1. |
||||
|
Drifted south into petty crime, despatches home from time to time
Rotten teeth, eyesight failing fast, who knows how long this life will last
Bouncing back between pain and sleep
Sucks on a bottle but there’s no relief
Stuck on the wall, a dead pop star smiles
Got lame for fame, crippled by style
Scum mixed with foam, won’t you turn it into a poem
Where the buffalo roam, where the buffalo roam
She married young, got disillusioned quick
And now the nights are torture and the days are sick
Three months gone and filled with dread
She dreams of death and a river bed
Inside a stranger drains her strength
And a calcium leech shortens her length
The water's steaming and the razor’s sharp
She's a pregnant angel with a broken harp
Scum mixed with foam, won’t you turn it into a poem
Where the buffalo roam, where the buffalo roam
They hung on to some shred of pride
When the other emotions shriveled and died
Walking through a crowd asleep
To a shadow that smells of dirty feet
Their world just fell through a hole in a bag
A cold sun shines through a piece of rag
A siren wails and sends a shiver of fear
Now they can’t afford what they hold dear
Scum mixed with foam, won’t you turn it into a poem
Where the buffalo roam, where the buffalo roam
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Another drink and I'll feel better
Stick pins in the dead cells
Carcase patch or the pattern shifts
Cling to the wall supporting paper
So I yawn and stretch
And I edit what's best
I feed the bin, I got no discipline
Cut off the stimuli
Turn to fiction when the ink runs dry
Turn to fiction when the ink runs dry
Numb suck face applauds himself
Smug-drug giggle, do get the joke?
You dream of comfort and a two-bar glow
Ear stuck to the speaker, hey that's me up there!
Cut the crap, cut the crap
Cut the crap, cut the crap
Cut the crap, cut the crap
Cut the crap, cut the crap
A whistle grin crazy loco
I shoot letters into bloodshot eye
Under the carpet when the ink runs dry
Under the carpet when the ink runs dry
|
||||
3. |
Wail (Dutch Radio 1984)
02:45
|
|||
|
My heart’s a pit, with blood it pumps
Twisted out of shape, observe my stump
Pushed by lust, on guilt impaled
Moaning in darkness, I just wail
Wail!
Now I caught the virus and I named it love
I was wrong, it’s just not enough
Meat on a plate, is that piece for sale?
Now I’m cheaper than free, I just wail
Wail!
The storm that boils must appear calm
So I carve L into my arm
A vision of her, sad and pale
And I throw back my head, I just wail
Wail!
I listened to reason and reason lied
I finished the bottle and it gave me pride
I tried treachery but it failed
Now love crucifies me I just wail
Wail!
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
Before she killed him, he drew pictures on her skin
His mistake, to shudder and shake
This is the hate they make
Her fake tan, his graveyard breath
Now there’s only lust left
Now there’s only lust left
Kiss the cross around her throat
Blooding is pumping, now hope remote
Lays him out, tender with care
Folds his arms, combs his hair
Takes too much, too much
Takes too much, too much
Like some kinda holy touch
Like some kinda holy touch
credits
|
||||
Folk Devils London, UK
First time ever on CD and Digital Download. Digitally restored audio. The complete Folk Devils singles collection plus bonus
unreleased demo recordings.
Limited edition 180 gram double vinyl. Digitally restored audio re-mastered for vinyl includes 4 page insert with exclusive lyric sheet.
... more
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