Golden Parchment

Original Song
by Phil Dutton & Les Corlett

Lyrics

I'm a man of peace,
At war with myself.
I tamed the beast,
On my knees I knelt.

There's some distraction,
There's something wrong.
I don't need the attention,
To carry on.

The streets are burning,
The World's gone mad.
My heart's still yearnin',
For what we once had.

We cry in frustration,
Scream if you need.
Black smoke I'm chokin',
I need to breath.

If we could make a difference,
Would anybody care.
Some people seem to lose their way,
But they're neither here or there.

We've forgotten who we are now,
We run like rabid dogs.
We struggle in misfortune,
And we're missing what we lost.

We're ordinary people,
Living ordinary lives.
What the hell brought us to this?
We've fallen for the same old lies.

Please someone tell me,
If I'm only dreaming?
Wake me from the nightmare,
That we're in.

If peace and love and harmony,
Is something worth fighting for.
Why are we on the verge,
Of another civil war?

Can anyone make some sense of this?
Please help us if you can.
Like millions I am lost,
And I don't understand.

I'm a man of peace,
At war with myself.
But it's still not as bad,
As what we're doing to ourselves.

At War With Myself

AT WAR WITH MYSELF

Really? I just wanted to play with hand pans.


Mastered by @claytownproductions

Hypnotic Harmonics

How deep does it go? Make a kind incision.
Draw a sigil with my index finger in division
Of your wings in a gentle attack
From the nape of your neck to the small of your back.
Electricity. The spark inside your spinal column
Make you quiet as the atmosphere has sanctified and sound is solemn.
And I recall em from the time of regret.
You can call me your servant. You can call me your pet.

And you can savour the truest way to love they neighbour.
Succumb Divinity, insinuate you love they labour.
I saw a vision of conspiring fates
In the shapes that make up your beautiful face.
There's no percentage or residential benefits
Or real way to quantify the overwhelming evidence
That the severance from entropy leads to the station
Of pleasant forms of sensory deprivation.

No more relief. Relief's not needed.
Satisfied with the sway of the space.
When you're stroking my hair with your hand on my waist. Love it.
All thoughts and movements are correct.
Many times when I felt misaligned.
I was waiting for you. I was outta my mind.

Little black camisole. Ankle socks. Petticoat.
Medical manacles, cannibal pentacles, honeycomb.
Money gone stockings. Chemical sentinel walking.
No need to talk but a mental will to stop watching.
In the comical, experience the serious.
I want it dominant. I want imperious.
I want authority's hand. I want your governance.
I am the coveted. You're the covetous.

Limited hours. Devour your stimulants now for intimate powers.
Allow your sentiment down. No cynical flowers. 
No cowering. Elegant.
Trace the lines of the dour to the roots of your skeleton.
And now we're dead again. What's the etiquette?
Are we mannequins? Are we feminine?
Doesn't matter 'cause I feel no need for penitence.
Another renaissance. Another specimen
______________
Samples 
1. Dvořák, Symphony No. 9, Conducted by Georg Solti for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. London Records.

Sigil

прохладой вечера - буря

From FICAR BRUXA /// TO GET WITCHED

https://inrgd.bandcamp.com/album/ficar-bruxa
Loading to other platforms: https://push.fm/fl/inrgd-ficarbruxa

Acid Witchblood (FICAR BRUXA Album)

25-02-10

Original song by Mia (Miper): https://soundcloud.com/miper/last-call-morten-jeamland-miper-1

Last Call (Remix 2025)

Hot Jammin' In An Icy World

Original Song
by Phil Dutton & Les Corlett

Lyrics

What, option do I have?
When love, was never meant to last.
What other reason, do you need?
I've given up, ever sayin' please.

Please don't ever lose your faith in me,
I'll come through some day and you will see.
That all I've needed was a chance,
To tell you how I feel.

It's not easy, being this stupid,
It comes down to,
The things you see in me.

Let's pretend like we are strangers,
Cast adrift,
The way we're meant to be.

Thank you for your cool appraisal,
I'll shake it off,
And be the best that I can be.

Suddenly the room got colder,
I feel your breath upon my shoulder.
A whispered word,
Please tell me that I'm free.

What option do I have?
I'm just too scared,
To turn and face you,
And I can't replace you.

SNAGGLETOOTH

WHAT OPTION DO I HAVE

MORE POWERCHORDS LESS POETRY 🤘

--
volca beats + keys, guitar, bunch of software synths.

Artwork: "Angrifoetus", rendered in Mandelbulber.

Tummalad

Annoyingly pretentious shmuck.



(header image rendered in POV-Ray; human figure model by Ben Houston; TRS plug model by Søren Peo Pedersen; speaker model by Laurent Glodt)

Tummalad

El Cjadaldiaul

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