Hope (As it looked)
He got patch work laces and a speech for an eye. Trodden on direction and a love for the sky. He a sucker from Downfalls, he played by her rules and now time knows him so well.
Painted almost from the jobless ghost but given for free by the lemon tree host, shot dead and all that, taken back to a place so long ago when the girls wore curls and the boys were boys. You grew old without her, you let go to go down another road.
She's been playing aces for too long, doesn't know what's right and wrong. Reflection sick of the sight of her. She a sucker from Downfalls she used all the wrong tools and now time knows her so well.
Shot down from another world and left to count fools gold. Regret never tasted so strong now that her past is wrong and the children will never belong. Feeling ill, down trodden and forgotten, welcome to life's wheel. How does it feel?
Little Bell can't find her mantra, quit smoking and became a dancer, she got a meeting up on north street but her compass is upside down and she can't find her feet.
She looks in the mirror and reminds herself of the better days when the shoe shine boys would have something cute to say and the gentlemen would offer a drink and pay.
Tearing away the pages of a self help book she found at LA X, nothing but a waist of time, she's so complex.
Little Bell where are you now? Little Bell, Sweet Little Bell.
Her garish subtlety will fall on you. She can only see behind your sincerity. Her awkward smile will leave a dent inside that only she can cure. Pretty spider lady, tangled in your silk. Another time, another place and these trials you will milk. Worthless king looking for rebellion. All's here is fair and all's there is queer. She listens gracefully to the silence whilst multitudes of violins and violence are somewhere yonder else. She is evil.
Another day done gone.
She seen the sky, no one day.
She heard the cry, no word say.
She sell her soul, no one pay.
Rickety rack! The red lights crack, out of her shelter she crawls. She's a Burlesque Queen, cigarette fiend and no one's friend for free.
Crickety crack! He's on her back, "Train tracks matter in this town bitch" His fists have this to say. The day won't end untill the conductor's friend gives him his tools to play.
She seen the sky, no one day.
She heard the cry, no word say.
She sell her soul, no one pay.
She's thinking of tomorrow, I can tell. She's waiting for the world to start, unaware that time knows her so well.
Her seconds are my hours, her life on display, a beauty far from dream, in my eyes she lay.
(do the whole wondering aimlessly onto the stage looking lost routine, turn and face audience)
Oh, hello?... I'm suposed to be here right?
fuck this mic is loud...
I dont like my voice, I especialy don't like it through a mic or in recordings, so I'm going to do this without a mic, I'm sorry if you people at the back can't hear me, I'll speak up...
(says a knock knock joke)
Ok Ok I'll use the mic but you have to promise not to laugh.
So this is my piece, I'm gonna be honest, I don't actually prepare for these things, infact I didn't know I was gonna be doing this untill about 3 hours ago, my acid dealer told me... 2 hours after I took 3 tabs...
So now I'm hear and I gotta tell you... I'm scared.
the thing with acid is I tend to talk about myself... More so than usual.
I'm not sure what it is, I'm actually a pretty insecure person.
I suppose that bodes well for you lot though doesn't it. that's why you came here isnt it?
(asks an audience member to come up on stage)
So how's life? good? good.
What do you do? (insert random joke here)
you want some acid? I got loads.
(puts hands in pocket)
Fuck, wait a minute... I had loads an hour ago...
I gotta go.
(leave earlier than expected if possible)
Hope (As it sounded)
The piper's expertise has taken us all by surprise, pioneered through years of trial an error, his call now has us all. Heard through the distance behind the cries of youth his melody resembles the sound of truth and has swallowed our pride with thoughts of disbelief and regret.
But time has stopped now and his song has been sung, perfection has been dictated and the children's fight has begune. Set among the ashes of our past is a path of light where at the end is a place we all know, beyond the revelations of our short comings, a familiarty still breeds with the colour of happiness.
So I got myself thinking...
I was reading a study that talks about brain activity in relation to shared beliefs. It describes a very clear relationshp between the part of the brain used during unified experiences such as religion or even something as simple as supporting a football team and the part of the brain activated in other mammals such as cows and rats during the hearding process. It seems very obvious from these studies that the same part of the brain is activated in all mammals including human beings whilst being affiliated with a large group.
To me it seems more obvious that the sensation of 'god' or the feeling of empowerment during a football game of which the team you support is playing, is infact the same thing and so I got myself thinking about what it is exactly that triggers this, it just so happens that I have been studying linguistics for the past year and so naturally I went about trying to link the two subjects and come to my own conclusion.
I decided to start with the origin of language as a means of basing my theory.
I suggest that language was in fact created as a means of affiliation so as to recruit others. It seems obvious to me that the trigger of this 'hearding' sensation mentioned earlier is infact based on the words we use, all christians for example are united under the word 'jesus' a name given to the person who is depicted as a 'saviour' and one of which all christians can instantly relate to. The same can be said of a football teams name such as 'chelsea' football being the religion and 'chelsea' being the 'saviour'.
bla bla bla...
Alex's Christmas speech
As the sheltered ones prepare for the angel's trumpet, ears twitch and eyes scatter, the broken skies are monitered, the torn past of our fathers are forgotten and our mother's naive song whistled through the cold winds of the night and upon the children of tomorrow.
A message is recalled through all our beating hearts that we are united under the curse of our frailty and the sins of our fathers to which it is remembered that all sin must be forgiven and we must share to exact measurment the delights of those that have been chosen as our fellow man throughout this life.
Merry Christmas to you all.
Days slip away like this.
She's moving fast and her eyes look insane, muttering something about life's bane. People see her everywhere, don't know how to approach her, "you need a life coach to a another planet", coffee's starting to taste bitter, same as when our opinions differ, out of your mouth and into the drain, "harc the herald angels sing", sweetness translates too late and she propogates prophecies we'll never see aslong as we believe we see as clearly as we define our sanity. Preacher's test the ears of time, bitterness will only kill the proprietor's mind. Choose your rules and run, make haste to the beaten path, kiss goodbye to the washed up raft, forget your troubles and have the last laugh.
Hope (As it is)
No pages left to cry for help, forgot my master, left him behind. Last cigarette signals a change in faith, He's preaching about a satisfied mind now and somehow I can't find my way back now, footsteps lead round in circles, time wont stands still and I wonder what it is I feel...
Busy minds, mechanical thoughts, ones and naughts, beeping pockets and musical lockets, aspiration toolkits, lists of lists I should have lists for and another one for what list to adore, payed for cool with magnetic strips and electronic lips, Super low calorie 100% poly unsaturated fat free organic mastermind soup made by masterminds for "masterminds", choosing between ID cards and the year 1984 whilst considering the law about possesion of four or more of these pills I adore, shopping no longer a chore just click on your star sign and the next 50 years shopping is predicted for you by a woman who's hair is blue and uses very few sentences without the word "new", land title deeds for the moon being sold on Ebay, life time garantee and a "free cosmic key for you and your family".
Two worlds collide.
We stop to decide who's weak, where to look and what words to speak. I say we're all stranded here but you don't hear, deafened by fear and a secret desire to leave, steer clear and save your secrecy from becoming clear to me because concerned as you are that this will end in tragedy I think you've failed to see that I'm over that part of me and just want to hear someone else speak about the reality, confirm my sanity so i can decide which way to leave.
Sign of the times.
The beaten track is fading and your compass is confused, the matches are wet and all the water has been used. Baylifts knocking at your door they have all three names you use, ignoring you and that crying baby, and that trial is up for drug abuse. Nonchalance is no longer cool, nonchalance makes you the fool.
I'm about myself.
Clearly influenced by that existentialist movement in which the words you're reading are directly related to the words written. Pretencious undertones and references to itself that only bare repeating. Trying to be something remarkable and in turn only being something worth remarking on. And all the while you know it's only a bit of larking going on. Value gained from the attention I've been given and which can only continue to grow despite everyone being in the know. Because you just wanted to show that you can see through what is painfuly obvious to everyone else.
One fine day.
All along the cliff's edge, a thousand failed proposals and the fisherman with his wide eyes singing of the debutante's fine day...
''She's got her mind set, and it ain't anywhere close to you, she's dreaming of the man on the moon, she's dreaming of a time afternoon when the sky is black and the tide is high, and the man of her dreams is out to play, oh that fine day, that fine day.''
Cliffs are empty now and the fisherman counts his catch, utters something that seems to move with the tide and leaves with a smile and a look like he's got nothing to hide.
Tell Your Ma, Tell Your Pa,
Our Loves Are Gonna Grow Ooh-wah, Ooh-wah.
He looked at me and said 'sign of the times kid', and I laughed.
Oh yonder comes her six white horses and that devil smile.
Moths are burning.
The doc he's shining my shoes, he never tried harder than that to help me kill the blues. Somewhere else is my lover, she's promising me an easier time, I dunno why. She's wearing her favorite dress, the one that catches flies. Doc has told me to go home now, I'm not sure where he expects me to go. The harmonica player down the street has asked me for some money to eat, I handed him a record player and told him I've got someone to meet. My lover she's sipping away my pain, found her in Agy town palace where the Lawers are playing, They don't know I'm here, I left without saying goodbye, She'll find me again somewhere, Picking my tie. Meanwhile life goes on, the doc has found his miracal cure, if anything a money lure, though he sounds so sure, tells me to swallow three of these pills and sip chicken milk, I look at him and ask im if he's crazy, not sure what I expected him to say but his response was somewhat lazy, I swallowed the pills and knocked back his gin, all of a sudden my my belly caves in and the doc shouts out 'there you go! you're thin!'... I couldn't help but stare at him, said thankyou sir, this ain't no sin. Now it's time to get ready for that church parade, the bells are ringing and I feel like I'm late, So I run to the tailor ask him to do his job, he hands me a book and say's 'go find god', this aint right I need a suit, I look up and he's playing a flute, I grab the tux, high tail it to the tie rack, and what do you know, she's on my back, she looks at me three times in the eyes, asks where the rest of me is I say he died. She grabs her dress and we make it on time, the priest tells us we're not to commit a crime, hands us a certificate, it says we love untill we die, so now I'm hers and she wants to fly...
Stuck with this.
That awkward air and something like a stare, she's so aware that this aint fair. These fallow times are hers not mine. Church bells seem not to mean the same thing I'm seeing and priest's promises of divine infinity are teasing.
Bronze eyes and silver twine, lying infront of mine, take what you can find and design the rest in mind as she does to your soul what man did to black gold and diamond coal.
Soon they will find the promise land and take Saint Thomas to where Jesus stands and laugh at him like she laughed at you when all you could do is believe in her.
Isn't it like time to stand so still when you're feeling ill? She's so weary now and somehow she still finds space to remember your old ways. Something about that disparaging smile that says she want's to play.
And yeah, that wont go away.
Her lady friend.
Crimson tears do fall for you, Clouds bloom and mourn we do,
Thus smoke, Thus fire, This is her paranoia.
Einstien wasn't listening when you begged him for the stars, His diary conveniently placed, where generals aim and fire.
In the garden where angels whisper, Librarians issue death penalties, and Santa is cleaning dishes because the kids aint got those trees. Miss Monroe with her devil gaze and her awkward ways, sings Happy birthday like her better days to the man that sold the united states for a chance to gaze at Russian ballet.