Disc 1; tracks 8-12 8 Freak Show Circus (1:43) Searching out a more and more freaky show
Fundamentally bored
The brain hardly moves at all
In this bright, and twinkling, shifting, bleeping fog. Living in a heightened circus show
Where everyone consents
Twitching and shrieking, tied up tight
Gawping at pins pushed, through flesh-
The naughty bits, the little bits, the bits you really shouldn't do that to Like living in the freak show
Lucre by being distorted
How big weird object can they take
How many bright pins can they be stuck Again and again love to witness
Capacities of showman to endure
Extremities of agony from not the enemy
The exquisite excruciation of beauties face as
Taking it, taking it all, the pain,
Made legible on the face, inspires
A splendid and brittle mess. 9 Big Chunks (4:18) Beneath thick arched brows,
Tell ‘em Big Chunks is here
In airless air
Sculpted hair is demon horns
Eyes that conjure in
Bottle green glass jar
See, peer. See? Like little insects.
Never ending pornographic spectacle.
Swaying breasts to feed a baby,
The Devil pulling lever Ho ho ho,
A gurgling, red fingernails around
The lever.
Then down into the filling jar Drips drips oily green Holly,
White plunger thick cream maker pumping
Snap, pink ball fire berries
Down into the filling jar Quicksilver foam like dribble car crashes;
Fat, humid exhalation through airy snow.
Sulphur dipping, dripping yolky soldiers
Pushes into milky froth.
Bang! Hot dug iron ball bearings, red blusher'd
Down into the filling jar Seared and squealed a sordid/scalded pig, stuck rosemary,
A mass of hiss elvers.
Strings of thread like elvers:
Wriggling mascara seams, ductile straps,
Greasy lace suspension buttock
Both do act and suffer
Down into the filling jar Unceasing/unrelenting repeating plip plop, pip plip plop.
She'll mount you up, over edge, ribbed flesh
With skeleton of oil,
Circulate like slimy eels; peel and gut,
Till wide apart, ribs like huge eyelashes.
Squeezed, a squashed tomato
Splip, slop, onto an awaiting tongue
Or down into a filling jar 10 Zoom (5:19) A room of gloom
A tune in his head
Makes him feel lead.
Maybe he’s dead
Maybe from hell
Here to sell or buy a soul
Or just to watch the show.
It's not spastic
It's fantastic
She limps and writhes,
A lewd surprise,
Gets her breasts out
All bounce about
Marvellous jiggery pokery Scuffing tables moving
Crunching soles of shoes
On bits of broken glass
Just enriches the scene
Lovely, obscene.
We're not interested.
Tales of broken hearts
The orange glowing bulbs
Turn vinyl into plush red velvet
Wouldn't it hurt?
You'd think it'd hurt
Or maybe leave a mark
That’s what we like
That’s what we're here for
Saving human contact for a solemn bargain Seems empty down below
Where sound's throbbing
The muffled hum of vocal
That welcomes the new punter
Den of Sex Hunter She had tiny titties pale bald headed castles
Now she’s hopping round like a horny toad
Climb in the car get down that road
We'll all be going somewhere No talk of love-that’s not what we're for-no empty headed prisoners
If were gonna carry that load
Way down that sandy road
We'll all be going somewhere A portal to a different dimension in a soul
Where something happens to someone, with a name like Sniffing Glue
Follow threads, illumined by paraffin cast long black veils
A figure outta voice liquid pain personified
And there upon a broken shore will dance to naked tales of woe.
When everything equals nothing,
We want your body not your mind
We want to feel anything.
It’s not about being kind. Are you retarded? A jerk like spastic. Bloody idiot
The way you walk, the way you talk we feel you owe us something.
Have you not listened to a single thing we've said?
Don’t get through? We're so much better than you
Barely fit to lick the souls of shoes
So get on down that road
Really and yes truly you’re going somewhere Follow those tiny titties
Twitching up and down
See there's something in your head
Push back that seat
Relax, we're all going somewhere.
That’s what we said
We'd rather you were dead. 11 Boys (6:27) Boys crazy bid for girls they'll never have
Face schoolgirls wearing bunches/bobs, sophisticates not pigtails
All go to private parties, the erotic capacitor of dancing Trumpet chiefs lead in, words collapse in raucous din;
Sounds of mangle, electric cacophony. Drone, hide all sins that people make
And play around in modern jazzy Slimmers walk, she moves she talks; they gazed, they gulped, his cock convulsed.
Geared with pancake dripping, blusher.
Pull, pink fat puffs of hairy ash
On streets that heave inedible In tiny tickle timeless, 'lastic backless, little wiggle dress;
Stand out, in style, some action, piece of the cake so to speak.
She started panting, screwing, screaming.
With greatest dignity wriggling in that damp to gusset, tight tiny tunnel, haughty tubular green dress Very drunk, paraplegic, liver's gone to ruin,
Quite possibly dying
Plead, persuade, rammed into, in and out
Splat! A custard pie full face Carpets rounded, morphic yellow.
Piss! Sick! No pus, nothing like that.
Projectile, pelt, carrots, tomato.
Cut down from scaffold, beef and beer; semi skimmed new lovers. The backing band crouch tearing;
Let rip before a fight can start;
Burn the rest. These sounds transmitted.
The cheers, the cats, the leering A break, a shift (a snap!) a crack
The underneath, the inside out
A demon sang obscene:
Grabbed and groped
Squeezed provoked
Erode, corrode erotic tarry coating
No thought of shame,
Bullied bucked and rammed, flung back and moaned her sound solidified
She'd sex you up; bent back of chair
The naughty little slut.
Flipped up, turned around, coin split through air.
Lands heads or tails, a sexual mess;
The floppy thing kept in a box
Jabs with stick, then stick's a mauve spurting tubs of white from spindle cripple legs:
Braced itself, a monstrous thing,
Huge headed, purple snouted, dog willy tongued.
Saggy shapeless blob. Smeared up. Pump pummel. Return.
'Til resembles enormous, pink squash tomato.
Like stamped on snail, oozed snotty matter,
Trail meandering, gelatinous pop eyes pleading
To hell of own design.
Sated, lies sun faded, newsprint, drawn tight over elongated pigeon carcass.
Wiped up, with over knuckled friggers. 12 Sodden Strangler (4:46) This uniform dull plodder,
This Sodden Strangler.
All hail little man, into average stagger marching.
Feeling social inferiority. In lead existence reflects no colour,
Limp soggy fist most flamboyant gesture.
Hunched leached loser complaining from birth,
Scruffy plots the overthrow of state, As informers these vile creatures prosper
Tinting the scene with deaden hue,
Complicate pictures: destruct, ruin, decay. It's no wonder no woman will love them
If they do she's half dead, breast cancered,
Witch hag Mother.
The Hero he'd come huckered over dressed.
Awkward in social manner;
Skewed, diagonal, zig zag, intense;
Dark complexities drive flawed personality.
Like a shrapnel filled bomb,
Like underground train, confidence, sneers and obscenity. Them watching, reeling, intoxication from sticky reek
Of smoke and blast,
Life though inside this death;
Booming, sparkling. He was not playing.
Too open.
Women though initially attracted,
Saw he dealt in grinding heads
And lost their nerve. Our hero's outpour, excitement
Damns in duller narrow.
Hence bilious, bully backflow;
"Nothing" they'll not accept.
Order to speak in their language,
The words come tumbling out.
How foolish they to imagine
Do without the bandage of convention.
And withstand the corrosive of being questioned. Cunning, clever though naiveté there,
Lewd, aggressive, increasingly vulgar,
Mustard confrontation with the world.
From coherent, bright, charming
To bloody illogical and strange.
A desperate quarrel with himself. It's all the same, a need, expecting too much.
Doomed in a way, so damn self destructive.
Mixing what he believes with what he don't,
Whatever for effect.
A kind of comic wrath, simple like breath. Continue to disc 2 | 