G.A.Richards & the Dark Satanic Mills Bros. – Middle Of The Road Class War Terra Nullius Blu-Hoos
from Closed off, Cold & Bitter – Life as a Can of Beer (2005) /alt folk./
Tough luck
I suppose it’s how a man is built
you say your father called you ‘admiral’
you couldn’t drink your mother’s milk
it takes a little more than that to make you
after all you’ve been tampered with and toyed
you’re just a tiny swimmer in a million
meets a tiny tissue in the void
I never thought I would amount to much
I thought it might be much more than this
writing jingles for the factory
selling memories and sinkin’ piss
oh, but there’s too many sharks in that harbour
you don’t have to swim here to know
you can hear the bells ringing after
every shrieking flapping soul
as the pieces floated by I saw a vacant isle
and it seemed safe so i moved in overnight
now I can see all the sea can see
and i know the story of the coward’s flight
now did you graduate from your lower class?
or did you tumble from your great height?
if you’re always looking after your own arse
you’re gonna stumble on some hindsight
oh to the past there is no return
from the past there is no reprieve
there is no sleeping past check-out
you’ve gotta pack your bags and leave
now im trading nightmares on the stock exchange
where hearts are fat and hair is thin
I just know I could make a killing
If I could tally up enough sin
then I’ll buy myself a house on the harbour
every song my hummingbird heart will sing
is gonna have the same refrain:
“one day my ship will come in”
It seems again and again always coming round to this.
The same tick tocking into nowhere. The same you on the inside wanting to be outside. And the sacks of shit you can’t help but step on – walking to and fro to nowhere – always smell the same.
Round and round and who exactly said circles were perfect? Maybe I’ll give him a piece of this. A crooked hook ripped from a hopeless hole.
Simplicity and elegance repeat repeat until their disguise is stripped away to bear tendons stretched and muscles atrophied. Simple is nothing and the elegant is that which lacks purpose and creative sole.
There’s your circle. It never takes you anyplace new. It stays with you insidious till your dizziness throws you roughly to the floor.
Last night a subtle pause. The wet breeze among the newly budding leaves. Some sense of a tired and pregnant spring. A cycle. Rebirth. Repitition brings bitter with his sweets. Whatever.
One day your ship will come in.