1. |
Aliens And Witches
03:23
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Left overs in ditches of dry oceans,
Slow moving floating
Car tyres bouncing over flat walls of tower blocks
Towering high
Deep as the Marianne trench.
Deep as the Marianne trench.
The first time a kid from there
Sees the light as he breathes the air
Leftover, From water rising
Stone’s floating mountains
Ploughing deserts with their roots of mussel shells
And plastic pearls;
Neck lines are drawn on canyon walls.
Neck lines are drawn on canyon walls.
While lava fills endless mines
And red dust crawls on top of Mount Everest
And the glares and the Chinese wall slithers
‘Round the houses of Aliens and Witches,
Untouched by the plough.
With their last light bulbs fed
By the nearest solar flare.
With their last light bulbs fed
By the nearest solar flare.
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2. |
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A mile radious of sweat..
Lies cutting my forehead
And the wrinkles of your hand, filled with fire
And your fingers pointing continents… and your children
Why mother have you fallen?
And let me fall with you
From Seattle to Africa… once you get a living
Anything, really
your personal parking meter… ticking
The meter away, the minute within
The meter away, the minute within
Why mother have you fallen?
And let me fall with you
From Seattle to Africa… once you get a living
Why mother have you fallen?
And let me fall with you
From Seattle to Africa… once you get a living
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3. |
Poison
03:06
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I remember each summer I waited for the color of your hair to change.
The mask of cold wind rises at each smile a wave passes.
Sunflowers make a terrifying landscape.
A numeric maze made of spikes and peaks of congenial sneers.
Emphatically insulting each other
Across the hall of the psychiatric ward.
Layers are shuffled and concept conceived
From cursing to laws from lawyers to the thieves.
Layers are shuffled and concept conceived
From cursing to laws from lawyers to the thieves.
Rulers of sand and Masters of pens
Montblanc black ink and oasis of tar.
Concrete will drip outside them and walls just melt
On dry skin to write with red ink.
Are these bleached out streets
The reason for me being sick?
Or the white souls that walk my voice mail?
Is that make-up covering a scar?
Are these bleached out streets
The reason for me being sick?
Or the white souls that walk my voice mail?
Is that make-up covering a scar?
The fake one's tears,
Symbols missed, missing real?
The work of the venom is very simple.
It closes a door at the time.
First is the one we all know.
Then we’ll not know which one's closed.
And then we’ll not know which one's closed.
Which one is closed.
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4. |
Dirty Minutes
04:05
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What do you do with your dead minutes?
From a car i’ve seen them go like a thousand ghosts
Squinting in my glasses
Stirring heads with sinking fingers
Will touch one another
Will touch one another
Will touch one another
What do you do with your dirty minutes?
Happy people blurry faces fading walls
All facing fog, morning mist naked snow
On dancing figures
Will touch one another
Will touch one another
Will touch one another
Lost tiny islands
Scattered among, scattered among holy pockets
Oblivious to most of the water dividing
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5. |
War Shipping
03:51
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Over all, A shiny glass skin falls shattering
Showing a tattooed wrinkle on a just born flesh fold
Before the first of many mother’s hugs…
Of many mother’s hugs
And over all the mother’s hand was only skin fold
That was kept in a jar.. kept in a jar
For a certain period of time when
She’s a little bit older that little girl
Walks a mile dancing backwards
(For at least 20 years)
The same song looping ‘Round her waist, Round her waist,
And then a birthday Twentyone loops the silence of a glass, silence of a glass.
A strange cloud from the east makes us run away
From every dawn… every dawn
After all we’ve sealed the war ship up, air tide and sea tide.
That weird gasping cloud Locked in the last dry dock left,
Shoots torpedo sweat drippings on the forehead
Of the daily God given Goddess.
She’s pale but blushing,
She has only a day to live,
And I will watch her dance, outliving
Her daily blessings. Her daily blessings.
The same song looping ‘Round her waist, Round her waist,
And then a birthday Twentyone loops The silence of a glass, silence of a glass.
A strange cloud from the east makes us run away
From every dawn… every dawn
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6. |
Holy
03:23
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We in these comfy trenches
We use boxed eggs to make bullets out of silence
To make bombs out of shelter,
To make mines out of doornails.
We even use walls and ceilings
To make new thunder,
And wires, screens and speakers,
To make them all louder.
They will leave no traces
After the next one will burst,
And out of the next one we’ll build our own shelter out of thin breath
We will make a new prayer
And out of the praying we will build
Some new trenches.
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7. |
I Did Wait
03:58
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I did wait for the color of your hair to change,
I see now it has changed.
The ones that changed, are maybe thinner,
maybe broken, lovely louder for sure
A pushing engine going where the wine in the house of the friends
with the wife in the house in the town on the sea, Is it still there?
Does true north really cost a lot more?
Do you know anybody with that stuff?
The stuff the songs are made of you know that Stuff
Stuff people dare for, people who go somewhere, up Venus hills,
blue curving song, moon skin of a sunless town, my town,
to dream a touch, of morning care
The waiting for the colour of your hair to change
To what I do when I do ‘cause I do what I do when it changes.
Was colour what I waited for to change?
To be done?
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8. |
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I left a sand‘s slice slide
At a hair’s breadth
Closer to the sea.
Seaweed cuffs dripping
On the beach.
The elbow shapes the corner of my soul
As my soul fits
The corners of the streets.
And do not seek the corner of my sight
With a kiss
But kiss each eyelash stretching
To that blurred line between
Dublin rooftops
And the sea.
And do not seek the corner of my sight
With a kiss
But kiss each eyelash stretching
To that blurred line between
Dublin rooftops
And the sea.
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9. |
The Mighty Hand
04:48
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In the midst of a frond
A curled up leaf draws my attention.
Outside the office
Fifteen minutes play like children on the footpath.
The bus passes
Dragging its wheels
And its lazy driver.
Its lazy driver
Past the seafront,
The train station then O’Connell Street.
The spire curls
Up to sting
All the passersby,
The most bored one.
Most bored one
The mighty hand
Pubcrawls
The city,
The bell hides every hour
In the Heineken tower.
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10. |
Billions
04:08
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In the measuring we ask, why way too much is
How this could be… be an elevator chat.
In the how we ask too much about the way the weather's stuck
On last week's forecast.
Until boring is the only way forward,
And freedom is the only way the day goes;
Until the names we put to minutes are the hours of the billions.
No solution offered but the problem translated.
To save the same paper no space is left unwritten.
The price for the answers has risen
By the same rate new words are printed.
The plants outside have grown faster.
From the window at the kitchen table speechless.
The man rests his eyes on the wife's plate uneaten.
All his questions are insured against a mortgage and some stale bread.
How many miles of wired wildness cross the oceans above the clouds
Holiday makers and leavers waiting for their turn to get out.
Pack my stuff in a suitcase and send it to the fake address of the letter box
On the beach on the island ashore the roads swiped by the waves we dreamed of surfing.
Not a chance to swim in the quicksands, breaking records.
A weekend each we'll hope for someone, Sunday paper after Sunday paper.
A week brushed the bearded grooms, groomed is the beard of the Prophet.
Groomed is Christ’s beard on the crosses.
Groomed is my garden with weed killer in every corner.
I decide Nature.
Nature's my slave.
Because I am a man.
In a suitcase.
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