(Lyrics / Music--Scott Engel) Published by Carlin Music Corp.. . Long about now she's heading home. Black from the rain, burnt to the ground. Her ashes will rise.
(Lyrics / Music--Lou Reed) Published by MGM Music. . ([???]). ("Get your fingers in."). . Lady Godiva, dressed so demurely. pats the head of another curly-haired boy.
(Music/Lyrics--Sandy Denny) Warlock Music. . "My shadow follows me wherever I should chance to go,". John the Gun did say.. "If you should chance to meet me as I wander to and fro,.
(If ever you're going hungry, there's always the graveyard...). . Be nice or strangle me, I don't care. Good times are not what's lured me here. Bad clothes and sting-in-the-eye perfume.
Do you think they could see us in this base circumstance. You with blood on your knees and me with my hand down your pants?. If a lad wears a dress then will George want his sex?.
Greyhair fool / Shoes undone / The fields ahead / Leaves black as coal. Landmark-free / No walls, No trees. to greet him on this night of his return. C--So who will love this lie on legs.
A brass band playing in a dumptruck is visible through clouds of brickdust. as people dressed as cows form an orderly queue. for a drug that makes you dead for a second or two.
In a half-faced mask made of tinted glass. Walking streets of creased wet concrete. where her curse [attacks] sometime. by the screaming chain-store signs.
("You will have a baby, a monster, an evil monster conceived in your womb, as big as I am small, and possessed by the devil himself!"). . Born to refuse.
Born to refuse, and raised to exclude. Fed myths to disprove by post-colonial prudes:. The city was evil, some country was evil, the hippies were evil,.
I just survive any way I can. No guru, no method, no pension plan. Your luck's just as plain as I'm not paying attention. I'm gonna take her with me in my satanic stretcher.
Alcohol, heroin, THC. Care in the impotent community. (Numb). Resignation, irony, under scrutiny, so events can slip. From memory of history, a voluntary dictatorship.
James Jesus Angleton sells sunlamps door to door. in this so-called peacetime, even spooks fight to stay alive. I don't much like him, but I sit and mind his car.
At the platform's end, where the crowd grew thin. and the light was dim on our shoes. where we sat there so tense,. not to touch though we meant to (I think).
In rags in their normal place. where diesel machines roar by. Pale dawn, at the scrapyard gates. Fast food parks and hardware mines. Not smiling or frowning they,.
Well, hello.. You can no longer depend on the land in which you were born.. You can no longer depend on any land in which you choose to place yourself..
no one comes from here. and so i'm not afraid. everyone's the same as me. we don't talk the same. so we don't talk at all. and our hosts just look on with glee.
in the winter in a seaside boarding house. the killer swigs and wheels. round his room telling how he made that. weeping spinster kneel. yellow light seeps through a fly-glown lampshade.
August the 20th: Yes, folks, it's another cold, clammy day in England. A large crowd has gathered around the police station. Everybody--EVERYBODY--wishes to have contact with a certain little Irish writer within. Not to discuss his works, though the works are known to them; they've been published in the tabloid papers by the police under the heading "Barbaric Butcher's Brochures". No, they want to tear his very head from his body, for what it is alleged he did in the way of mortal damage to two soldiers in a nearby public lavatory. The night draws in. Nobody would say a word about him, except a fool like me [(and his skin)]..