"<i>go to bed
the priests are dead
now no one can call you back
go to bed
the priests are dead
finally you're on peppermint
at last</i>"
<br>
and it acts like winter, tastes like winter and walks like winter, but it doenst look like winter.
and i did my thing, with a nod to the other Sun King, but it felt like some cosmic answering machine...like 'leave a message on the drum...' <br><br>
"<i>he's a merman
he doesn't need your voice
he's a merman</i>"
<br>
and somehow i shoulda dreamed of Momma, even just a walk-thru or a suggestion, but there was nothing. Instead i get the usual assortment of cruise ships, coloured skies, mad vampire children, Alannis wannabes and assorted fruits & condiments carried in panda-fur punchbuggies by lost fey in big yellow glasses. There's some irony in the 'AUDIOSLAVE' sticker on my guitar i suppose, but i'm blind halo'd by 1's and 0's.
<br><br>
"<i>go to bed
dream instead
and you will find him
he's a merman to the knee
doesn't need something you're not willing to give
he's a merman
doesn't need your voice to cross his lands of ice</i>"
<br>
and i fucking dont wanna go to IHOP. i'd rather feast on stews of feedback and lolling lazy dissonance in E. i wonder, sometimes, in those moments you have, like standing in the shower, or the eternity of non-rain when you pass under the bridge...<br>
...i wonder if the eskimo life has a mandatory 9 months of darkenss, and if that eskimo sun radiation tans possibilities...<br>
"<i>go to bed
priests are dead
now no one can call you back
go to bed
the priests are dead
finally you found out</i>"
<br>
and snow? i crave the killing of each unique snowflake on my tongue, chasing each other straight down as fast as they can, in the mad slow-motion race to the earth...
<br>
"<i>who could ever say you're not simply wonderful
who could ever harm you
sleep now
you're my little girl
go to bed
priests are dead
and come sing it all again
go to bed
past the apple orchard
and you'll feel nice
two can play i said
two can play</i>"
...but..how does that go again? i lost count in the forest, adding up the trees and changing my crowns from pine to sycamore to birch to oak...and always back at oak.
i think somethiong follows "one...", but fuck me if i can remember it right now...
<br><br>
("Merman" Tori Amos)
the priests are dead
now no one can call you back
go to bed
the priests are dead
finally you're on peppermint
at last</i>"
<br>
and it acts like winter, tastes like winter and walks like winter, but it doenst look like winter.
and i did my thing, with a nod to the other Sun King, but it felt like some cosmic answering machine...like 'leave a message on the drum...' <br><br>
"<i>he's a merman
he doesn't need your voice
he's a merman</i>"
<br>
and somehow i shoulda dreamed of Momma, even just a walk-thru or a suggestion, but there was nothing. Instead i get the usual assortment of cruise ships, coloured skies, mad vampire children, Alannis wannabes and assorted fruits & condiments carried in panda-fur punchbuggies by lost fey in big yellow glasses. There's some irony in the 'AUDIOSLAVE' sticker on my guitar i suppose, but i'm blind halo'd by 1's and 0's.
<br><br>
"<i>go to bed
dream instead
and you will find him
he's a merman to the knee
doesn't need something you're not willing to give
he's a merman
doesn't need your voice to cross his lands of ice</i>"
<br>
and i fucking dont wanna go to IHOP. i'd rather feast on stews of feedback and lolling lazy dissonance in E. i wonder, sometimes, in those moments you have, like standing in the shower, or the eternity of non-rain when you pass under the bridge...<br>
...i wonder if the eskimo life has a mandatory 9 months of darkenss, and if that eskimo sun radiation tans possibilities...<br>
"<i>go to bed
priests are dead
now no one can call you back
go to bed
the priests are dead
finally you found out</i>"
<br>
and snow? i crave the killing of each unique snowflake on my tongue, chasing each other straight down as fast as they can, in the mad slow-motion race to the earth...
<br>
"<i>who could ever say you're not simply wonderful
who could ever harm you
sleep now
you're my little girl
go to bed
priests are dead
and come sing it all again
go to bed
past the apple orchard
and you'll feel nice
two can play i said
two can play</i>"
...but..how does that go again? i lost count in the forest, adding up the trees and changing my crowns from pine to sycamore to birch to oak...and always back at oak.
i think somethiong follows "one...", but fuck me if i can remember it right now...
<br><br>
("Merman" Tori Amos)