Mortar and Pestle

Mortar and pestle

My Friday night ritual

I've been crushing on you for years

Dressed up in your latex suit

The red light gleaming off your boots

I'll see you again in Xanadu

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

Time is always relative

The extract filters through the sieve

I still feel your lips upon my face

Bitter as a poison leaf

More certain than true, just, belief

Darling, I'm floating your way

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

When I heard you singing late

Rope held in your hands

My summer sense migrated

To far crepuscular lands

Now I can hear that tune

Sounding in my dome

The more I taste of the red moon

The less I am alone

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

They've picked your mind's last lock

And you are sublime

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

I told myself that I'm happy alone

Then dreamt of limbs wrapped together in bed

Thus when I found that I woke on my own

My body again disagreed with my head

In older days it would be a haunting

They'd call the priest in low tones of dread

To silence the devil his daemonic taunting

A crucifix pressed against me till it fled

Crop

Crop

A crop has grown within my brain

The harvest of a neural strain

It bears the rotting of our faith

I pluck the fruit to fill a space

To crowd the horror of the void

That nectar drowns my empty hive -

Pour those weepings in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

I wear my own mammalian skin

It feels like I'm an alien

An insect crawling in the sun

Beneath my conscious light I run
From brightness to the dark alone

To safety in the closing gloam -

Pour your madness in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

That sheaf feels rough held in your hand

You've grown the crop of this bleak land

And though the mill stone grinding is

The only music left for us

We will never leave this hated

Plot dried out emaciated -

Pour your struggle in a cup

Drunk up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Alcohol,

Seed of my father Morayshire

Sewn with barley and the

Wrecks of drunken drivers

Loneliness drove us insane

The land itself led us astray

Darkest ethanol, we pray

Bring us to decay

Smells like booze and fags again...

Smells like

Home

Within the crooked wood

The shithole of Lhanbryde
I had a drink for solitude
A teenage crush on wine

The children drink until they're gone

Till blood has leaked out from the dawn

Darkest ethanol, our thane

Drown us in your rain

Smells like booze and fags again...

Country lane

Tak me hame

Tae the place

I belaing

Sweet Morayshire

Malt whisky mether

Country lane

Tak me hame

Smells like booze and fags again...

Wheeze

Without a sigh, or mournful speech, you left

me drowning, pickled with sweetest drink,

fallen, wheezing evaporating breath.

I'm familiar with that terminal rest;

you don't need to hope, or to heal, or think.

Without a sigh, or mournful speech, you left.

I lodge on a friend's couch, totally wrecked,

survivor of this damned horrific stink

fallen, wheezing evaporating breath.

Those who ripped me from their brains in wrath

send me no hate-mail penned with anthrax ink;

without a sigh, or mournful speech, you left.

And those gone, dependent on lines of meth,

I sympathise with the way that you think;

fallen, wheezing evaporating breath.

But you who left me for the whims of death,

who knew that booze could be such a foul jinx?

Without a sigh, or mournful speech, you left,

fallen, wheezing evaporated breath.