Who Will Be The Witness Today?

Yeah so I pull my lying frame out of my bed
Inspect it in a mirror, dead flies stuck to hanging paper
All ribs and moans and filthy dreams
Stuck around my eyes again, aches and greasy thighs again
I’m waiting for the rain,
Waiting for the big-fuckin’-rain to come and show me where
You’re comin’ from,, show me where you’re comin’ from,
Who will be the witness today?

Part 1:
Yeah when you spend your days out diggin’,
Out in the frozen ground, the frozen flood plain of the city
You slip into a rhythm and you slip into a rhyme.
And yes the boys are all a-courting, and the girls they are all pretty
And to me they kinda look the same, all breathing bags and singin’ fine
But you gotta lift your spade, kid, and plunge it deep into the rock
You gotta take your life, boy, and throw it down and never stop
And when I tell you that your jack boots don’t mean jack shit to me
I mean it, yeah, I mean it! Live out your anachronistic dream.
(with your three little girls and their passion for fascism!!!
Hands up! Who really wants to die? I’m askin’, yeah I’m askin’, and I’m always askin’ you. And if you stop to look at it, you’ll see there’s nothin’ new, no never nothin’ new in it.)

Part 2:
And the flood it comes!
And the flood it comes down hard!
And the pages of the book won’t float up to the top (did you really think they would?)
And the city drowns like all the rest, like every town, another test?
I don’t believe history ever repeated itself like this before!
Yeah, stick your arm into that hole
And see the boys all watching.
Yeah smear the wetness on your lips
And see the boys all watching still.
You remember that one? The useless child with the so-called caged angel?
Yeah he crawls on his blind knees, looking for the world-key
He crawls and moans and spurts his seed into the eyes of a muse.
And the rain is still fallin’, the rain is still a fallin’
I don’t think its ever gonna stop.

Part 3:
Is there a new way in heaven?
Or just more rats in paradise?
Bring down the lashings of your glory,
I’ll rub it on her moaning thighs.
In the abbey of Thelema,
They still talk about a man
With a crown of pointless metaphors
And holes nailed through his hands.
Yeah the abbess walks and wails
Eyes peeled for a miracle! Yeah I see shapes in the fire every day
And veins in leaves! Better call the pope, boy,
And better pray in hope, for the end has been nigh
And the stakes have been high for
(An eye for an eye? Ask the fat man in the hat.)
Two thousand fuckin’ years! And my man Job with his tattooed tear
Could have died a thousand times for all your petty, typical sins.
Could’ve died for carbon footprints and disused compost bins!
Could’ve died for leaded petrol, weeping icons, heavy metal!
Could’ve died for hex, sex, sex text,
Misleading facts and poll tax.

And I’m still singin’ after everybody’s gone,
Refusin’ to die, to take the rapture.
Yeah, I’m still singing after everybody’s gone
Refuse to die! Evade the capture!

Who Will Be The Witness Today?


Bristol, United Kingdom

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