From the upcoming EP, "JULIET" at the Marques's Bungalow.
lyrics
Top hat; snow cat; goose fat; dog;
Fruit bat; door mat; Mouse Rat; frog.
These streets are paved with tarmac and flags,
beer-vomit and slag, polystyrene chip-trays and placcy bags,
Drunk kids with drugs and cigs being sick
and kicking heads in for a couple of quid,
And as the sun comes up and Sunday's head's reared,
You're fucked up, with snot, spit and sick in your beard,
Singing out loud and getting weird, declaring your fears,
To the Gregg's, the Tesco and anyone who can here,
It goes...
Is it alright?
We've a right to survive but who knows if we might?
Is it alright?
Not an ounce of desire except to take flight.
We don't know what we want but we defend our right to pretend.
It were all just a terrible dream. Another treasonous scheme,
A demon screaming plot, act and scene,
While we improvised dialogue hoping it'd read,
Without ever really knowing what the words even mean.
Having a laugh at the upper-class, cash-grab capital,
Smashed hat, lower-class, hash-tag animal,
Bones out the meat.
You're alone in the street,
Spitting foam though your teeth in the company of phones,
But it's alright. It's alright.
She's the ice to your fire, she's the dawn to your night,
Yeah it's alright... is it alright?
She's the corpse on your pyre and the flesh under your knife.
She is the beautiful poison my friend;
The beginning and the end.
[Who would have thought that I would become the monster I've become?
Who would have guessed that the path of least resistance would be so long?
Who would have imagined that such a small and insignificant flicker could sap such might?
Who would have known that a trail of such destruction would burn so fucking bright?
Minds find minds and align blindly to multiply to by the lifetimes they're assigned.
Finally, it's winding down in a spiral of lights disguised as kites in flight,
Allow me to spin into this tightening hurricane and get out of this life.
Just bring me back if you can when the suns going down.
I'd like to see one last sunset.
There are only so many we get and this could be the best one yet!]
In a blinding flash the world stands still
to see the growing feather on the shadow of a willow tree,
now burned bare and spitting embers
into an ashen sky, where they become stars
in place of those which are extinguished.
Awash with grey, the vast blackness away,
replaced with a bleak vastness.
Unbreakable.
It dissipates only to reveal it's thickness.
Unpenetrable.
It mocks all beneath it as time becomes irrelevant
and is forgotten.
Mouths agape, inhaling shadow,
with cough and sputter, demonstrate futility.
The dance of feet blistering atop unthinkable heat,
water turned steam in the blink of eyes that meet
across a pool of fire in a moment fleeting.
Swollen, blinded, lidless, leaking, wide and weeping.
As the towers come down,
the screams are only drowned out by the sound
of their deformation into rubble.
The wall of ash and smoke fallen upon
all who may celebrate becomes anechoic,
silencing any and all sounds coming from within.
Snaking into lungs, draining breath and thoughts and words until,
unconscious, one last dream is all that's left.
This world was built on dreams ground to meat,
feasted upon, shit out and forgotten to history.
Hope shown the door with a fistful of misery.
Don't bother wishing or praying, nobodies listening
to you nor me nor the man on the street,
shuffling his feet, eyes bleeding,
skin on his cheeks barely hanging on.
His minds gone. He used to be reet
but now we look at him in horror thinking
"That'll be me one day,
thinking 'what the hell am I doing drinking in L.A.?
at thirty-seven, feeling ninety-seven, looking decayed?"
But it's alright... is it alright?
... Who cares any-fucking-way?
Top hat; snow cat; goose fat;
Fruit bat; door mat; Mouse Rat;
Dog, frog, hog, log, Alf Pogs, egg nog.
credits
released February 3, 2023
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