1. |
Thrill
05:06
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Screwdriver
For a deceptive thread
And to creep in the silence
Of our common mishap
Flexible lines of handmade drawings
During hopeless phone calls
You can’t get them straight
With a glass at the mall
And there you stood
Neither female nor male
It was eight in the morning
Drinking an ice cold pale ale
Watching at the movie
On your laptop screen
How can I tell if your gasp
Is fun or is thrill
Sipping your bourbon
The world around sways
It is two in the afternoon
As your plans fade away
The people who suffer
Either swallow or spill
How can I tell if your glance
Is anger or thrill
This drop of wisdom
This gurgling pride
That drowns resentment
That moistens what’s withered and dry
There must be some kind of way out of beer
A way to arrest this liquid pant
To be nicknamed an alcoholic queer
I simply won’t, I simply can’t
And there you sat
Neither noisy nor quiet
It was eight in the evening
With a sparkling white wine
You look for anyone
Devoid of any will
How can I tell if your smile
Is love or is thrill
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2. |
Little Genius
04:21
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Little Einstein was severely retarded
He used to headbang if left unguarded
When he saw a number, he got a panic attack
Black black, carbon black
Little J.D. Salinger, a full-time disaster
With his skinned knees and white frayed plasters
Every single time he heard a story
Crashed his skull into the boiler
Why do you insist on our frontal lobes?
Here we are, full of vital fluids
An astonishing sense of humor
A superb way of creating rumor
Little Picasso
was one of a kind
And it’s widely accepted
he was color blind
In the mirror our hocus-pocus
We will never really focus
Why do you harass us with your interviews?
All we need is just a garden with a view
The quarks, the rays
Aimless movements across our face
Our mind spots a catcher in the rye
Spastic movements between our thighs
String theory and honeyed cellos
Shaky movements under our elbows
We’ll be the worst villain
Movements movements movements
Movements even in our brain
It’s really tough
A target to identify
Lost in this sweet heaven
of redundant stimuli
It’s really hard
To freeze, to stand, to paralyze
Could I with a blinder
Or maybe with a ball-and-chain?
It’s a fearful task
Finding the right measure
It probably would be enough
To resist the akathisia
Little Edison never did his homework
Anytime he tried to open his books
All of a sudden he had to stand up
and play, play, desperately play
Little Chesnutt
Our juicy fruit
We know he was constantly
Out of tune
If you admire David Robert Jones
You should possibly get to know
That when he wrote his compelling lyrics
He couldn’t help carelessly nose-picking
Cubist seizures as in Guernica
Aimless movements from our fingers
Electricity, neon lights
Frantic movements across our eyes
An unstoppable wheel-chair
Awful movements all through our hair
We’ll eat spiders for the next five years
Movements movements movements
Movements even in my tears
Listening to our nonsense jokes
You might argue we are phase-delayed
But if you experienced our St. Vitus’ dance
We’d persuade you we are phase-advanced
A little genius needs to save his rights
Just, for instance, to twist and shout
A stroke of genius deserves attention
But not the one you use to think about
Having fun with my infant’s pokes
I will never ever really focus
Why do you harass me with your questionnaires?
I want my thoughts to freely hover in the air
In the mirror our hocus-pocus
We will never really focus
Why do you harass us with your questionnaires?
We want our thoughts to freely hover in the air.
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3. |
Nothing Left But Speak
03:54
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You falter
I storm
You reach out
to the intimacy door
I jiggle your fouls
By means of perfect blends
Of consonants and vowels
My harsh tone
Will blame you hither and tither
Later with a pause
I will tickle your ego
A parable, an instance for your good
Below the surface of the nouns
Your secrets
Behind the texture of a phrase
My limits
I’d like to kiss your neck
but there’s an ethical concern
I’m hugging through these words
And trying to cuddle via a verb
Whisper and whine
I’ll let you hear a promise
of perversion in a rhyme
Reproach at its peak
Sorry, my dear comrades,
There is nothing left but speak
To face
The way you crave for explanations
I need
The proper clarifying conjunctions
I wish you could undress
But there’s an issue with this place
So may my complex metaphors
at least dig a neater trace
I want you to know
There’s much more than a concept
In this wild syllables’ flow
Coherence is a leak
When here, at safety distance
There is nothing left but speak
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4. |
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On a gloomy Monday morning
Skeletal legs in denim
On the pink tiles of the backyard
Her drawling steps charm the crowd
Disfigured by the acid
It doesn’t really matter
I’d love to brush her blond fringe
Hiding the scar on her brows
Oh, don’t you care
When they will invite her
to clean her blood and
To join the club of
the hideous and improbably deformed
Don’t you know
She’s the Prettiest Girl of All Time
That red mark looks disgusting
For her when she sniffs cocaine
If she’ll faints in front of the mirror
I’ll be right there, by her side
She kneels down by the bathtub
The DJ boosts the volume
And covers all the chit-chat
While her limbs are flying miles away
Oh, don’t you worry, don’t you mind
When she will play the main role of a film
That makes the audience starve to death
The final Entertainment
Entertainment
She is the Prettiest Girl of All Time
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5. |
Butterfly Chips
03:34
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Here we go round Thomas Stearn’s prickly pear
The prickly pear growing high, just next the railroad
Where the sign tells “death danger, don’t touch the wire”
But why should I touch if the pool is alright?
Heart in the big car, brain in the small car
Outside of the window a whole world to see
You’re tryin’ to interpret my tears flowing down
Well, sometimes I’m shattered ‘cause the world’s gluten-free
In my mouth ajar, ready to fly
A reckless myriad of potato sticks
Flutter in swarms, deviate and collide
Hidden by crimson and tender lips
Like the army of my family nation
Shred by the action of my milk teeth nips
Dive down the esophagus in full relaxation
Instantly turned into butterfly chips
Here we go round Lewis Carroll’s red yolk
No particular reason to be shameful or shy
As long as my mommy continues to talk
The half-naked watermelon kid is alright
Alfred sells ice-creams, the shower’s off-limit
I don’t want you to worry, I don’t want you to die
If we ran out of money, we could easily buy it
A smart twist of mind reveals the ATM’s lie
In a daytime dream I close my eyes
A plethora of tortilla chips
Climb up the esophagus, no sphincter thereby
Take off to the moon on my butterfly chips
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6. |
The Corpses And I
03:44
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We’re here, the corpses and I
We share the absence of Time
Fathom the sound of the Empty
There used to be a time
When we would see us in a mirror
As if we were real
As if we were alive
No kind of substance
belongs to you anymore
Once we exchanged
Our warm pumping heart
The corpses and I
For love and pride
It’s just a matter of time
For pride to decay
And just exactly as
anything else
Love will die
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7. |
Majesty
04:29
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8. |
The Vibrator Play
05:06
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In a cellar
Hot and brave
Tireless training
To simulate
Mystic orgasms
To calm down
her pelvic nerves so raw
To negotiate and define criteria
that set eugenic codes
The vibrator play
The vibrator game
In the next room
A joy landslide
Woman’s envy
Was finally left behind
Rough devices
Penetrate
the secrets of her soul
Hubs of pleasure
Make her burst in unclean words
The vibrator play
The vibrator game
Flushed on the cheeks and excited
Her super-rigid bones become lighter
Life-loving sprites at a party
She locks herself
In her room
A freedom flight
A systematic treatment
That fuels the fleshly ride
Perturbation
The body riot is untamed
Deranging flutter
She’ll never be the same
The vibrator play
The vibrator play
Thanks to a compassionate white shirt
A paroxysm quiet and surprising
Everything now is enlightened
Authenticity
If the voltage is high
Satisfied and alone
Revolution’s a wire
Electricity
Here a question arises
Does it put her to death
Or bring her back to real life?
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9. |
Parachutes
03:22
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I miss the butter
For my toasted bread
I’ll get along with my apple jam
Singing cicadas
and bedbugs’ stink
No prob, I’ll turn into an insects’ shrink
My heart was dried out
My brain was wet
So I transformed them to fishing nets
Striped pajamas, they discourage sex
Tonight I’ll try with my purple Crocs
Parachutes, parachutes
Parachutes in the sky
You run from the left
I run there from the right
Parachutes, parachutes
Parachutes all the time
There can always be a smart way out
You’re neatly passing
don’t say hello
I take my phonebook
Make a few more calls
I start to sense
That life is a disgrace
Ok, I’ll hang out
With sweet Mary Grace
Parachutes, parachutes,
Parachutes, you’ll be mine
But if that is not the case
I can smile
Parachutes, everywhere parachutes
In my mind
Since nothing means loosing
I’ll prob’ly survive
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10. |
Desert
03:59
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Your smile is like a shortcut
For the moon to softly rise
The present is an intimate
Highly emotional surprise
Through the greatness of your art
Notwithstanding your weird grace
The future is a desert
Uninhabitable place
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11. |
Shout To The Wolf
04:01
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I like to reset things
I like to start from zero
This is the strategy
That makes me feel a hero
I love your dirty tongue
The way it licks my flesh
But to clean out bacteria
Sometimes I drink mouthwash
And once I rang the alarm
To call the bloody fireguards
They came to extinguish fire
In the burning neighbors’ backyard
Shout to the wolf
A sort of idiot hobby
I can’t help shouting to the wolf
Pretending that I’m sobbing
I feel coerced and stiff
My head is trapped in a cage
It is a down-toned riff
Played by a devilish mage
It’s my forefather Bill
Who checked the door locks thrice
It was my cousin Gilles
Who cursed at the top of his voice
Shout to the wolf
You can’t forbid hysteria
I used to shout to the wolf
Would you forgive my fear?
Shout to the wolf
A sort of idiot hobby
I can’t help shouting to the wolf
Pretending that I’m sobbing
Ain’t nothing more than a stubborn guy
Who likes to shout to the wolf
Nobody hears what I say
I’d rather start jerkin’ off
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12. |
Strained
03:17
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In this lonely carriage
I won’t confess you anything more
Than what I see
Out of this tarnished window
What remains of my memory
A photo-album covered in dust
What’s left of my experience
Iron arteries corrupted by rust
Please, don’t expect me
To get old with grace
I’m going to be extremely sincere
I don’t give a shit
It’s time now to engage in silence
To restore the energy imbalance
Clusters of sound in a mixer
Millions of grey TV pixels
Shattered by useless endeavors
Exhausted by mad misdemeanors
I’m strained by all of you
I’m strained by myself
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13. |
Wrong Quotes
06:45
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Obnoxious feeling
that I spent the whole night
looking for a meaning
to apparently absurd
and inappropriate says
I use to handle phrases well
But when I tried to make her fall
it came out that I was
lacking the “physique du role”
“Would you marry me?”
as a pickup line
To make my rage clear
“I apologize”
Give me the coolness of the movie star
when he just summarizes the sense of life
in a smart glance and
less than fifty characters
Polite and womanly behaviors
brought me here
where all these people are so heartful
but they’d never pay
a single ounce of respect
Clap your hands to this closing verse
Read it twice, straight and reverse
Forget my brilliant scores
and laugh at my wrong quotes
All my gestures fail in demanding love
I must trust lyrics that I’m not sure of
Here they’re open wide, the perdition’s doors
And Lord Macbeth goes:
“Get some sleep, my whores!”
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