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Rating: And the priest arrived and storms came from the frescoes of the shack-church. And the priest arrived and the faithful came and the cry rose like an erect phallus over the monstrosities of the lands beyond the ocean. And the priest arrived and my head exploded. For all the lust of millennia of flaming sexes rose from the prisons between the rocks and entered the Bahnhof, where the ragged beggar slept. And it entered him. And he entered the girl, like a deformed frog against her young sheathed legs. And he wanted her pride, and he wanted to break and create pain in the girl of the Music-Zoo, DEAD UNDER HIS FISTS. With spasms and wails and organ shrieks and sharp embers of guitar and phlegm. ZOO-MUSIC GIRL.
And the priest came again with thunder rumbling under his fetid feet poorly clad in sandals of fish bones and filled with a non-space void. Madness rushed in and the tear with it and on the hills and among the marshes a suitcase accompanying a man shone and broke and wept. A pit appeared and the earth of its torn body went on to form walls of tears.
And against the repugnant backdrop of a theater-brothel appeared the familiar silhouette of the priest. Here he is observing himself. Nick the Stripper is his number. The little insect with a pause rises over the audience and with a pause grotesquely erects and with a pause brings his hands to his crotch and with a pause falls to the ground in his blood and his sperm and in the mud abandoned by the cockroach of the previous night. And without respite inveighs against the hypnotized audience and with silence and paradoxical confidence he removes the prophetic garments while a few dwarfs beat on four brass instruments. And he soils himself with disgust and raises the vein and pierces it. He dies. And, with the priest he resurrects. A truly dirty jester figure.
Why do you beg for our smiles, miserable creature? Did God not throw you copper coins of Love? Did He not grant you fortune? He left you the Coin! Immense, eternal, infinite Coin, rightful pass to that Kingdom whose existence is uncertain... certain is its nemesis, Jester, sad figure of rosary. You inhabit it, face of bronze and dying, and die it after every death of the hour.
The ink drips like a gnashing of napalm and, like soot drenched in beer, it puts entire cities to fire and sword. And he, the Ink King enters triumphantly. Whores of the corrupted Kingdom and sodomite dwarfs and heavy cockroaches with brick-like armor. And sand worms and guttural moans and mountains and seas of heroin and that little king with the horse-face who swims in white salt and presses against the walls of his manors and against the borders of his domains and sleeps. Slow and broken beat of a spade bass and a guitar of decaying flowers: it is the blow of the king's scepter against the unfaithful prince. Monster's grunt: it is the percussion of blows against a rotten shell. The brain is rotten, the shell is rotten, the tonsils and breath rotten, the king's pleas against the revolution enacted at the birth of the world rotten, rotten ROTTEN. Like your truth Anita Lane. True, you say? Mister Nothing, you cannot always keep bothering Us with your nonsense about singing. We hit and stop. WE HIT and stop. WE HIT organs blindly like soft monitors and you continue in your lamentations. You are not a prophet in the desert. You have not escaped the persecutions of the Hittites, nor the Egyptian spears, nor the sands of Sinai nor the justice of the judges. And now you will perish in chaos. Prepare your rags, my animals are about to enter your penitential cell.
And the priest entered, dragging himself on knobby knees and saw his hands turn into a hiss of death and into pieces of filth and semi-rotten earth. And while entering he was stoned with gravel and overwhelmed with crow furs and with subhuman slowness a reforming prophet pushed him back into the distant Kingdom.
And the priest appeared one last time. He dripped resentment. He emanated foul-smelling odors like those from a dump. He wielded his voice like a six-inch gilded blade and with it floundered in the dark toward the shape of the piano. His voice became a pleading hammer that rose against the consumptive enemy of God and struck him, beat him, shredded him, pulled limbs from their holy original seat and stopped. Nuns in bat outfits, large as nuts, armed with angry fists immobilized him. And he continued the action, rotten and dripping with mud. Blasphemies like blades, blasphemies like flaming larches, blasphemies like fiery prayers. Defeated on the field. And finally the last icy flower on the enemy's lips, now obscene like the surface of the world on which grotesque beings stir, are born, mate and die and kill the similar ones born, mate and die.
The worm finally reigned on the outer surface.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 Cry (02:39)
when ya walk outa here
when ya walk out
I gotta fill up that space
or fill up that no-space
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears and
cry cry cry cry
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can
cry cry cry cry
when ya slam that door
when that door slams
i gotta fill up that space
an' I'll pack my suitcase
I'll fill it up with no-clothes
fill it up with no-clothes
fill it up with no-clothes
fill it up with no-clothes
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll pack it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll pack it up with tears and cry cry cry cry
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can
cry cry cry cry
when ya slam that door
when that door slams
I'll dig my-self a hole
and I'll fill up that space
I'll fill it up with no-flesh
an' I'll fill it up with flesh
I'll fill it up with no-flesh
an' I'll fill it up with flesh
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll pack it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears
I'll fill it up with tears and
cry cry cry cry
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can swim
where no-fish can
cry cry cry cry
fish swim cry fish crryyy cry cryyy
03 Capers (02:38)
what has not got my heart in it shall we be dubbed sir names
wither million blither tongues mounting bristling guilt frames
in the fake - ache of the gloomloom slippers slap me alive!
the hour hands down a miracle to spend with ugly types
so we can catch and thread a minstrel bleed a tower down to its ankles
so we can't go up or stay up find the thumb dumb in your ear brain
get unfunny! such as choirs do why the clocklock bought up this one
just when things seemed so paperparrent like my toothface? like my out-do?
capers... capers...
oh a streak, o'treacly ink-inks tied my knees all up in elbows
erase that lapsing smile tub lose the slip of the small soap-fellows
account the addups till I do-nots are we balanced? we're in business!
idle tidal, rush in, tried all with a limb's...all legs and armour
I had a dreadful diehood diehard, drunken, sunken, monk-heart
oh I had a wonderful diehood thanks to my fa, fa, family
04 Nick the Stripper (03:50)
insect insect insect insect incest insect incest insect
Nick The Stripper
a-hideous to the eye
a-hideous to the eye
well he's a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
and ooooooooh! here we go again
Nick The Stripper
a-dances on all fours
a-dances on all fours
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
and ooooooooh! a-here we go again
Nick The Stripper
a-hideous to the eye
a-hideous to the eye
well he's a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
and ooooooooh! here we go again
well he's a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
a fat little insect
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
he's in his birthday suit
insect insect insect insect
06 Figure of Fun (02:47)
wow! uh oh
I am a figure of fun
obsessive, dead-pan and moribund
[creantic girl] seasick
I am the figure of fun
[?] I baked in the sun
I have no luck in love
I have no luck in anything
I am a figure of fun
and I'm impressed by everyone
but I impress no-one
it's irritating
I am a figure of fun
ROCK!
I am a figure of fun
I have money
but money isn't everything to a figure of
fun fun fun fun fun fun...
I love you baby fun fun fun...
07 King Ink (04:39)
King Ink strolls into town
he sniffs around
King Ink kicks off his stink-boot
sand and soot and dust and dirt and
he's much bigger than you think
King Ink
King Ink
King Ink
a wake up a King Ink a get up a King Ink a wake up a King Ink
a get up a get up a get up a get up a get up
up up up up up up up up up up...
a bug crawls up the wall
King Ink feels like a bug
and he hates his rotten shell
(he says) cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha...
King Ink a wake up a King Ink a get up a King Ink a wake up a King Ink
a get up a get up a get up a get up a get up
a what's in that room? a what's in that house?
a what's in that room? a what's in that house?
say something, express thyself, say something, express yourself
express... say something loudly Aaaaaahhhh...
a what's in that room? a what's in that house?
sand and soot and dust and dirt and sand and soot and dust and dirt
and-d-d-d-d-d-d-
di-di-di-di-di-di-di di-di-di-di-di-di DIRT
King Ink feels like a bug
swimming in a soup-bowl
he says oh! yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! FATS Domino on the radio
yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! what a wonderful life
oh! yer! oh! yer! FATS Domino on the radio
yer! oh! yer!
09 Yard (05:02)
in our yard
how many chickens can we count
on our fingers and toes
on their toes
sitting on father's hole
sitting on his chest
crushing rocks of dirt
the earth is soft in our
yard yard
stones in my shoes
and feet
dragging them through museums
where
under glass
refridgerate
freeze
hands and feet
and knobbly knees
yard yard
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