1. |
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PRAY THAT YOU DON'T DIE DOWN HERE
PRAY THAT I DON'T FIND YOU
there's the strangest noise in the upper berth
and it keeps me awake at night
gets me to thinking
there's the sound of steps on the lower stair
and it keeps me awake at night
stops me from breathing
there's a scratch like rats in the iron walls
that keeps me awake at night
and it's got me to thinking:
how long's it been since i've seen the sun—
or the daylight
or the sea at night—
how long have i been down here?
There is no end to this torment of silence.
(young and old keep on dying;
do the dead keep on living?)
(Have you never lost someone before?)
WE WILL DIE DOWN HERE
WE WILL DIE DOWN HERE AS ONE
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2. |
Fly-By-Night
05:12
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Who's to know,
who's to tell,
in the glowering of the gloom?
Spread an awkward wingspan,
moving outward with plot and plan;
overpowering,
no place to call home.
What's to know,
what's to tell?
Have nothing to show;
get nothing but hell.
No place to go…
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3. |
Overlooking a Small Town
04:19
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There are trees.
There are doors.
There are steps.
There are windows.
There are holes in the walls.
There are people in the holes.
There are people in the holes in the walls.
I am laughing at the people in the holes in the walls.
Displace my view; displace my location.
The view forever changes, but the viewer never changes.
God is ever watchful.
They tell themselves that God is ever watchful.
How they do these things to one another, I will never know.
How they do things, I will never know.
How do they know?
Do they know they know?
They know what they know.
How do I not know?
In the mirror, I am laughing.
I cut myself shaving.
There's broken glass in the meal and in the bread—
I will take these things from them.
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4. |
Nyctalops
07:06
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a black light shines between a thousand miles of broken branches; a grey glow coats the tattered leaves that cling to the sides of the trees—o yellow word, o yellow world, o burnt yellow world of soft cold rains: take these strangers words from my hollow mouth and fill it with cool hard earth, moistened at the edges with frost and the foul wetness of bared teeth and breath
soon there will be warmth and the sound of bells—i have nothing more to say—except that i have everything to say
Fill my glass again,
I'm going into the dark;
I need to cut out my eyes to see.
I'm going into the hole;
no-one will follow me.
Night transfigures.
My body rots from the inside out.
You will see me soon:
you will see me in the house of pain.
They won't see me coming,
another hollow face.
Night transfigured, night transfigures:
Light disfigures; night transfigures.
In the body on the bed,
in the mouth of the earth:
I can't see anymore but I strive;
you can't move anymore but you struggle.
They cannot see me now—
Look at me now.
(Night transfigured night transfigures night…)
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5. |
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Turn off your television,
turn out the lights;
turn off your better judgement,
welcome the night.
Turn off your television,
and turn out all the lights;
and turn off your better judgement:
Welcome in the night.
Focus:
All you see opens like a blooming lotus.
Focus:
All you see opens before you like the blooming of a lotus.
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6. |
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O, to die like Saint Sebastian!
He was struck by arrows, killed by clubs!
To die like Saint Sebastian:
Struck by arrows, killed by clubs!
Could wooden weapons transform the flesh—
give a roustabout the face of an angel?
You fall upon your knees in awe,
and your hands are stained with blood.
You will die like Saint Sebastian:
Struck by arrows, killed by clubs.
Die like Saint Sebastian:
Struck by arrows, killed by clubs!
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7. |
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I am yours and you are mine, forever and always.
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8. |
The Splendour
06:15
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Were we ever so brave?
(Oh, you were ever so brave.)
Did they play us like fools?
(Oh, how I would play the fool for you, every time...)
Did you ever think that you would come out of this alive,
or were you blinded by the splendour?
Did you ever think that you would come out just the same,
or were you fallen for its glamour?
You left my face like an empty glass;
they left your face with a Glasgow grin.
You were never so brave, yet never showed your surprise:
The only grace to save you, save for the look in your eyes,
every time...
My eyes were open the whole time,
all the while that you thought I was sleeping.
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9. |
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i.
I walk upstairs with hesitation,
holding my breath.
I pace left to right
and back again
across the locked room.
Dirty floor seems like a moonlit desert.
I remember your voice in my ear,
and your hands on my throat,
and your teeth in my skin.
Some pleasures are tortures:
The hatefulness of your smile;
your laughter at cruel jokes;
the hollow sensation
of flesh against flesh—
like bone breaking,
like a razor,
like a kitchen knife,
like a storm on the sea,
like keelhauling.
To dream of being ripped apart:
The highest of all exaltations.
Come in unto me,
and know my body bled;
I come in unto you
and cannot sleep any longer,
for fear of dreaming of you.
And I wish I could die,
and I wish that I had killed myself,
and I wish that I had cut your throat,
and I wish that I had slit my wrists—
I wish I could empty my veins of you.
Do it again.
ii.
Breathe with me.
Drink with me.
Close your eyes.
Empty your mind.
Close your mouth.
Empty your chest.
I have no ill intentions.
Do you want me to have ill intentions?
iii.
[…]
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10. |
Switch
04:09
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the tick of the clock
stops on a dime,
but there's not enough space
and all too much time
so you move though the city in the black and white
to put a body in your bed to keep you warm at night.
skin meets skin, makes black and blue;
too little too late to feed the lack in you.
winsome shoulders, narrow hips,
demoniac smile on seraphic lips.
one man's want is another's need:
his nails are sharp and you want to bleed.
each empty dram
is a drag of lye,
and your chest feels hollow,
like you want to cry.
he takes you 'round back
while the music begins to play.
nothing comes cheap,
but you want to pay
a meaningful look in the pregnant silence,
with tender words suggesting violence;
casual hand on an open thigh;
tongue in foreign mouth, with an open eye.
sodium halo, opium bliss,
linoleum cracks and a conium kiss;
a fever-ward pillow for to put your head—
better off sleeping, better off dead.
do you get off
on the danger
when he fucks you
like a stranger?
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11. |
Resurrection Men
05:40
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thank all the gods
in all the heavens
that you don't have the guts to kill someone,
for if you did,
the happiness that you don't know you want,
because you're young and stupid now,
would never cease to evade you.
(as if it would ever cease to evade you.)
I have an inkling,
but you're not gonna like it very much;
you've got an inkling,
but you don't like where your mind is going.
no, you don't like it very much—
you're not gonna like this very much.
the scent of rot and earth embraces like a mother;
the cold of wind and hail enfolds you like a father;
the strike of shovel quickly pulls the covers down and out,
the promises you made fulfilled—but you're still down and out.
thank all your lucky stars
and all your lucky amulets
that you can sleep even two hours before the dawn,
because, in time, you'll come to find
an hour a luxury
for the dreams that come.
(and the dreams will come.)
i have a secret.
let's keep it between you and me and them.
oh, you've got a secret.
let's keep it between you and me and them.
who's to tell anyway?
who would believe you, anyway?
don't pay attention to that sound: it's just the doctor calling.
don't pay attention to that sound: it's just your conscience calling.
don't pay attention to that sound: it's just the devil calling.
don't pay attention to that sound of all the angels calling.
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12. |
On the White Road
05:29
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What have you done?
Your mouth is red,
and you smile like a demon at me
beneath the ancient stars—
above and in your eyes.
Northwest wind blows through the barrows
under starlit evening skyline.
Soft blue-white light embraces you tight,
singing quietly to yourself,
watching the red fox prowl in search of
the haunted grey hare, wounded and running.
Such mute moments of distress
keep you from sleeping, silently weeping.
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13. |
Rose Crown
10:22
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I would rather be in the city,
in and amongst the desolation and crowds,
where none could ever find me,
walking the streets in moonlight
that filters between crumbling towers
in crooked and leaning rows,
like rotting teeth in a dead mouth, smiling.
But I can't see what you see in me.
I would rather not be in the suburbs,
where a myriad pastel colours and lights blur and bend.
Here I am wrapped in isolation,
forever keeping the most useless secrets,
and sorts of secrets, too.
Here the sky, a velvet shift,
is covered in mirror fragments,
moved by hand, cutting cloth
and shedding blood.
Sometimes I find
that I can't see what you see in me.
You made me forgive myself,
and that I cannot forget;
but you made me forget myself,
and that I cannot forgive—
no, that I cannot forgive,
I cannot forgive you.
(But for the grace of God go I.)
I hope that you find someone nothing like you.
I hope that you don't die alone.
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Silence and Secrecy Pennsylvania
Purveyor of fine musical curios, grotesques and arabesques since 1 January 2014. Mostly just one weirdo in a literal attic.
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