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1. |
Saltless Barrel
01:49
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I try to side with the Sun when the world throws me darkness
But in the scheme of Greater Things, this human endeavour is pointless
Every day of ease feels like a fucking disease
Come night, I go to bed unimpressed and violently listless
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2. |
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I didn’t walk out on a town that just wouldn’t burn when I was on fire
Into the fever of the city to get a little more nowhere
The days crawl by and for some sick little reason
The nights make me feel even less alive
The routine moon, the aisling sun
The mechanical grind, the perpetual drudge
And all my rage, the rage of stone
It’s weighing me down with savage disgust
And it’s dragging me back under again
The routine is coming in heads over tails
Teeth into scales
And it’s biting down hard again
Whenever I’m light on my wings
The pendulum always swings
And I come down hard again
The moon shines cold on my head full of lead
And I don’t feel like I’ve come out of my twenties alive
Each passing day, I grow unwell in a new way
And time keeps eating away at the good stuff
The worst always turns to worse, I’ve been dealing in hurt
Like a memorial of youth idly biding its time
But “our life is a journey through winter and night
We look for our way in a sky without light”*
*Words humbly borrowed from ‘Song of the Swiss Guards, 1793’ as referenced by Louis-Ferdinand Céline in ‘Voyage au bout de la nuit’
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3. |
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Oh, Wronged Rabble
With your bellies full of pride
I see that your tongues have become fluent in snide
All this know-it-all preaching has left you feeling patronised
And you can see nothing but a public world corrupt with violence and lies
Oh, Proud Lion
With your belly full of bile
On the sign of revenge, it is your duty to rise, menacingly and fearsomely
But your people has become a bit braver than right
And your righteous claws don’t give currency to lies, right?
All the centrists are dead and what’s left are the loudmouths
Carefully arranging this whole climate of fear
The threats? The commies, the immies and the ones leaning to the left
And what they’ve been feeding you as change is just a suicide pact
Oh, Proud People
With your panic room heads
You’ve got your customs and opinions stuck in your gut
“Our people first” and “Better dead than Red”
But when the waters are muddy, you hang your own from your own rope
Take your crooked moral law and build a nave of it
Gather your misgivings and then turn them into pews
Get yourself this day your daily bread:
God, duty, discipline and debt
Ordain the loudmouths and have them sermonise
Knees on the kneelers, set their complacency to stone
Build your church of misery and then see it for what it’s really worth
We’ll welcome your remorse and burn it all to the ground, together
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4. |
Welt
01:38
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Given a circadian death clock
To waltz away your time to
You spend the whole of your living
Just to buy back your life
Your whole lifetime is spent
In permanent debt
Paying dues that aren’t even your own
Until your body is spent
Given a circadian death clock
To dance away your time to
You spend the whole of your living
Just to buy back your life
Making ends meet
With feet of concrete
Drowning in stress
Until you’re crushed into capital-feed
Low, we’re so very low
All I see is martyred ambition hanging loosely inside its clothes
Low, and our place we should know
Crushed beneath this petty pace until we start turning into bones
Low, but Life wills it so
We go wherever its motions keep on telling us to go
Low, I feel so very low
But I’ve seen lower
Deficit is calling
And it’s eager to collect
A pound of senseless burden for every ounce of youth that you have spent
Loaded down
A prisoner of debt
With a foreclosed future
And no time of your own to spend
Here’s to the Indebted Man
In congenital binds
Hog-tied and tried
Before the New Economy
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5. |
You and the Rest of 'em
01:11
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Your intentions are ruthless
And your words are worthless
And this social thing you’re keeping up
Is starting to feel really hopeless
I’m not one to waste my time
On this trumped up ‘you and I’
I’m fed up with this shit
So get this through your skull:
Our ‘days of old’ are fucking over
I won’t let whatever shared history is dogging behind us
Guilt-trip me into reconciliation or compromise
All smiles without mirth
You are all of the worst
A straight-up parasite
And no exception to dirt
If I’d make a list you’d tick off all the clichés
You fair-weather fucks all come and go with a handshake
Just cut ’em all dead
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LOTUS Antwerp, Belgium
“Chain punk for eggs” from Antwerp, Belgium.
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