the ministry of filth

 if you look for dirt               you’re bound  to find it                        like attracts like                   that’s the law  of intent                        did you run out of pockets?       have you lifted                     more than you can chew?        you better give me everything                        before I wind up dead                    the pigs strip searched my mind                    prima facie evidence                   suggested I was ripe                       there’s something wrong with my brain                        it’s a simple mind bender              from way back when                   did you see them?              did you see my pornographic hands?                did you get my text?                      do you finally understand?             this is the ministry of filth                 and you are in command

mister natural

 old acquaintances              can make for strange bed fellows               more like accomplices than lovers             but this is no next time round                  I’m no blast from the past                        I’ve been authenticated                        as 100% organic                        the totally genuine article             issued in nineteen timbuktu                    

I’m not packing remedies             in my duffel bag                        you can’t count on satisfaction        coz I’m just a minor distraction              and strictly pay for view             you got my name and number                        if you ever catch the blues           tho I might not come running               the way you want me to

soot

I’ve got rockets in my pockets        my fingers are black with soot      I have a full load on      and I’m taking a dive      with a head full of feathers      I get so high it’s obscene     when I get my shit together       and I get my shit together     more often than I should

others might turn to god     but I turned to ashes      I tweaked my mind against babylon’s machinery             this is the secret of happiness       disputed through the ages      in a simple benediction         that ancient curse  of the orient       the fabled pipe of peace

weathered

 poor boy plays his flute       to a herd of goats     grazing in the dunes       sunny side up      what’s that the symbol of?       the grass is always greener       on my side of the dream         the tapping on my window pane     sets another scene      it’s heavy weather       the sky is grey       the rain pours down       dismal as an infant’s funeral

some days I drag the low end         but it doesn’t matter    it doesn’t bother me        I won’t be writing any suicide notes     on that account        I’m not fixing to die anytime soon       I just began learning how to live        I have  circumstances to accommodate     and those can be a bitch       I can’t complain    but I will anyway

I roll out of bed        a tsunami of shit     sweeps me off my feet      and leaves me gasping on the wakeful shore      these are the heavy latitudes       and the days land hard      dark and oppressive        this is the land of ghosts  and ancient lore       the land of violence and suicidal rage     I have firewater in my veins     and fear in my heart   these last million miles  have worn me thin       one good rain could wash me down the drain       to dissolve like baby aspirin      in a pool of baby tears

I’m wedded now      to this heavy heart       to have and hold     until death we do part   I’m just a dog without a bone      still fighting a war     that ended long ago      a typhoon picked me up and shook my shadow loose      the pieces have fallen back to earth     but my light casts no warmth        and  I’m not the man I pretended to be      back in the day        before the deluge       swept me away

heavenless

 there are no wise men      and no magical beings      you are as slick       as this sideshow gets       there will be no epiphany        no sudden revelation         just a gradual unwinding         and stripping away      we'll find no asylum here          no place to rest our heads         we are all of us refugees        from the world on fire         we have no home on high       and no-one waiting there        the troubles that we face         won't be resolved through prayer

judas goat

 

we’re all of us tethered         to the same parked car       gullible imbeciles         overfed and entertained      it was a barrel load        in the bygone         but now it makes my bones ache        and I’ve been running on vapours       these last ten million miles      I’ve seen road kill        with more juice that I got        I’d better buck up my ideas sharpish       or they’ll pension me off to the judas goat       he don’t read no bedtime stories       he renders meat from chumps like me

fluid dynamic

 I’m buoyed up       by the love apparent         in a single ray of sunlight       refracting  brand new colours      no-one knows the names of      

I’m weighed down      by the phases  of the moon     or the waning of the tides    coz whatever turned me on      has burned me out     

so I just go with the flow      it’s the jellyfish in me      the forces that set me in motion        the oceans I drift in       have worn me smooth      and fluid dynamic       

secret songs

I was only singing a secret song    en sotto voce   so no-one else would hear     and try to sing along       do you dig it?        do you want to hear more?     come and dance for me    get out of bed    give me a turn    you move like a killer   but I’m not concerned         if you dance for me now       I’ll sing you some more       I’ve got songs      that have never been sung        if you dance for me now        I’ll let you hear one

the living and the dead

 we’ve all made mistakes        I know I have      nothing I can’t live with         but nonetheless regret      it doesn’t pay to linger        I try not to invest too much time        dwelling on the past        half my friends are dead        that’s how old I am          halfway dead        I should concern myself with the living      and waste no prayers on the dead        the  dead are beyond concern        which is more than I can say for myself

vagrant

 that’s my space over there      best pal       right out on the fucking ledge         a cracked bowl     in a beggars lap          diving for change        instead of pearls       specifically deselected         by unseen hands           and opted out       before I began        my days are short       but my nights are tall          and I’m too tired     to deal with it all  

I must have nodded off          at the wheel        coz I’ve come-to at an angle         forbidden by the cops          but I’m still sunny side up        you have to love it all       for surely there’s a plan       and in the kingdom come       we shall live to see         nobody pays no rent            and all the drinks are free 

3 am

 I need medicine      god’s own brand      just a taste      will ease the pressure     I’ve been breeding     tiny monsters     under my skin      too much dope      or far too little         for an accurate diagnosis        I need an exorcist         or rehabilitation       but I’ll settle for sleep       and a gentle touch      feed me words       with kind intentions       it’s 3 am        and I’m strung out       take a cab       meet me in the middle        we can weep together       till the sun comes up

blackout

 I got my shit together       just in case      my shit is required        but why should it be?      coz the hour grows late        and I grow tired      I’m a surplus being      no strings attached       all I recall      is the rudimentary      no cause for concern     we suspected this much        all along       it starts with a whimper          ends with a bang        you go on ahead         I’ll set my alarm         and wait for the blackout        and my moment of calm