1. |
Aboriginal Anemia
04:38
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1.
You sit watching your brother die 'cause he chewed on sickly rabbit. Poor boy Parzifal likes to hunt his sister, and so infection sets in like a gang of wolves licking at the heels of the anemic aboriginal hunting grounds where you sprain your thumb throwing rocks at cadavers. Bashing in my weakened knees. Bashing in my weakened knees...
(chorus)
Animal people scale the walls so easily: your bitter family. Holding court without your cousins... reprimand your viral sanction. Anxious ears solicit thee, my snarling spies sit down to tea and ignore the bubbling sores that swell and spit along your backbone.
2.
Call your general, fortify his skin so my disease can't penetrate your china shack of ignorance and purple turbans. Split the bread between your chins, annihilate bacteria, eating, breeding serfs and peasants; bloody plague boys stealing crumbs. Bashing in my weakened knees. Bashing in my weakened knees...
3.
Stripling arrows ricochet off teeth and crystal nighttime goblets. Dinner party, dinner guests, eat their dinners facing west. You fling your curses forth, and they are swallowed by the Masque, by the tree, by the hollow oddities. Bashing in my weakened knees. Bashing in my weakened knees...
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2. |
Moundshroud
05:57
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1.
Tom Skeleton, come, it's time to have some fun. So grab your trick or treat- the day of the dead has begun. Carapace and clavicle, Moundshroud takes you there. Lady Egypt fascinate and gargoyles in the air.
(chorus)
Tommy-boy, eat your candy skull!
Tommy-boy, eat your candy skull!
Tommy-boy, eat your candy skull!
Tommy-boy, eat your candy skull!
Carapace! Clavicle! Carapace! Clavicle!
Carapace! Clavicle! Carapace! Clavicle!
2.
Instantaneous, intravenous, fear... in the moon black suit. You see the leaves and taste the wind like dead-bone scattered loot. Crack the best, your whip's the test, flee from mummy's arms. Under his knife, beware the scythe and Samhain's other charms!
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3. |
Nightfalls
03:52
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1.
The light goes out against the backdrop, the victim's eyes are plucked. While animal smiles sing appraisal, the pagans dance like bastards dance. The nighttime chorus laughs aloud, before they start the requiem... shadows spread their fingers and welts are raised beneath the dusk.
(chorus)
Rats in black capes dance like thieves along the path beneath the trees. The batcave reeks, stark and empty. The plague is out, the beasts are bled.
2.
White lace children are weeping... the light has waned so miserably. Men whisper words of envy; they lack infatuation. Thirteen knots off of hallowed ground and death at the end of the act. The web is spun, the spells are cast, and the witches rave like lost and broken.
3.
Sordid secrets mark the coven, black earth... and the raven flies. Sabbatical systems shroud the catch and cloak like funeral garb. The wind is witness like a passing disease and the bracken stings so intimately. Malevolent filth, fetish frenzy, razors, whips, and finger tips.
4.
Lanterns fade at the end of the rope and eyes that glowed once shift their gaze. Dogs lie fat from the gnawing of bones and flies bring heat to the chill of decay. The last of the wolves fight for night but the hours seep forth screams for dawn. The men look hard, lick their teeth, and the curtain folds like a leather eclipse.
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4. |
Sadist Sagittarius
05:46
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1.
No prey from understanding vats of men. The victims bite their tails and find no flesh to witness. Teeth and claws all seeketh out the one to neutralize their standing underneath the promenade where horse and man all bleed the first course... understanding... flesh to witness... bleed the first course...
(chorus)
I cannot fall when the vats are full. My eyes are rolling back, the lives that stole themselves shall look for me. Their fingers: neutralized, aroused, know the way to serve the first course. They bite their tails no longer. And I fall down.
2.
I walk alone, I've walked alone. To tread as lightly, bring forth detection. This serial mind, replay the scene- I'm loathe to witness. No end for me... all alone... bring forth detection... loathe to witness...
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5. |
En Hiver
02:45
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1.
I love to hate you, I am in winter. Frostbite hath claimed me, succumb to numbness.
(chorus)
Freezing men don't laugh at murder. Bleeding, naked, in the bathtub. Open windows tempt the savory... women's heads float just as easily.
2.
Within the confines of crystal, reflected is my loathing. Under ice and still, chill waters, fish bite stiff men and children.
3.
In the fog, in the woods, at midnight... in a land where it's always winter, I cut the thin skin of my ankles and the sting follows me like army. Lashing like a bullwhip in the arctic, I fling icicles like bee-sting. Trapped in the glass of the sphere in the snowfall, I shut my eyes and sleep in sleet.
J'adore detester, je suis en hiver...
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6. |
Laughing Bloody Murder
05:39
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1.
This is what I reign on your behalf, so that you may breathe... the blood that gathers at your feet, the high-pitched screams of agony.
(chorus)
I'll drag you down with me, too. I'll make you drown with me, too. I'll drag you down with me, too. I'll make you drown with me, too.
2.
This is what the slaughter looks like, you've sent it home with me. You've seen it in my pictures; bent hostility.
3.
This is my indoctrination. Henceforth the tendon's cut. The times when muscles fell from hardbone, the time has come for surgery.
No, no! No, no! No, no!
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7. |
Mediterranean Widow
03:12
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(the tale of the) Mediterranean Widow
1.
Over the eyes of the slow slipping under... the dead call their names... A motley assembly of specters and wraiths! Twice in the morning the old widow screamed... footsteps on floorboards and damp in the dust of the sill... Nobody, nobody's there. Nobody, nobody's there.
"The deep-dwelling spirits are here, and their moans have stirred up the silt on the graves of our husbands! Their fingers are ice, and they constantly tell of the fact that their saga left no one to spare." Nobody, nobody's there. Nobody, nobody's there.
2.
Ignorant maids in the morning laugh wonderfully, lightly, reflecting the chill of the old widow's screaming man drowning. She trusts not the wind, who's loving embrace only tore deep and then fled in fear. Nobody, nobody's here. Nobody, nobody's here.
"I pray with the skill of a funeral guild, and my eyes have run dry from long hours reeling! I know not the time, for the seasons have spun me and trussed up my wits... and there's salt in my hair." Nobody, nobody's there. Nobody, nobody's there.
(refrain*) "I line the shore like waning winter! There's salt in my hair and no one is near."
"I am the eastern sky, I am the twisting sea. I go alone, look, there's nobody here but me."
"I 'm skipping merrily, logical atrophy. And I'm alone, there's nobody here but me."
"I line the shore like waning winter! There's salt in my hair and no one is near."
"I am the eastern sky, I am the twisting sea. I go alone, look, there's nobody here but me."
"I'm swimming merrily, logical atrophy. And I'm alone, there's nobody here but me."
"I line the shore like waning winter! There's salt in my hair and no one is near..."
(*to be sung alternately by the widow and the ghost of her drowned husband)
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8. |
Hebenon Vial
05:00
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1.
Stuck on with dynamite... live in disgrace like the fool that you told you to. Dancing like philanthropist... and cutting and scraping the dogs that lick at you. Padlock the door to the basement and swing down the stairs on the back of the lizard and... watch every inch... when you are building the walls that cover you.
(chorus)
Shine like a dagger and poison in woodland, and laugh like a wet-nurse with a sword through your breast. Funny like thumbscrews and ripe guillotines, and maidens when drowning and electric chairs.
Murder most foul! Incestuous sheets! Hebenon vial! 'Twere madness discreet!
2.
Consanguinity... and the bastard's aloof with a nose just like a pig's. Assassins are sleeping... and the man in the orchard's a king with a queen. Giggling beastly and prey on the birdy fly low over stone and banshees... Hopscotch for bombs in your bed and believe what you hear from the pervert who hides under...
3.
Batty and bruises on cheek, and the porcelain shards of the sink stuck in your face. Shoelaces dragging in wet and the cold of the dungeon allures like a finger. Holding in calm dimension the harrowing phantom aloft in your courtyard. Fading in crown... rapier... he stills the blood of the 'jack that runs through your veins.
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9. |
Lindsay's Trachea
05:17
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(Setting: Manhattan sky-rise; the plush, expensively furnished inner-office of Dr. John Lindsay, esteemed psychiatrist and eccentric New York socialite... He is about to die.)
(The Players:
Dr. John Lindsay- as described above
Arkham Deadfly- the good doctor’s murderous alter-ego
...and assorted flies, larva, beetles, rats, and shadows.)
Doctor Lindsay
"Oh, isn't it nice... falling and hating me? Here, breathing the air of Lindsay's trachea! Oh, rendered and torn, spilling my glass to the floor... hands in my hair pulling and patiently dying!
"‘Why are you here?’ were my words and I screamed them. ‘Could you destroy a man in mid-day?’"
Arkham Deadfly
"Dreaming and evening, so are we twins! Listen: I whisper; your lips how they twitch! The doorway is swarming with larva today, seething and screaming as friendly men play! I am the empty, thou art the thin! We are the bending blade stuck in your ribs! Thou art a tempest, I am the wind! We are the fallen man tortured and skinned!
"I have run this way twice before... and always the rats wading through dust. Doctor silent and still, were you calling to me? The skies overhead have been crowded with wings, but hear the flies how they sing! I've inched my way through mist before... and always the bugs leading my lungs. Doctor silent and still, were you calling to me? The skies overhead have been crowded with wings, but hear the flies how they sing!"
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10. |
Greensward Grey
05:10
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There is blood on the hooves of the fawns on the Greensward Grey, for they tread through the gristle on the lawn today. Don’t they see the roseate faces of my wives as they lay disemboweled on the Greensward Grey?
This park is rank and slippery. Skip and watch the kite-tails, don’t trip on the entrails. White and ligamental blossoms jutting from the earth... when have toadstools ever grown toenails?
These brains are old and tired but they have not forgotten my harem from decades past, sundry screams for the beast in the back seat.
Springtime is mythical,
blood can be pastoral;
brushed on and painted,
after they’ve fainted.
Pan-goats are criminal,
hairy backs and abysmal
breath like a brown bog,
swamp-soaked and wet dog...
There is one woman walking on the Greensward Grey, but I feel she’ll be followed by a friend or three. Don’t they see the pink-spittle coating on my teeth that will seal every kiss from my lips today?
I could classify dead, hoofed animals, I could catalog female corpses, but catarrh ruins my breath when grasses reach and start my ending.
I could classify... I could catalog...
I am sitting like a cyst on the Greensward Grey, and my god, there are satyrs who are damp and fey! Iron-shod and so hysterical, they lose themselves like dripping red fauna.
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Lucas Lanthier Vienna, Austria
Digital discography for Cinema Strange, the Deadfly Ensemble, and Lucas Lanthier. (Chronological; newest at the top)
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