1. |
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2. |
Pig In Shit
04:23
|
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We burnt our beards
When we burnt our bridges
Our faces seared
Never to grow back
Oh how unmanly
Oh the voids unspanned
We'll never go back
They'll never grow back
Reach up and clip,
Your feathery wings dear.
Under the radar dip,
Above winds swirl and twist
The ground beneath our toes,
Will never shift.
I really am damn sure,
The ground will never shift
Earth!
It shifts,
I’m unhappy with it
So the Earth is shifts,
I’m unhappy like a pig in shit
Under radar we couldn’t possibly dip
I’m unhappy, I’m happy like a pig in shit.
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3. |
Christ They're Dead
05:20
|
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4. |
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5. |
The Bells
06:22
|
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Come slaughter the old,
For godssakes move on.
Proceed as one into infinity,
Or at least beyond.
Wipe our arses on our flags.
Honestly that’s all they are worth.
Peel them from the cold dead hands
They're not needed on our earth
None of them are needed.
Melt the guns and slap the rich
Pour molten metal.
And our weary hands will be warmed.
A final act of violence,
To remind us why
Our industry exists,
To warm our weary hands.
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6. |
SLABSloop
04:49
|
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Tweet hard Hollywood star,
The best we’ve got.
The best we’ve got.
Remain clean,
Photograph well.
The best we’ve got.
The best we’ve got.
Pine loud,
And do it often.
The best we’ve got.
The best we’ve got.
No need to learn,
As long as you turn up.
The best we’ve got.
The best we’ve got.
Smarm, slick, grease palms white shiny.
Smug-ness, move forward bodyguard.
Pastry chef freed from place tiny.
Implant, puffed-up, fall in a line.
Put it on a loop.
Put it on a loop.
The best we’ve got.
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7. |
Lord O'Lorde
03:40
|
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8. |
Tell The Captain
03:38
|
|||
Tell the Captain
Who the Jonah is.
Turn homeward bound.
Toward the sea
Freedom from the fleet
Isolation’s what we need.
Turn homeward bound.
Away from shore,
Where drones drop bombs
Where an eagle soared.
Tell the Captain
Who the Jonah is.
Outside the officers mess
Laughter at the door.
Molestation, tax evasion
And other jokes d'jour.
In the crew’s quarters
There are tweets and moans
Sprung leaks - liked and shared
But they never make it home.
Tell the Captain
Who the Jonah is.
On the lower decks
It's a fucking mess
Below the water we won't invest
A hull rotted to the core
Stores packed and locked.
Bloated men in uniforms
Command the sea to boil and froth,
As we sail for the storm.
Tell the Captain
Who the Jonah is.
Migrant skulls crack off the bow
Our wake brings dead children ashore.
Fore to aft is what we know
“Its gonna be great” - rest assured.
Tell the Captain
Who the Jonah is.
|
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9. |
Switch It Off
08:31
|
SLABS London, UK
Est. 2012. Purveyors of ‘Space Jazz’ and other absurdities. SLABS are James Whyard (bass) and Samuel Mathews
(drums).
Dark compositions doused in blackened drones and fizzing bass, hammer the listener into a unique and often disorientating aural journey before emerging in unknown alien vistas.
A Mouth of Gold artist.
... more
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