stones

 now is the time for gathering stones     slay a tyrant or two in the name of freedom      cracked skulls and broken bones   are the price we pay    for disobedience     but in this black economy     only troubles are free

my heart is emptied out      my hands are loaded with bricks      there’s  riot going on inside my head     a revolution on my doorstep      someone fetch a doctor     I’m haemorrhaging violent potential

maybe I’m sick from being locked in       or crazy resentful of being shut out     I need a lover to paint my garlands blue    this ring of roses is slowly choking me      so come share my cup     it could be our last     we’ll dance together one more time    and draw lots for the first stone cast

monsters

 

someone just walked across my grave       maybe they poured a libation on my stone     maybe they just stamped the dirt down     I have to manage my infestation     perhaps I need to up my dose     I hear blades being sharpened    did they find me?    how did they find me?      plots are being hatched that will never reach fruition       these are the  conspirators of an idiot nation        familiar monsters with blood in their eyes

it’s unwise to get foolish at this stage of play    but I have big feet    and clumsy ambitions       all my mirrors vacillate between repulsion and adoration       there’s little there that’s of comfort to me     so I avert my eyes    when I get low      I get high      all I seek is equilibrium     a place to lay my head      and some respite from the monsters

but  it’s not the monsters that offend me    it’s the people who make them       the monsters aren’t  so scary      if you speak the lingo       but their masters possess a murderous reflex and sharp teeth     they have shark like ferocity      and no feelings at all        

empties

 

I might have slept quite peacefully

I simply cannot tell

I may have slipped off gently

on the silky road to hell

 

in the absence of light

some of us take fright

the dark is infested by bogey men

some of them are black as sin

and others pearly white

 

there are countless tribulations

playing on my mind

there are phantoms in those shadows

both ruthless and unkind

 

this is a time of pestilence

and sorrow

a time of fear and pain

you might purge that fear

with fiery drink

but the memories shall remain

Fleabag

 

I’ve seen your bubonic lymph nodes     and your ripper smile   you’ve gone fleabag      and I won’t touch your unclean things       not at these rates       so ring your parish bell     and  roll out your dead         we’ll cart them off to the knacker’s yard        just don’t touch their skin      you’ll catch the dread apprehension from a dead man’s skin

and don’t you lay in a dead man’s bed     there are critters nestled there between those  sheets     that  will bleed you dry    and fill your lungs with broken glass    that’s a gasping wheezing death      a fish out of water    drowning in air    

flesh of my flesh     flowering corruption     what malignant monsters lurk within?      I got the saint vitus itch from a reckless encounter      at an afternoon séance        my death has been scheduled       for a month on sunday   I was lucky to get the slot     it’s their busiest time

listen to the Creature EP

emperor of dystopia

disinfect me a postcard         issue me a missive        I can’t reach you           on this line           and I have no means of transportation            venomous snipers      nest in my shoes   but I have other shoes    and sometimes   I walk         and sometimes      I crawl        and sometimes      I don’t do anything at all             I’m not elastic enough       for a life in limbo       treading  water      dreading  time     I’m cutting out    for an alternative reality   where I’m the emperor of dystopia        the last living giant    on a planet filled with pygmies        our world is dying now       please help us knit a new one       before we run out of wool

poor cow

 

I was unaware of her darker dimensions    she’d been caught in the gaslight    but she wasn’t crazy    she was just weary       she made it easy for me to cross her killing floor    and told me with some certainty    that we had met before    we  coupled in a frenzy    but in completely different zones

in the languorous haze    of the afternoon sun    I stared at her breasts    heaving as she drew each labouring breath beneath me     and I drove home my seed      there amidst the tall grass     and I hated her then     I loathed her    as I wanted her    the flies surrounded     her corpulent flesh     I saw her dead in her rictus gaping     and the fecund detritus of her lust     and I knew it was over    before it had ever begun

listen to the Creature EP

 

Clockwork Monkey

I cannot explain my existence    I never learned the sequence     mine was a comic wilderness   filled with oppressive beings     high on illusionary power   bought and paid for with my sweat and toil    I was so tired of being shoehorned into those awkward instances      I turned on to the dark    to get my business fixed   some use smooth words for ragged purpose    they beguile to deceive     and I was only too willing to be deceived

 I’d seen his face before    but we all have    he served me black wine     I drank it greedily     straight from the bottle     it filled me up     and I became a beast   my face is fluid now    it can take on many forms     and though I speak with the tongue of angels      my heart is dark and empty     I’ve been totally locked out     but he has the master key

all words are instrumental     that’s what he taught me    the real power resides in the space between the curses   invocations   and fragrant lies   that’s the space between naked intent and imagination    words are snares for the unwary   but weapons in the hands of lovers   he had words to raise the dead    and to bury the living     he made me his sounding brass    he wound me counter clockwise    and set me against myself     just another clockwork monkey     clamouring for the sun  

covid sheets

 

another cold grey start has shrunk my knackers for the specimen jar     bring out your covid sheets     and deliver us your dead     Beelzebub’s children swarm in for the warmth of my brain pan      I’m in the kitchen     wearing my butcher’s apron     I’m dissecting the dreams you bequeathed me      looking for some that match mine     from back in the days when I could still see your smile

I should have been there to hold your hand    I should have been there in my mortuary clothes    but I’m all choked with the consumption and my blackened lungs heaving      you were eaten by moths    in yet another night of dread apprehension     this is the land of the viral load    where we deal in the deadly statistics transmitted to us in bulletins

I shall mourn you in the privacy of my own bubble    my agonies augmented by local enthusiasts   who smother me with their cold indifference and carefully rehearsed denials     I just let everybody do what they have to do     there are priority listings for those on the rise     and cardboard coffins for distant cousins     

I must be paranoid   because I’m the only jailor in this prism       I locked myself down and threw away the keys long before the plague arrived     all my highs are from outside my head  I’m just a mirror for the sickness of the world     symptomatic of a deeper malaise    that makes demons of us all       I shall weep for us from within my simulation     you can gather my tears from social media         before you fetch a big policeman to show me to the door

sharks

she spoke red     it’s a very old trick    but it gets your attention     like a loaded gun      but whatever she said    I paid  no mind     it didn’t mean nothing     she was  just having fun      I’m the same     when it gets down to it     and it gets down to it     often enough

you have to dig deep    if you’re gonna crash out    but you got to stay sharp    when you slip your collar   you must forge your papers    and murder the past   we were both killers     honed to perfection    too well matched    to do no harm

they tell me baby sharks    eat their siblings    I know people     who are worse than that    they think they are special    because they feel no fear    that’s completely reflexive     but it sets them apart      I’ve  been bitten more than once      but she bit deepest       she could still take a piece        whenever she wants

hear the Creature EP

rubber knives

to whom it may concern    two can play at your game    don’t tread on my stones    I’m only setting my papers in order    because you murdered me   with innuendo     accusations     and bitter lies    call the waiter   there are vermin in my soup   

you tapped my wires     rifled my drawers   and embezzled my contents   just for the malice in it    you took my anguish and fashioned it into nails    then you pinioned me on charges     no-one had ever heard of    but don’t cry baby    you were only doing your job     and I was only doing mine

my bones are heavy    from your excuses    you saw an opportunity     the same size as your boots      so you weighed in    I might have done the same  myself      if I was a cunt    your new friends had hard junk faces    wrinkled dead like burst balloons     scary in their pit bull nightmares      full of toothless bite and spit    weeping from an excess of white lightning  

theirs is the zombie flesh rising    some say it tastes like chicken    but everybody knows it’s pork    I’d zap ‘em all straight in the fucking brain pan  rattle their sensitivities    the alky villains who stole my coat     looked just like you do     lonesome    confused      and in search of a decent fit

obey

 

acid flashback   piranha guts   I got the fear on   I’m all body quake   and adrenal expulsion   it’s that weary old fight or flight paradigm   but I go by the numbers   it’s just a question of time    before I shake it off

 

the margins are minuscule   In this cruel season   It’s hard enough to raise a smile    never mind a buck   I rise when the sun sets   and bathe in the dark   scant reward    for all the bareback adventures   and romantic misdemeanours    that blot my copy book  

 

my chapped lips and a caffeine smile   reveal the morbidity in my inner ape   my silver tongue and leaden heels    have me hobbled in the starting blocks    those softer metals conduct static to the brain pan   and my blood impurities leave a tell-tale stain on the deep inside    but there’s no point in concealment      no-one gives a fuck what’s written there anyway

 

fear is the prime motivator    fear is the reflex action    it’s fear that makes the world go round    fear binds our colonies of fragile exiles   and legions of patient coffin fillers    macabre in our fleshy fascinations    nauseated by the differences of being   hungry for the blood of innocents    but fearful of the shock of discovery    and the blinding light of reason

 

there shall be no moment of rapture   the usual terms and conditions apply  there is only one enemy and it shows no mercy   fear knows the darkest secrets that occupy our hearts   and births the tiny demons that tear our lives apart   there is but one commandment   it was forged here in the dark

bedlam

I’ve been writing rubber cheques again   no problem really   it’s the thought that counts   right?    I was looking for solutions   but only found new problems    they say all problems are illusions of the mind   I say the need for illusions runs deep    it’s far better to struggle with illusions than with reality

 

according to science   a couple of twisted chromosomes     make me a madman    but madmen are alright   madmen are trying to fix things    what kind of things?    tiny things   like lives    so stick a little nembutal up my arse    blur my edges    numb my nuts    sort me out with psycho quackery    help me find a better place

 

I know where the edge is     because I’ve been over    that’s how I ended up here   this place is bedlam   it’s full of madmen   but madness is relative    it all depends whose cage you are in   but I see you    can you see me?  I’m one of those chumps who think too deeply     clever men think clearly   but we madmen think deep

 

I’m being eaten slowly by my thoughts     consumed by my feelings   I wonder what it means to die   do I consider myself alive?     sometimes I want to flee this awful place    but the devil I know has a compelling argument   all things considered I’m better off where I am     just where else would a madman go?