1. |
||||
2. |
a very bad taste
03:55
|
|||
|
there's bones in these walls, there's nails in these toes, but
this temple's just a cage for a rat I
know, which is feeding off some sacrificial blood and
toast, while we're hangin' round hearin' what
the good preacher knows.
he said, "smoke and mirrors, and funny little ghosts, and your stomach
aches are premonitions (or a bad omen),
so I'll keep feeding you, I suppose, and we'll all get
the shivers
in our little bones.
now I hear tell of a place called home, with another little cage
inside a bag of bones,
and she said, "crossed my heart, and I hoped to die, but I'll be
damned, there ain't a needle in sight,
so I'll chew my hide raw 'til my skin all bleeds, I am a pretty little vermin
with friends for fleas
and a hole in my belly full of gangly green, but I don't mind the pain, 'cause I don't have to eat a thing.
I just sit and
stare, cough up a little hair..."
So the story goes, or so they say, but
a story's just a ghost in its own way, because
there's bones in these, there's fossils in our faces, and this is how
we all decay: with our nails in our toes in our sacrificial ways,
and the liquor in our lungs that taught us how to pray,
so there's a question
on our lips, a last impression of the flavors
of everything we didn't get to taste.
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
froggy went a'courting and he did ride, uh-huh
froggy went a'courting and he did ride.
froggy went a'courting and he did ride, but he didn't find much of anything
he liked, just a bunch of fleas
instead of flies,
living in a carcass with a need in its eye.
so he picked a flea and he headed for home,
but it bit him on the neck and so he groaned, "well
I like you babe, but take it slow, 'cause
you're comin' with me any way this goes."
so the flea said, well,
the flea said this,
well this--well, this is what she said,
"I don't know where I'd be without you, but I bet you
it wouldn't be here,
but I could not bare to live better than this so,
for you, I am
thankful, my dear."
and froggy said
this:
"I don't know what I'd do without you but
I bet you it wouldn't be this.
But I could not take a life
better than yours, so I'll settle for this lover's tryst."
|
||||
4. |
commercials
00:34
|
|||
5. |
||||
|
we are birds on the beach with our beaks full of salt, when
yours has to open, and it starts to talk. it says, "I look like a rat,
and my sharp yellow grin is deeper than
our hearts are, in the pits
of trash cans, and I feel like a dog.
I have been led astray, and we ain't found home yet, and it's cold today.
we've been riding this wave, but I am stuck in the trough, and you can't pull me out
'cause this amplitude is too rough. it is filling my head with the salty
lullaby, collected from the drippings of other people's goodbyes, and they go
la da da da."
so light yourself a cigarette, 'cause I'm such a drag.
I'll pick in your skull just like vultures on a dead man.
I will shatter your schemes like a glass in the sink.
I know what's in your head, i know just
how you think. you've been
riding the crest of this wave, but the trough is pulling you in and
you cannot to enough to save yourself, or anybody else,
and neither can they, but they will never tell.
they just twiddle their thumbs, and wait for it to come,
and they whistle away while the waves come undone.
they go "la da da da."
but nobody said you were already dead. don't worry about dying.
it's all in your head.
but we tend to reply with such little white lies, like,
"I loved life so much, dear, I think I'm ready
to die. I've been
riding these waves now for a very long time. I've run everywhere,
and I am running so dry. so tell me your stories
about these rats with wings, these birds on the beach
with their culling songs to sing, and they go 'la da da da.'"
|
||||
6. |
you are what you eat
03:46
|
|||
|
I am no philosopher.
and this academy ain't doing me any good.
so I'm pawning off the lion's share, and I'm cutting off my mane.
I ain't the picture of no pride, and Epicurus, I am damned insane.
so I will eat my words. and I'll drink up my melted mind.
and now nouns are becoming verbs. and what's happening to time?
people, places, thoughts, and things keep
changing on a dime.
but I have come this far. and I'm staring into the sea.
but it has stolen my face. now it's beholdin' me.
now I'm that sea lyon' through its teeth,
and I can't escape this beast.
so maybe I should be going, now. perhaps I'm accepting defeat.
'cause da hands, dey're gettin' old. well I'm only made of meat,
half-baked ideas, brine, and wine, because
you are what you eat.
|
||||
7. |
||||
|
[see track 2]
|
||||
Charles Alexandar Reed Birmingham, Alabama
Trash pizza. Built-in mushrooms, cowabunga.
Charles Alexandar Reed recommends:
Appalachian pop just got a lot more clever--and a little bit twisted...
go to album
a star called wormwood
by a Star called Wormwood
Wormwood is the new incarnation of Duncan Edwards' composition and production endeavors. This is some of the very best psychedelic sixties pop-style that is available.
go to album
rock stars are obsolete.
go to albumIf you like Charles Alexandar Reed, you may also like:
Wallahi Le Zein!
by Various Artists
An important document of Mauritanian music, meticulously crafted to paint an accurate picture of the region.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jan 16, 2024
go to album
The queer Filipina collective make quantum leaps from neo-soul to minimal techno to drone, with the metallic microtones of kulintang at the center.
go to album
