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Rating: Wake up. You have only twenty minutes to get across the city where sixty-year-older you is waiting. You must honor, as you do every week, the memory of the woman who supported and tolerated you for a lifetime. Run, hurry, the metro won't wait for you and life is a blanket that's too short: for what's there, some things slip away or are absent. Pass through the people, affirm your solitude, brush past and touch them, but do not speak to them. They don't really exist, by now it's just you...Do you ever feel lonely? Lonely in the middle of the crowd...It's useless to cry. We are born and die alone... I keep telling myself: it's not my fault if things aren't the way I want, but I don't believe it. I hate the gypsies who start playing music in the metro. They bring me back to reality when there's nothing better to do than escape: they're like mosquitoes when you're about to fall asleep. It feels like traveling, leaving what you know to meet who knows what new things, but does anything new really exist? If it doesn't, what should I do with the old bullshit? Who can I sell it to? I've decided: I don't believe in anything anymore and if someone wants to sensitively talk to me about world hunger, the ozone hole, renewable energy, the democratic party, my sore anus... well, I'll sensitize them with kicks in the ass. I am alone and I want to stay alone, I've lost myself and I'm not looking...It's also a religion not to believe in anything... Man has never had, in heaven and on earth, but one tyrant: himself!... I'm here, I exist, I'm sure or at least I think. I don't know what to do and I don't even know what I want. I'm sure that the best thing would be to not want anything at all, but it's impossible. It would take a catastrophe, you don't stop being crap except under a catastrophe. I would like to sleep for a month and see what has changed when I wake up. It would be nice, but also useless: things don't change even if you want them to, let alone by inertia. The train has finished its journey. It departs as I step off. On the other track, like in a mirror, I see myself in sixty years: alone as a battered dog...All killers see themselves with rose-colored glasses for the future. It comes with the trade. So be it... and when you think you are alone, you realize that somewhere in the world there's someone who understands you and this seems to me the only possibility of survival: socialism of pain.
To the one true God above:
here is my prayer not the first you’ve heard, but the first I wrote.
(not the first, but the others were a long time ago).
There are two people here, and I want you to kill them.
Her - she can go quietly
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Prayer to God (02:50)
To the one true God above,
here is my prayer.
Not the first you've heard,
but the first I wrote.
(not the first, but the others
were a long time ago...)
There are two people here,
and I want you to kill them.
Her, she can go quietly,
by disease, or a blow
to the base of her neck,
where her necklaces close.
Where her garments come together,
where I used to lay my face...
that's where you oughta kill her,
in that particular place.
Him, just fucking kill him.
I don't care if it hurts.
Yes I do -- I want it to.
Fucking kill him but first
make him cry like a woman
(no particular woman)
let him hold out, hope that
Someone or other might come and
Fuckin' kill him.
Fuckin' kill him.
Kill him already, kill him. (x5)
Kill him already,
Kill him already,
Kill him, fuckin' kill him.
Just fuckin' kill him.
Fuckin' kill him.
Kill him already, kill him.
Fuckin' kill him.
Kill him.
Fuckin' kill him already, kill him.
Kill him.
Fucking kill him.
Kill him, just fucking kill him,
kill him already, kill him already,
kill him,
Amen.
03 Mama Gina (05:43)
Oh, My Mama Gina
Had a Sister, Angelina.
If There Is a Heaven
(Though I Think That There's no Heaven)
She's Probably Dancing With You...
She Liked to Dance; She Would've Liked You.
When She Heard You Died
My Pretty Girlfriend Cried
And Cried and Cried
And Cried and Cried
And Cried and Cried and Cried and Cried...
She Liked to Dance and She Would've Liked You.
07 Canaveral (02:38)
Call it Canaveral
I won't say his name
could've had anyone and he did
what do you think could make him stoop so low
What do you think could make him
stick his hands in my life
what on earth could make him stoop so low
what do you think would make him
stick his cock in my wife
what on earth would make him stoop so low
Like to put him up up there in one
Like to see his face
Like to put him up there in one
Blow him up in space
He'll fertilize the rice in China
With the cinders of his remains
Want to start a country somewhere on an island or an archipelago
or a peninsula or an ipsmuth or a fjord or an inlet
even a mountain
Print up stamps and money there
and they'll all have Oswald's face
08 New Number Order (01:39)
Ok
Here's what we're going to do
We all know the numbers right?
From zero to infinity
Whatever
Some other number with a mess of zeros behind it
Here's what we're going to do
We're gonna change the order
of these numbers
to make things interesting
Ok here we go:
1 Million and 1
Sixty-six
1 Billion, twenty-five, seventy-five thousand
1 Billion and eight, six, something
Zero
1 Million 1
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Songs based on dynamics, devoid of any technical virtuosity but based almost entirely on dynamics, built on relentless staccatos.
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