Dream time succubus scrum,
trying to make my kingdom come,
I self hypnotize : get bent, cross my eyes,

Why can't you all just misunderstand?
I've got a mark palmed in  my write hand...

I've got myself another message to mix
Oh but what do I know?
one way or another I'm taking my licks
Oh but what do I know?
with my finger tips bleeding and my,
fahrenheit fair in height,
in a parallel perilous plight,

I can cook, I can sow
Oh, but what do I know?
I have poesy and prose,
Oh, but what do I know?

Access to a forbidden façade,
in a slave outlet land of nod,

I've got myself another message to mix,
Oh,but what do I know?
One way or another I'm taking my licks
with my finger tips bleeding and my,
fahrenheit fair in height,
in a parallel perilous plight,

Thorazine

He's dead pan, but still born,
with no hands: clutching a quick silver thorn,
so let Silence be the mistress of me,
Let Silence be his girl,

Because he's honest to a fault,
got his fingers in the family vault,
let Silence be his, Silence be his, Silence be his girl,
Quiet as a stricken scream, he only see's her in his dreams,

he only sees her in his dreaming
never by the light of day,
I thought you had my number,
and only refused to play,


A Girl Named Silence (one track)

I've got a fan I'm sure,
but I try to keep it pure,
 anymore,
 human rapport,
 is strictly for,
the birds and bee stings...among other things 

I'll go wafting through the scene,
I'm a phantom machine,
sifting snags on lurching legs,
pickled eggs with a locked heart and a broken key,

Every movement that I make,
well aren't I just a thirst to slake?
that's why my eyes cry,
you must learn to ride the rake,
forsake goodness for goodness sake,
that's why my eyes cry,

I've got a panty waste,
and a stiff post haste,
3 years of celibacy's,
 been good to me,
but I do miss, some temporal bliss

I dream of holding hands,
in a fantasy land,
where I can lift the veil,
 of my holy grail,
with no one trying to swallow my soul,

some say I should act my age
with a harem and a golden cage,
that's why my eyes cry,
I have to learn how to act fake,
and forsake goodness for goodness' sake,
and that's why my eyes cry,

Honestly...you know its me(mating call)
I sing your song all day long(mating call)

my feelings...glass ceilings

Honestly...you know its me(mating call)
I sing your song all day long(mating call)

 

 


For Goodness' Sake

Here as I sit and I read about Zoroaster,
feel in my mouth the bit,
grinding my teeth to plaster,
calling to,
all of you,

to control your breath,
and please control your blindness,
love them to death,
you must be killing them with kindness,
bind this behindness your highness,

goading the goatling,

If I am that I am what's that make you?

are you an Aesop Fable,
right in a Trojan stable?
cause now the queries tabled, 
are you cained or enabled,
now,

Here as I sit reading of Zarathustra,
I'm growing in shit,
right from the place I used to sit and play guitar all day,
not much has changed,
I'm still all bleeding fingers,
home on the range,
range of a songing singer,
a kissing toad at the cross roads,

Goading the goatling,

If i am that I am whats that make you?

are you a west wind blowing,
my sweetest Zen Koan?
I'd love to solve the ridldle,
behind that smile so brittle,
and bright,







Zoroaster

curious: a cadaver's acquaintance,
the tomb's a womb for the terms of a womb,

Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

here I am absolving into abstractions,
from flesh and phlegm and fever few,
is it true?
is it true?
tesseract of these cataract contacts,
truculent: the truce is a noose,
that's it's use: to reduce,
and to mar, all you are,
around,
it gets you down...

willful ignorance,
 choking those memories back,
an honest lie,
is the milk of a cataract,

he's crawling into third person again,
your falling into second when,

Is it true?
Is it true?
is it true?


 


Betelguese, Betelguese, Betelguese!!!

something said it grows out of grief,
comes in the night like some kind of thief,
so you've been planting all your pain,
in the clean dirt and dancing for rain,

'cept you got a deluge,
and your pain tree grew huge,
now your points become moot,
they'll be selling your fruit,

I hope you brought your book of matches...
cause I'm staked and I'm ready to burn,
a hierophantasy...psychopomposity...
hello my name is God,

now they wanna wring your royal rags,
your tail's grown so long it trails as it drags,
made to memorize Macbeth,
immolation hot on your breath,

they set the sun dial to starve,
you've got bad karma to carve,
but would you come forth by day,
because I like you that way?

you bring the pitchforks and the torches,
I'll bring the monster mash
a hierophantasy...psychopomposity...
hello my name is God,

(birds cheer and applaud)

Hierophantasy

For a mystery mirror,
]for a mystery mirror,
for a mystery...
would you appear?

in resemblance of a semblance of the night,
with your lesson and your blessin' and your light?

for a mystery:
these tears are truest wealth,
diamonds in the light,
reflecting what must be,
but is not yet quite,
closer than you appear
in a mystery mirror,

in a mystery mirror,
in a mystery mirror,
would you appear?
naked in your virtue and your vice,
and lay that lonely spring upon my ice?

...for a mystery mirror?

Mystery Mirror

the music is alive,
that burdened beat,
 that is my want,
my haven and my hovel haunt 
the instrument is myself, 
that guitar is my shelf,
where I keep my symmetry,
right beside this board of keys,

the right key can open anywhere,
so I lay my each and every note bare,

do you ever wonder what kind of spell your under?
are you having dreams that go between your seems?
how long have you been staring into the eye of a storm?

there's a lack of symmetry,
that's not caused by me,

that's the absence of you voice on mine...

The Urgy

you'll just be writing your songs,
you'll just be writing your songs,

you're doing it again,
that thing that you do my friend,
when you write your songs
when you write your songs,
you write them all day long,

you'll just be writing your songs,
and that's all you'll do,
my little Lanoo,

 

Write Your Songs

lies lent to the lips,
through a lunar eclipse,
oh sadness...how the sickle's been sown,
so you feed on your own,

we're scions of the stars,
yet you hate what your are,,
and when that hate starts to clot,
you will hate what your not,

cast down into this contagion,
wilted by the war they've been waging,

what you own isn't you,
you are what you do,
and you only water the brambles and thorns and the weeds,
and when your hatred won't settle,
put the petal to the metal,
and cut off your own blooms and buds,
so you can keep chewing your cuds,

Go up, 
come down,

the parodies been possessed,
a mystery guest guessed,
but your past is so tense,
that the words lose all sense,

where has the truth been a-lying,
in the doldrum degrade of denying,

cause you are what you say,
by the light of the day,
honesty is a capital offence he repents,
honesty is a sweet crime of passion,
long out of fashion,
the one thing that you can't afford,
so it's obfuscated and ignored,

 what goes up comes down...


Hangnail

Sharin' and sharin' and sharin' her fate,
a girl named Sharon Tate,
on the screen,
 in the scene,
 and People magazine,
A girl named Sharon Tate,

the guests are all here...lets ring in the year,
will death make a star out of you?
the writings on the wall...I'm telling you all,
will death make a star out of me?

Sharin' and sharin' and sharin' her fate,
a girl named Sharon Tate,
on the screen,
 in the scene,
 and People magazine,
A girl named Sharon Tate,

the scapegoat will do fine,
once we tickle his mind,
will death make a star out of you?
the writings on the wall, I'm telling you all,
will death make a star out of me?

A Girl Named Sharon Tate

(another dream song...)

I said "kill me"
underneath the strain,
I said "kill me...kill me again"

"we won't kill you...
we value your pain,
we won't kill you...again"

"these words I speak aren't mine,
that's just my lines"

"we won't kill you, we won't kill you,"

and Johnny says (guitar solo)

we'll KILL the idea of you...
kill it again and again,
we'll KILL the idea of you...
kill it again and again,
we'll KILL the idea of you...
kill it again and again,



Selfless Portrait: a philosophical death

this girl that I carry,
we're going to the library
to play with the puppets and read pop up books,

the sun she shines in my garden,
won't you sing me a spell?

oh how I've waited so long for you to come back home,
a little Dahlia of mine,

Daddys and daughters,
forced to feed flowers water,
the garden need weeding...
 lets all lend a hand,

so let the ruses I've buried be gasping for air,
with their Lingams lopped,
and their lights laid bare,
for the muse that I've married is a finely maned mare,
with her Magdalene mountaintop bubble brook hair,

A little Dahlia of Mine

He's deadpan,
but stillborn,
with no hands,
clutching a quick silver thorn,

so let Silence be the mistress of me,
let Silence be his girl,

because he's honest,
to a fault,
he's got his fingers,
in the family vault,

let Silence be his,
Silence be his girl,

silent as a stricken stream,
he only see's her in his dreams,

uh-oh,

because he only see's her in his dreaming,
never by the light of day,
I thought you had my number,
and just didn't know what to say,

Shhhhhhh....

he's cross eyed,
and all bent,
in the lost tide,
where he picked up your sweet scent,

so let Silence be the mistress of me,
let Silence be his girl,

cause he's hindered,
 by invisible walls,
and he's got four years,
 saved up in his balls,

let Silence be his,
Silence be his girl,

silent as a stricken stream,
he only see's her in his dreams,

A Girl Named Silence

So lonesome to me, for my stone will not true,
 unto the falsity of this false city's view,
 for the angles are fangled in fang gill and fever,
 so lonesome to me...an untrued believer,

So lonesome to me, appraising a praising,
 ground into the ground where the herdings are grazing,
 where the dust does't a dalliance, moulded by molded hands
 so lonesome to me that it calls itself man,

So lonesome to me that the apple appalls,
 for the walls they have ears but the ears they have walls,
 though they gorge in the gorge of the irresolute,
 so lonesome to me, they will not taste the fruit,

So lonesome to me, this fork in my tongue,
 but my scales are a-tipsy with what must be sung,
 and my heart is a bell that demands to be rung,
 so lonesome to me that I slither among,

For I peaked from my peak, an heir of the air,
 high on the wind that does layer my lair,
 from these withering heights did I cast you my call,
 but you prayed and you prayed and you preyed that I fall....

Kay Fable

Kay Fable

Popular tracks