandt swore that there’s only two songs
– Zippity do dah and the blues
I can’t write like Townes, I can’t even speak like Townes,
but one day I’d like to flatter your vanity
with a romance or a madrigal
though you’d probably smell the lie,
maybe it’s enough to say
whatever may come down
let it come down
thy will be done
we’ll take the two days, sing the two songs
Zippity Do-Dah and the blues
what would Eden be
without the Fall
sometimes you spin from dark yarn
or spin no yarn at all
Kid says to her father,
father you were in the war
what was it you did
were you with the blues,
or were you with the reds?
father will not answer
father will not speak of it
until the day he says,
Kid, it's not just what we saw
but what we did
this is why I take my death
in daily increments
this is why I smoke these cigarettes
and swab the soul with alcohol
sometimes you sing a dark song
or sing no song at all
Maybe now is not the time
to write dystopian songs
nihilism is a young man’s game
no more Johnny Thunders, William Burroughs, Kurt Cobain
we can’t afford the luxury of despair
but when all you’ve got are prayers
made out of bits of science fiction films
and punk rock songs,
when all you’ve got is a gospel
composed in a foxhole
you sing a dark song
or sing no song at all
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Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance Wexford, Ireland
An eight-piece head-on collision between post-punk poetry, noise-rock and ambient atmospheres. Based in Wexford, Ireland.
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