1. |
Ballet of chestnuts
04:14
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At the ballet of chestnuts, an orgy of fuss.
A hearse speeds by me, nobody misses the last bus
and the driver whistles Dixie underneath his breath.
It stinks of cigar smoke, his ash returns to the dirt.
Damned if he cares, damned if he don't,
got to pay the ferry man or won't get on the boat.
Reaches for fifteen cents in his overcoat, a nail a shell into the pail then climbs up on board.
Across the river of Styx, through the valley of death.
He shall fear no evil, each day the same old trip.
Kumbaya my lord, screams from lovers lips as fire dances in coitus amongst the morgueish ships.
Then we reach the other side a crowbar strikes the box.
Saint Peter reaches for his books, Cerberus licks his balls, his balls, his balls.
Anubis breaches into the husk and brings away the heart, places it onto the scales then finger licks the blood.
The one that brought you here, does not wait to see, lest it make his heart heavy when he returns to stay, to stay, stay.
At the ballet of chestnuts an orgy of fuss, with our lords cast abandon a punch in the pus and back at our stations we cower and beg as others consider the hand that has fed.
We remain loyal though the master is cruel, his violence is drunken and it fathers us all.
We see others rise and we quickly inform for the finest of crumbs and a corner more warm and each of us opens our chilled can of laughter with sincerity that may earn us a bafta.
Evolving your slime into psycho larvae.
I'd shake your hand but it would turn into snakes, to snake, to snakes.
And the years have not diminished this sense of predestination as you coldly explain your self preservation, like I was a child not of this nation that came up the Clyde bearing bent yellow fruit.
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2. |
Apart from me
03:20
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I just caught your eye, I know that you caught mine but our lives took very different paths ones that could never combine.
That flash of attraction that zones in on the heart. An instant of euphoria that nose dives into the dirt
Won't cry about what might have been or dream of what might be, everyone has a reason honey to be apart from me.
Apart from me, apart from me and that's how it should be, everyone has a reason honey to be apart from me.
The whistling wind your dancing hair, a snapshot trapped in time, torments and teases all my senses, so lonely I could die.
The winter nights are drawing in, there;s frost upon the pane.
The bbc news lights up the room the headlines roll again.
Master of my destiny but here I rot in hell, the broken shards of all my dreams surrounding me in my cell.
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Norman Silver and the Gold Edinburgh, UK
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