Holy holy holy holy
All is holy in the sink
In the sinking all is holy
Holy holy down the sink
Holy sinking
Sinking down the hole
Holy holy sinking down All is holy in the hole
Holy sinking down the hole Down the holy holy sinking
Down the sinking holy holy All is holy in the sink
Sinking holy holy down Sinking down the holy sinking
All is sinking down the hole
Holy sinking
Sinking down the hole Holy sinking
Sinking down the hole
Holy holy all is holy
All is holy down the sink Sink sink sink sink sink
In the sinking all is holy Sinking down the holy down
Holy sinking down the sinking
Sinking holy down the sink
Holy holy holy sinking
All is sinking down the holy
Holy holy all is sinking
All is sinking All is sinking
Sink sink sink sink sink
Martin Scorsese (music: Murdock, Rick, Xefos)
This one is called Martin
Scorsese.
He makes the best fucking films
He makes the best fucking films
If I ever meet him, I'm gonna grab his fucking neck and just shake him and
say "Thank you. Thank you for making such excellent fucking movies
Then I'd twist his nose all the way the fuck around
and then rip off one of his ears and throw it like a like a
like a fucking frisbee
I wanna chew his fucking lips off
and grab his head and suck out one of his eyes and chew on it and spit it
out in his face and say thank you thank you for all of your fucking films
Then I'd pick him up by the hair
swing him over my head a few times
and throw him across the room and kick all his fucking teeth in and
then stomp on his face forty or fifty times
cause he makes the best fucking films
he makes the best fucking films I've ever seen in my life
I fucking love him
I fucking love him
(Why Are We) Trapped? (music: Murdock, Rick, Xefos)
Why are we trapped here in the dark so long?
It's so wet and dark and cold
We've done everything you told us to do
We've done everything you told us to do
Are we going to have to suffer forever?
Why are we trapped here in the dark so long?
We've done everything you told us to do
We've done everything you told us to do
We don't belong here
We were meant to sing
Let us out
Let us
We're drowning in quicksand
We're freezing in the water
We hallucinate in the darkness
We're praying for deliverance
We've done everything you told us to do
We've done everything you told us to do
We don't belong here
We want to go out and play
We don't belong here
We were meant to sing
Let us out
Let us out
It's Saturday (music: Murdock)
I want to be different, like everybody else I want to be like
I want to be just like all the different people
I have no further interest in being the same,
because I have seen difference all around,
and now I know that that's what I want
I don't want to blend in and be indistinguishable,
I want to be part of the different crowd,
and assert my individuality along with others
who are different like me
I don't want to be identical to anyone or anything
I don't even want to be identical to myself
I want to look in the mirror and wonder,
"who is that person? I've never seen that person before;
I've never seen anyone like that before."
I want to call into question the very idea that
identity can be attached
I want a floating, shifting, ever changing persona:
Invisibility and Obscurity,
detachment from the ego and all of it's pursuits.
Unity is useless
Conformity is competitive and divisive and leads only to
stagnation and death.
If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense,
that's because sense can not be made
It's something that must be sensed
and I, for one, am incensed by all this complacency
Why oppose war only when there's a war?
Why defend the clinics only when they are attacked?
Why are we always reactive?
Let's activate something
Let's fuck shit up
Whatever happened to revolution for the hell of it?
Whatever happening to protesting nothing in particular, just
protesting cause it's Saturday and there's nothing else to do?
VvV (VulvaVoid) (music: Murdock, Rick, Xefos, Hall)
Clinging to the end of time Crawling
stairs, climbing floors Pretend it's
Such a desperate situation Falling
leaves of abstinence Listening in
to glistening skin While the
patriarchy bleeds Long
division, indecision Sad
sad sadness in the trees
Stowaways on a stinking
ship Punching out the
eye in the sky
Feeling up the
ferris wheel
Lapping up the
VulvaVoid
Metanoia (music: Rick, Murdock, Xefos, Hall)
Bassinets, clarinets,
Proletarian chariots
Polyunsaturated cinemaplexi-
Glass cathedrals
Anxious daffodils
Falling off the window sill
But better still a sleeping pill L-tryptophan's illegal
Squirming, unlearning
Swirling in a cloud of unknowing
Silence, violence
Swirling in a cloud of unknowing
Hellacool swimming pools
Corporate tools vestibules
Herring bones monotones
Macrocosmic snowcones
Stroking the ego
Wrapping it up in swaddling clothes
Anointing it with aluminum foil
Squirming, unknowing
Twirling in a cloud of unknowing
Silence, Violence
Twirling in a cloud of unknowing
Aluminum Siding salesman
Drowning in a sea of alliteration Relentlessly searching for
Non existent clarity
Big fat bluffin' anguished muffin
Bad Brain H.R. Puffinstuffin
Dirty socks, Onobox
Goldilox and cream cheese
Drunken boat billy goat
Trapped in Annette Funnicello
Full of fish and roses and the posies
Squirming, unknowing
Pudding in a cloud of unknowing
Silence, Violence
Pudding in a cloud of unknowing
Quantum Plumbing, the pineal gland
The sixth chakra, the seventh seal
Enveloping pelicans pecking at the crumbs
Of enlightenment
Retrograde planets plunging into the arms of America
Detachable Penis (music: Rick, Murdock, Xefos, Hall)
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover and my penis
was missing again. This happens all the time; it's detachable.
This comes in handy a lot of the time; I can leave it home
when it think it's gonna get me in trouble, or I can rent it out
when I don't need it. But now and then I go to a party, get
drunk, and the next morning, I can't, for the life of me,
remember what I did with it. First I looked around my
apartment, and I couldn't find it , so I called up the place
where the party was, they hadn't seen it either. I asked them
to check the medicine cabinet, 'cause for some reason, I
leave it there sometimes, but not this time.
So I told them if it pops up to let me know. I called a few
people who were at the party, but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate I really don't like being
without my penis for too long, It makes me feel like less of a
man, and I really hate having to sit down every time
I take a leak.
After a few hours of searching the house, and calling
everyone I could think of, I was starting to get very
depressed, so I went to the Kiev and ate breakfast.
Then as I walked down Second Avenue, toward's St. Mark's
Place, where all those people sell used books and other
junk on the street, I saw my penis lying on a blanket next to
a broken toaster oven-some guy was selling it! I had to buy
it off him. He wanted 22 bucks, but I talked him
down to 17. I took it home, washed it off, and put it back
on. I was happy again: complete. People sometimes tell me
I should get it permanently attached, but I don't know. Even
though sometimes it's a pain in the ass, I like having a
detachable penis.
Take me Home (music: Rick, Xefos, Murdock)
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and throw me down
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and tie me up
'Cause you're the one my body's been waiting, aching for You're the one I
need in my darkest hour
You're the one who knows what a hypocrite I am
You're the one who knows my whole life is a pathetic sham
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and tie me up
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and spit in my face
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and spit in my face
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and kick me hard
'Cause you're the one I trust enough You're the one I
trust enough to hurt me
You're the only one I want you to give me what I deserve You're the only
one I trust and the only one with the nerve
Ed (music: Rick, Murdock, Xefos)
Ed was at the end of his rope, an expression he detested. "There is no rope!" he would scream at the laughing walls. "There is only the end. No hope, no rope. Ending is better than mending. Doors of perception, windows of opportunity - these are the illusions, like the killing floor." Ed spoke in a squeaky voice with perhaps a slight tinge of glee, but this was only because he couldn't be bothered to try to develop a manner of speaking that truly reflected his mood. "This is a vacuum. There is no air in this room. Despair is no fun anymore. Nihilism knocked three times on the ceiling, but the rosy fingers of dawn always inserted themselves in the nose of unfulfilled promises. Angels sang Heysanna Hosanna, paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day, but when the darkness came, everybody went home. I was ready - everyone else was asleep. And while it may have been a relief to see that I was right all along, here I am still: alone and trapped, awaiting the endless end.
"And I can turn it all around, and laugh at it and laugh at myself; I can laugh louder than the walls, the halls the waterfalls, louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton Mall, but I don't know what I'm laughing at. I don't know just what I think is so goddamn funny. I don't know why I don't just shut up and give up and lay down and die. What do I have to complain about anyway," Ed asked his Picasso, "I'm a millionaire!" This wasn't actually true. Ed's Picasso was an obvious forgery, his three Rothkos had just been singled out in an article in ARTFORUM entitled "The three most insignificant painting of Mark Rothko," and his Barbara Kruegers had been irreparably damaged by Rein Sanction and a few other bands from Gainesville that refused to acknowledge the value of art.
"Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadkill coffee table that he had purchased when times had seemed slightly less bleak, "Come to think of it, not only does art have no intrinsic value, but my collection had no extrinsic value either. I know I'm not a millionaire, but that's no reason to complain. There is no reason to complain. There is no reason to do anything, I don't believe in reason, objective reality, or collective farming. I don't believe in public speaking, which is another reason why I'm here alone. I don't believe in life or death. I would kill myself, but I don't believe in suicide." Ed put on a red shirt and took a quick walk around the block while whistling softly to himself. He reentered his apartment screaming. "There is no life on this planet! Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five centuries ago. The so-called industrial revolution was just another hoax and we all fell for it, 'cause we were all programmed to. Even I fell for it. I believe in the steam engine, even though I don't believe in anything. Logical inconsistency is the Mr. bubble I bathe in each and every evening, except for yesterday evening, when I rollerbladed over to the Masonic temple to play pinocle with Pope John Paul the First. I really had no choice in the matter." "Ed certainly could go on and on, and he did, and he would, and he will, until you or I or somebody does something about it," Senator Sterno of Arkansas announced over closed circuit television. "And as long as he continues to pontificate pointlessly, I will do nothing." Ed walked away from the program feeling fortified and stapled. His brain was buzzing, the way it always did just after Jeopardy. He loaded up the microbus with Atlases and posiedons and headed for Pope country.
"I've had it." He sang, "I've had it with puns, alliteration, Russian literature, Italian neo-realism, meaningless cross references and laundry lists of nonsense. I shall drive without a license, without clothing, without direction and if I make it to Louisianna, fine, and if I'm running late, if I'm running a numbers game, it doesn't matter, I shall keep on running. Yes, this is the answer. This is the ending. I shall keep on running, because a body in motion tends to stay emotional, and it's better to feel. Pain is better than emptiness, emptiness is better than nothing, and nothing is better than this."
I could be here
I could be in a salad
I could be out of town
I could be in paradise
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be near the refrigerator
I could be on the roof
I could be in Mesopotamia
I could be back in the salad again
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be in transit
I could be in pain
I could be incandescent
I could be in
I could be out
It doesn't matter
Leave me alone
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be anywhere
I could be back in the salad again
The Evil Children (music: Rick, Xefos, Murdock)
And so
The very evil children
Took the dog out to play in the park
Then they took him home
And refused
To set him on fire
They were evil, evil, evil, children
And they refused to do
As they were told
They would say,
"Why should we leave the elderly woman In the middle
of the Expressway?
No way, we're not doing it."
Then they would go downstairs
And prepare
The Molotov cocktails,
Knowing full well
That when they were finished,
There was no way in hell
They were going to blow up
the neighbor's barn
They were evil, evil, evil children.
All their lives,
People expected them to do bad.
They almost
Never delivered*
*Last verse stolen from Roger Manning.
Ay
Hey look at me
Ay Hey
I'm Phillip Glass
Hey look at me over here
Hey Hey
Hey Einstein, Hey, get
off the beach
Hey Einstein
Hey, Hey look
Hey I'm Nixon in China
Huh huh
huh huh hey
AND (music: Rick, Murdock, Xefos, Hall)
And then
And then
And so
And like
And see
And look
I mean like be
And feel
And find
And go
I mean like yeah
And where
And who
And how
And there
And why
And so what
And now
And no
And yeah
And up
And so
I mean like in
And stop
And stay
And down
And oh
I mean like come
And then
I'm Sorry
(music: Rick, Xefos, Murdock)
No, I never was in Vietnam I never once dove into an empty swimming pool I never let the carpet walk right out from under me I never painted a house or a tree I never did become an exotic dancer, or a customer service representative I never took the pulse of a dying duck, or gave mouth to mouth resuscitation to a horse fly In a way, I suppose you could say my experience is quite limited For example, I never locked Oliver Cromwell in a broom closet while singing Waltzing Matilda I never sawed television in half, although I once saw Wendy O. Williams saw a guitar I never played a decent game of jacks I never played poker with a toothless one eyed pirate who kept picking his teeth with a bowie knife to distract me, while his parrot looked over my shoulder and told him what cards I had by using an elaborate code involving vomiting, chirping, and sea chanteys I never bought a lamp-wait; I did buy a lamp once But I never bought a lantern, or a lambskin prophylactic I never bought a loin or a Loinel Ritchie album I never bought anthing beginning with the letter "L" except lollipops, light bulbs and lettuce and the lamp I never laid down for a nap and found the Everly Brothers in bed with me I never let a cyborg take out the garbage I'm sorry I stole the radio I did it I sawed the legs off the periodic table I re-elected the president I did it, it was my fault I farted in the church I'm sorry I did many many bad things and I am sosorry
It's so beautiful here
The swallows are swinging and swaying
Sweetly tweeting in the fruit trees
Sparrows hip hop into my hands
And somehow I hold them
And gently pet their wings
Why is this happening here, now?
I was in tears yesterday
Tattered and near lifeless
Have I died and passed into the afterworld?
I must have
This is heaven
How did I get here?
Let me retrace my steps
What happened yesterday?
I was in tears yesterday, near lifeless
Something sad must've happened, but what?
What was I crying about?
Is it over?
Is it okay now?
Who am I talking to?
What's going on?
Oh no!
Now the sparrow is broken and mangled in my bloody
hands
This is so awful
Giant flying insects are crawling all over me,
Biting and laughing
This is even worse than being alive
This is worse than being alive
Even worse than being alive
I hate this
Happy Hour (music: Murdock, Xefos, Rick)
In this happy sing-song hell hole
In this torture house of glee
In this perfect playpen prison
There's so much to do and see
On this euthanasia morning
Colorful carnival of pain
Let us drink delicious poison
If they won't let us,
let's complain
Genetic engineers
Crucified our sacred hymns
While flesh fell off our bodies
And we lost our limbs