Friction of Lust
Posted: Sun Jul 27, 2003 4:43 am
Golden architecture glistning and bronzing in the sun
whilst the soul tears asunder
and the voice sounds like thunder
the corinths are blazing in the younder
and the sweet music of emotion tears the heart like gut
and you realise the rut, the rut
that you wander alone
and see the piss in the sea
and the mask coming off thee
Born again and born again
the crooks do offer
and try and steal your last of the coffer
and vampire your soul for themselves
Could you distinguish the fairies from the elves?
and the unicorn had white, white acralyic hair
and the puppet did stutter, did stutter and stare
at the constillation close to the bear, close to the bear
and the angels did not have wigs, did not have wigs
I could tell from their pubic, their pubic locks
and the faults they were ditched and melted to the cross
and the little matter of time and space
grey matter, grey matter got locked in an embrace
entwined and embittered in the pure human face
they wandered and wandered like the soul of the dead
and kneaded like dough in the farce of the bread
and 5000 will do penance with you, and the preach
the parable , the parable of the outreach
and the magick and the magick from the great beast
lay dying in squalor beside a sussex beach
your soul it did twiddle and futter, out of reach
sleeping prophets will the future empeach
and the small matter of turning to dust
it was fuelled, it was fuelled by the friction of lust
Love to all the Board................Georges
whilst the soul tears asunder
and the voice sounds like thunder
the corinths are blazing in the younder
and the sweet music of emotion tears the heart like gut
and you realise the rut, the rut
that you wander alone
and see the piss in the sea
and the mask coming off thee
Born again and born again
the crooks do offer
and try and steal your last of the coffer
and vampire your soul for themselves
Could you distinguish the fairies from the elves?
and the unicorn had white, white acralyic hair
and the puppet did stutter, did stutter and stare
at the constillation close to the bear, close to the bear
and the angels did not have wigs, did not have wigs
I could tell from their pubic, their pubic locks
and the faults they were ditched and melted to the cross
and the little matter of time and space
grey matter, grey matter got locked in an embrace
entwined and embittered in the pure human face
they wandered and wandered like the soul of the dead
and kneaded like dough in the farce of the bread
and 5000 will do penance with you, and the preach
the parable , the parable of the outreach
and the magick and the magick from the great beast
lay dying in squalor beside a sussex beach
your soul it did twiddle and futter, out of reach
sleeping prophets will the future empeach
and the small matter of turning to dust
it was fuelled, it was fuelled by the friction of lust
Love to all the Board................Georges