Releases

Cuts from the Inside

Wail: Lyrics

My generation
Sits on its beat ass
And tokes on grass
A group of overgrown corpses
Bumbling around town
Between orgies and street deals
Casinos and jail cells
Sticking their mojo pins
Watching their arms swell.

Forelorn, foresworn
To a country so small
A country so squashed
That is has become
The Bedouin's brothel
The Disneyland of the East
As the girls stumble
From one bar to the next
Down on Monot Street.

Replace the -t with a -p
And you got a den of
Crackhead bourgeoisie
Sucking on Osso Bucco
With bleached teeth
And bleached money.

"Here, we party like
There's no tomorrow"
Repeat it like a mantra

So the kids dance on coffins
With their sleek hair
And their silken skin
Till the men in the military attire
Bust in.

Pills scatter across the floor
The manic paranoia soars
There's no escape now:
Not even the gaping ceiling.

Somewhere on a balcony
A maid stares out to the sea
Expires
Pulls up the rug
And retires
To her one foot room
With a mattress
And a picture of Jesus
To keep her company.

As the workers drip with sweat
And the housewives shop to forget
A boy stands on a windowsill
And screams:
"My eyes are my worst enemy."

Somewhere in a sleepy Mercedes
A hand surreptitiously slips
Into another
As the driver rants on
About how his religion
Outdoes all others
And smiles

Toothlessly.

Pearls of sweat
Roll off
The side of his head
As the clandestine sunshine
Peaks through the glass and shines
On your pretty face, babe.

Now we no longer burn our garbage
On the streets.

Now the pavement shines brightly
And the lights illuminate the city.

Somewhere in all of this,
I found myself in a
Smoke-filled dive
Where thick white threads were
Rising
And writhing
From the ashtrays.

People numbing their wounds
With alcohol,
Their gazes bouncing like
Tennis balls
Off of the walls.

Somehow I found myself with
No place to call home.

I stood behind the microphone,
That was the closest I ever got
To home..

I stood there fighting the chatter
For silence,
Trying to speak to you directly.
To bear myself to you unveiled,

From a whisper to a wail.