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22 21st CenturyGore Elephant.png
21st Century Gore
Lyrics

And I...

the more time you take

the more time you have

the more life you live

the less life you need

and I took her hand

and I lost control

and I lost the whole

and I touch the wall

and I leave with naught

and I loved the word

so I killed the word

and I took a circumstance

and I believe that one day

we heathens will make our fucking way

but I took an evil way

and I just like this evil way

and I and I and I feel this every day

every day every day every day every day

and more and more and more and more...

A Tingling of the Nerves

(instrumental)

You Ride a Red Horse

i took the blood from a hammer

i took the hammer from the snow

i took the snow from the winter

i let a memory go  

i saw my breath on the window

i watched my shadow on the fog

i felt the rhythm of a motor

as I glided along

you do not you do not have to

you do not you do not have to wait that long

you do not you do not have to

you do not you do not have to wait that long

his body tensed like a fist of glass

his eyes burst like releasing gas

his bones surfaced like a broken screw

his stomach parted like a shattered tooth

i saw the eyes in my headlights

i felt the impact in my hands

i saw the splatter on the windshield

i heard a crack and a laugh

 

i took the horns from a weevil

i took a bowl for the dead

i put a man in a hollow

hammered teeth from a head

you do not you do not have to

you do not you do not have to wait that long

you do not you do not have to

you do not you do not have to wait that long

 

you cast your blood like a net to the sea

you sowed your meat like a metal weed

you sweep your skin into a pair of wings

ascend descend into the state of things

and a Man’s gonna ride a horse

he’s gonna bring his son

he’s gonna shoot a gun here here here

a Man's gonna bring his son

he's gonna shoot a gun

he's gonna ride his horse here here here

a Man's gonna ride his gun

he's gonna bring his horse

he's gone shoot a son here here here

a Man's a gonna ride his son

he's gonna bring a gun

he's gonna shoot a horse here here here...

i sent a message and the message was you

i sent a message and the message was you

i sent a message and the message was you

you didn’t listen when I promised to you

a threat to someone who has nothing to lose

is less a threat than a dangling noose  

i threw the anger in my stomach

at the fear in my head

but now I hear the Man coming

and my motor’s dead

Tear it Apart

missed all the weeds

that were between the art

message received but

they'll tear it apart

the name that you wrote

and the string that you hold

the string may be cut

and your word is not gold

a ring's not a memory

it doesn't turn back

and when we all leave oh

we'll never come back

The Mulch

ears pulled back to show small eyes

in a fat face kind to lasting grins

dry them in the mud dry them in the mud....​

oh, does anything just disappear?

they do the disappearing pig trick

Feed them to the pigs feed them to the pigs...

Don't Shit Where You Live

you wedged the key you lock the door

always looking and wanting more

you set up the pieces in the tableaux

you played the light you watched the show

and all because you fucking had to know

because you’re singing on the streets

you’re bored with this

it’s all been done

it’s all a mistake

it’s all messed up

because you’re singing when you leave:

‘Don’t shit where you live

Don’t shit where you love . . .’

 

because you’re singing on the streets

it’s all been done

it’s all been done

and you’re running on the streets

singing on the streets:

 

‘Don’t shit where you live

Don’t shit where you love

Don’t shit where you bleed

Don’t shit where you kneel’  

 

until you’re singing on the streets

and running on the streets…

you leave the couch you burn the door

your perfumed god is hunting thought

you lay her down you bare your teeth

you mark her name you leave it in

you’re only just a word away from harm

because you’re singing on the streets

it’s all been done

it’s all a mistake

it’s all spilled out

because you’re running on the streets

singing on the streets

singing on the streets

‘Don’t shit where you live

Don’t shit where you love

Don’t shit where you bleed

Don’t shit where you kneel’ ….

 

you know the tune was from a relative place to where you’re going to

you’ve lived and you’ve loved but the world’s not enough for where you’re going to

and this is what you make in a relative state there’s just an empty space

it’s worse in a way when you look to their states and when you look beyond there’s just an empty State...

you knew the score

you knew the score . . .

you knew the score you knew the tune

you were entertaining but now its June

your tax is due your pay is late

you bleed a hand you turn the plate

the rot is deep the skull will show

if only teeth to let you know

that education left you dry

with neither hand on either side

knowing more than to keep you safe

not change your name or trace your make

you catch the news you wait for doom

but all that’s left is a swollen womb

the child is come it has no fate

its feeble hand will soon learn hate

you’ll see it come you’ll know its mood

you’ll know enough to spot such brood

well in your day this all will grow

and all that’s good will leave the show

you’d love to see the world mature

but adolescents mocked the cure

don’t shit where you live

don’t shit where you love

don’t shit where you bleed

don’t shit where you kneel

don’t shit on yourself

don’t shit where you eat

don’t shit where you hate

don’t shit where you love

don’t shit on yourself

(because you're running on the streets it’s all been done it’s all been done it’s all so new it’s all so old it’s all under the world it’s all under the sun…  )

you lived and you loved

but the world's not enough

and when you look beyond its just as empty rough

you lived in that case in a relative state

but when you look beyond

there’s just an empty space an empty space an empty space....

Blindfold (Reprise)

send the message through me

this is message central

no need to pay for favours

everything's under control

she's the master matrix

she's a madrigal

she has fear and favour

waiting for sun and Sol

send a message through me

this is under control

push away the silence

on your way home

The Constant Work of Analysis

this constant work of analysis is not the first

to clean up your home

if everyone on the street was a psychologist

there would not be enough psychologists

there would not be enough empathy

there would not be enough clinical minds

to cure us of what ails us

not enough forensics

to trace its fingerprints on the road

she saw your best mistake

it’s not a secret statement from someone who knows       (Santa has a gas mask)

may you sing upon the street                    

we all survived                                           

     (Johnny has sliced off his fingerprints)

it’s hard to say                      

we’re all messed up          

     (Johnny could just be one more shadow on the street-)

let’s all get up               

      (-ready to slice your throat and roll you into the gutter-)

hear us singing where we can                                  singing on the streets...

Blindfold

send your message through me

this is message central

no need to fear your failure

everything's under control

write upon this paper

none of what you saw

seems you have a fever

and you cannot be that sure

face face face up to the long wait wait

face up to the long wait wait

face up to

keys are shaking as you walk towards your car

speed out from the station lead the way away from harm

face face face up to the long wait wait

face up to the long wait wait

wake up to the long wait wait

wake up to

keys are shaking as you walk towards your car

speed out from the station lead the way away from harm

Not Something I Give Away

shapes on the wall and what d’you see?

takes no imagination to see

the cost of a question in the night

or to shudder like a moth at its first light 

oo why would a zombie tie you down?

you’re getting in the line-of-sight of fog

and that is not something I give away

that is not something

that is not something I give away

that is not something

the hearse is moulded to the night

but daddy’s got a god of invisible light and

so when you hear them say that death is now

it doesn’t mean death's in the citadel

there’s still a ghost that’ll lie you down

strip you to a memory it lost and found

and that is not something I give away

that is not something

that is not something I give away

that is not something

sitting down for another dumb consumer

burning it down for another dumb consumer

fucking it up for another dumb consumer

bringing it round for another dumb consumer

standing up for another dumb consumer

pissing it all on another dumb consumer

spreading your arms to another dumb consumer

 

chain them to the wall and let them in

money got honey pot

can’t stop can’t stop

getting on hot getting on hot

getting on hot to where you been

can you have a reason when you’re in a bad scene

but don’t stop don’t stop

can’t stop the engine for another last stop

and don’t stop don’t stop

for a lover of reason it’s a very long shot

                                                                             

and that is not something I give away

that is not something

that is not something I give away

that is not something

sitting down for another dumb consumer

standing up for another dumb consumer

pissing it all on another dumb consumer

spreading your arms to another dumb consumer

Fear is a God

fear is a god fear is a god.

did you tell me did you make it

was the statement overstated?
fear is a god

fear is a god fear is a god fear is a god

was your fate what you made it?
was the stupid simulated?

was a face so mutilated?

fear is a god fear is a god

and since when you placed it

have you got the fever dated?

is the cure on its way

or have you got another hand to play?

fear to bring on fear to bring on

is your grace all that you feted?

was your love all washed and braided?

are the thoughts at last translated?

wasn't what you stipulated?

fear is a god

you solved you solved the problem of the Eastern bloch and you solved you solved the problem of the Eastern bloch ...

 

Just a Little Joke

it was just just a little joke

this was just just a little joke

this was just a little little little joke was this

if I had kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

this was seen in the middle

and this was seen in the middle

and this was seen in the middle of this was seen

oh I see 

if I kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

i should have kept my fucking mouth shut

and see

do do do...

yes shut shut shut shut shut shut shut shut

Radar

in the cradle babes are watching

in the cradle fable watching

in the cradle they stay watching

oh the babes they just say one thing

in the cradle fable watching

while a  little hate is growing

in the cradle radar watching

till the radar sees us watching

and you're rising up

how you're turning out

how you force us to fail

and you're rising up

how you're turning out

how you force us to fail

in the cradle fable watching

and your mind is buried on one thing

and this crazy bullshit's something

from which it seems you're slowly building

and the radar all day watching 

and they say'll it be this one thing

and they're scared you'll find a pleasure there

and the message one day won't be theirs

and you're rising up

and you're turning out

and you force us to fail

and you're rising up

and you're turning out

and you force us to fail

and the babes are good for nothing

as they face us all day long

failing failing you're failing you're failing

and with your eyes on the fable watching

while the radar's saying something

and you're rising up

and you're turning out

and you force us to fail

and you're rising up

and you're turning out

and you force us to fail

and the radar radar watching

and the radar radar watching

and the radar radar watching

and the radar waits for the mulch

Daughter of Dark Places

(instrumental)

 
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Album Notes

This was the last burst of consistent songwriting I did as an adult, most being written around 2006 at my best guess. I am fairly certain the Mulch was the oldest song, albeit only in the sense that it was based on a melody that may even be pre-2000, while Ride a Red Horse is the youngest, around 2012. Other than that I have no precise memory of when or in what order the individual songs were written, just that some came from a short period of interest using a bass and piano instead of acoustic as a tool for writing, while others overlapped with a large collection of fragments, some of which were turned into songs and put them on earlier albums, e.g. The Horde, Favourite Runt, and You Little Bastard.

 

While I know all of these songs were written in Perth, they are distinct and for the most part cohere around a common gestalt. As this gestalt wasn't one I was lyrically invested in, rather than make notes on the individual songs, it's more apt to speak to the spirit of the album.

 

If you think bringing a child into this world is anything more than the rancid sadism of watching a living pinata have its short-lived, horrified sentience beaten out of it between periods of dread so great the nausea is enough to make it vomit, then you need but piss them out onto the steaming asphalt of a treeless suburb in an infinite grid of beige houses, drip feed them a glass tube of lies and promises, put them in a prison whose only Golden Ticket is the Lotto, then watch them slowly realise that their horror is not shared, that no one else sees the stage of the world is surrounded by voidspace, and that the green fluid of thought does not move around others but has solidified like pus in those that stand around and above you. Then imagine what its like to watch a smiling, applauded subsub step on the last seeds of life and colour that could have redeemed the world, till there's nothing but ash, and watch as your child learns that slicing your flesh makes you more angry but not enough to overwhelm the perverse conscience that keeps you from murder, and so the only relief is to brutalise yourself with your fists until you're in so much pain you can at least collapse panting, empty-headed for a while, and at last you become depressed not by the plan to kill yourself by crushing your head in a bear trap in a remote forest, but the unbearably worse trap that you must defer your freedom until the only thing you have ever been able to love, the things you have made, have had a chance to be born, as you would rather just fast push the world over the cliff of its own making than give it the satisfaction of so thoroughly destroying the only shadow of you that ever mattered, so you must set aside your hate box, sculpt a human face, walk a stage designed to mock you and plan in misery how to acquire and manage your death money. Dream of steel teeth crushing a skull over insect-riddled mud, the pulp of brain spitting out from bone shards in an orgasm of relief better than anything the world can offer, think of a black garden whose cancer trees yield fruit that tastes better than anything the world can grow, a delicacy of entropy, think of a block hole wrapped in meat that pretends it is a human, know that every surface you see is but one molecule thin, a lying celluloid, feel the quiet sense of power when your love for your children has numbed and the entire moral universe crumples like origami in the face of the corruption, stupidity and the ineluctable fuck of the void and know that despite the extremes you thought lie on the blood of the shattered glass of your brain there is not a single thing you could do at your most depraved that is worse than what those with power do every day and that after it all you'll just drift from the stage of the world into voidspace, screaming for eternity, unwitnessed.

Glen Spoors, June 2006/December 2021

Korelai Music is a brand of Lost Isle Media
korelaimusic@gmail.com
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