FR CS Bain Total K24
"Outsider" is an early version of "The Heretic" from The Lovers
3 from the cassette compilation Rising from the Red Sand, 1983 Third Mind TMT04
SECOND BIRTH. SING WHILE YOU MAY. LAZHMELIH
Premonition 8 (Instrumental)
Up before the Flesh Parade: the pretty faces, bedroom eyes, pouting lips. The longing thighs say, "Come in for a night, you won't regret it - but don't make any plans." She likes a man, but a hand is just as effective. A mutual need. No need to talk. No moonlit walks, no sun-drenched beaches. Just a bed and just an alarm clock, says your time is up. Go find another body - boy, girl - in the Flesh Parade. The line-up never changes. Sure, nobody's perfect. Just good at perfect crimes. Have the standard phrases; ask the time. How about the weather? Don't care about the spots. My only interest is your mind. (Got the time for a grind in the Flesh Parade?) The Flesh Parade. The line-up never changes, it only fades away. The clammy hands, down, down in the Flesh Parade.
Pumping fiercely at the fire, face aglow, reflected flames. Grits his teeth and bites his tongue. Scared, screaming ringing in his head. Scorn, impatient, swelling up inside, bellow arms persist, piston legs steam on, and on and on and on. Dance on burning bridge to gutted city. Licks the sweet sweat of success from his lips. Shouts orders to the troops. They're armed with cleansing petrol. Faster he pumps - faster faster! For purity: he seeks purity. Each injection flames leap higher, sweeping through the cities, through the countries, cross the oceans, over mountains. Burning up the world in a swaddling of blue heat. Accompanied by a lullaby of hysterical laughter, a laugh for purity: seeking purity. They came, took him away, away from the ashes of the world, and he was happy to go. His job was done. The world had been cleansed, catharsis. Took one final look and smiled. The solitary survivor. Pure, clean, clear from smoke and black, in a building he called home.
The sun was out, the streets deserted, everyone asleep. Deep in his crypt, King Arthur cried. Tore up the script. He tried to save us, but he failed. 'Cos everybody laughed: the rusty sword, the rotted table. Bags beneath his eyes, tired eyes. Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep. Tired eyes. Bright blue eyes, his hands were shaking, snatching at a cup. Had quite enough, he suffered. Just not as tough as he used to be. Other times, when he was good, he wore a crown of orchids. Take his lady, sow his seed, it's for the harvest; gardens bloomed. No one mentioned heresy or blasphemy.
Excommunicate the heretic! Chain up, crucify the lunatic, the fanatic. We've got the nails, we've got the matches -- light the sky for hours! Got the power, the desire and we're looking for a thrill. Kill! Don't know what you did but I don't like it. Something about your eyes says you just don't fit. A parasitic devil -- stick out like a weevil in a woodpile. Vile, vile ... Violation! DEVIATION!
Love in a Plain Brown Envelope, No. 1
Heaven is a hole, there's a whole lot of heaven in your cavern, in your avenue. Enjoy it, do you, do you? Of course you do. It's there in black and white - There's every detail, and every tale delights the fannies and the grannies and the crannies with the antelopes of Lapland. Oh so horny. It's a perfect land, the lips are lubricated and the pistons always stiff and glistening driving upwards, onwards like a dream. It's partly human and part machine. Oh, Cyborg! as a man you're magic, as machine you're mean, mean mean mean. I'm so horny. Any time of the night, anyplace, anywhere, I'm yours, mean machine.
Love on a Stained Glass Window (Instrumental)
Space Captain No. 1
Uncertain when the idea came, was maybe in a fit of anger or maybe in a dream. The promises of miracles were all forgotten, plans lay rotting, wallowing in filth. No hopes, no goal, and no redemption - a song bereft of passion, a foetus in the sink. A stink of days-old whiskey on his breath, a death-breath [Aiiiiiaaahhhh!] A death-breath. Waiting for catharsis or waiting for a blade. A savior took all the clothes and pulled the final curtain down ... wait in silence. And peacefully she tip-toed 'cross the room and took his hand ... White hair bathing in the moonlight, supple skin, lightly tanned. Offering a bottle, with an ounce of courage, gentle voice encouraging: "Take them now, finish it, yes, you can be a film star, you can be a star, you can be anything you want to be." Take them now, take them now, you can be anything you want to be. Take them now, take them now, you can be anything you want to be. Finish it! Take the bottle!
Premonition 9 (Instrumental)
He never had a chance, the trap was good, the exits covered. Seen it in a film, they'd done their homework well. The yells would echo "where?" The people played at being deaf, kept their curtains closed. Baby screams, father swearing, watching violence on the box. Walls had ears, ears had walls, blocking out the cries for help. They didn't want his money, they only wanted fame, and they got it. As photographs came flying in the rain, happy families kept on smiling, floating to the drain: rosy cheeks, hats on, chins up, pin-ups for the rats that sat back. Drinking in the spectacle, the ritual, the sacrificial flick-knives swinging in the half-light. A present for the alley god, who switched his TV off, opened up his window, said "I'm pleased, so very very pleased."
A Spanish Bridge (Instrumental)
Stoned Obit 1980
Lightning cracked a crooked cross across the sky, above the cross where he'd been hanging for a day (stoned again!). The breeze grew ice, threw knives, blew haloes. Hallowed cinders flew together made a cushion for his feet. There were spikes in his ankles, spikes in his sandals. A spike split the wood, syringed his vertebrae. Spikes in his shins, in his chin, in his fingers. Amused apparitions hummed the Marseillaise. We had to look away, he seemed so fragile. We tried to offer him a cigarette but it was futile, futile, no way through. The guards screamed "Front!", drew guns, splashed acid; we retreated in the shadows, squatted low and said a prayer. Cameras clicked out of sight; there were fights, there were fanfares. Fireworks flashed across the cenotaph. Kiddies played in the pits, spitting crisps, licking icecreams. A spiv threw an auction for his autograph. (I never thought it would finish this way. No resistance not a word to say. Maybe we'll meet in heaven, talk about those good old days. I still believe, at least I WANT to.)
The angels landed, cleared their throats and chorused "Crown Him!" They poured a potion on his curly hair - it nearly drowned him. They called a minute's silence. They called the clowns in, then a cripple touched his foot and did a cartwheel down the hill; turning once for his wisdom, twice for the pearl moon, third as the thief cried out "It's judgment day." He rolled his eyes, ripped his shirt, rolled insane in the dirt. Applause ripped the heavens, blew the clouds away. The laughter died as schoolgirls passed around the tissues (pretty patterns). While a message said "We're gonna miss you. Bless you. Bless your eyes." And the bell rang twice and we fell as his lips moved. We stared in silence as the news guy scribbled down his final words: "I made mistakes. I've been a fool. I tried so hard but never thought that what started so well could end in misery. But my motives were good. I thought you all understood. Don't be hard when this day is cloaked in history." And he died with his eyes on. Ash for ashes, dust for dust, in nomine spiritus. Die with your eyes on ...
Peace Krime 2
(Vocoder intro, then samples)
Got luxury lungs, they're cheap to run. They're lined with darkest velvet. I breathe in deep, my face turns green. Light flashes on my helmet. Hell, it's not my choice. I'm shy, like to hide away in corners and saunter down the street so carefree. They don't allow it. Sparks across the tomb, my cell. Sell my body to the snipers, who lean on distant windowsills, silhouettes behind their rifles. Sure I'm scared, but I carry on, 'cos it's one they made me for. There's wars to fight, there's claws to bite. Some things you have to stifle. It's just a job, a profession.
I can smell a winner. You won the star prize. Surprise, surprise. Loverboy, lucky boy. Take the money and run, run, run, before you change your mind. Us widows are fickle. Run, run, run. [lots of other samples or vocals]
Can't you see that she's guilty? Smiles at you, but her eyes betray her. You should hear the conversations, the confessions to her friends. Don't you see? Love is blind. Sensory deprivation. Aren't you just a little worried, when you phone but you get no answer? Don't you wonder why she never calls? Don't you see? Love is blind, needs a stick. Sensory deprivation. Get down. Better face it that you've lost her. Now she's in it for the ride. Tries to make you look a sucker. The thing between you's gone and died. If you really want to keep her, buy a chain, a cannonball. Put a heater in the cellar and a mirror on the wall. You've got to keep her happy. Get down. Can't you hear that she's laughing? Sells your soul in a starched white roller, tells your secrets to her lover. Spins you round, puts you down. Don't you see? Love is blind, it can't see. Sensory deprivation. Sure I know you're not a bad guy. Sure you care, but you're overbearing. Showed her rust instead of rainbows. Bought her blindness in the pub. She can't see. Love is blind. Sensory deprivation. Get down. She's deprived.
I don't know why I shout at you, but I do it all the time. Something simmers deep inside and I just go out my mind. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm really not so cruel. Let's make up, be friends again, forget about it all. Temper temper, I lose my temper. Must remember to keep my temper, temper temper. You should see me in the night time, when I've had a drink. Start to trash the furniture, drown spiders in the sink. I don't know why I do it. It all seems so unreal. Someone said "Go see a doctor. You really must be ill." Temper temper, I lose my temper. Must remember to keep my temper, temper temper. But I'm not the only one. You should see the Greeks. Give them cold moussaka, hear them stand and shriek. Tear up all the tablecloths, smash plates against the wall. Start to chase the waitresses and end up in a brawl. Temper temper, they lose their tempers. Must remember to keep their tempers, temper temper. Then you get the Mexicans. God, they can be mean. Stomp on their sombreros and next they're jumping beans. It's quite a stunning spectacle. It really makes me scared. Is it just frivolity or something in the air? Temper temper, they lose their tempers. Must remember to keep their tempers, temper temper.
Amphitheatre Shuffle (Instrumental)
Before the End
Before the end, the town was calm. No cold panic, no alarm. The pubs rang out with "Auld Lang Syne" as a politician tossed a coin. It was normal. Before the end, the children played while old men watched them from the shade. Bemoaned the heat, the price of tea, discussed perverse psychology. Normal... A-OK. Before the end, in a darkened room, Tom waited for his best girl June. Fingers crossed, he quietly prayed. "Lie down," he whispered; she obeyed. It was normal. Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of posies. A tissue, a tissue, all fall down. 'Cos we're normal. Before the end, in a crowded store, Miss Demeanor broke the law. Shifty eyes, sleight of hand, slipped up a sleeve a sardine can. Naughty (tsk tsk) but normal. Before the end, in a cramped bedsit, George slid a razor cross his wrist. Bloody jeans, tearful eyes, unhooked the phone, fed the mice. Nasty. Before the end, in a cushioned pod, Mr. Dial-a-Prophet looked for god. Flaming throne to slice the sky for mankind's last united cry. "We're normal! Can't happen to us! We're normal!"
Transcribed by Nancy Thuleen