1. |
Ha-Satan Deofol
04:06
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Under a dying olympic flame
They dance gaily around yonder maypole
They hammer nails to the cross
And the blood on the floor is yours
You may put me in a barrel, roll my skull down the hill
Tar and feather for the non-conformist
The blood on the floor is yours
I hoist my half-dead wife
Hold her tightly in my arms
I dream I kill her for my own concerns
The blood on the floor is really mine
Protrusive eyes, a fixed gaze
I arose in a haze
To open for my very lover
Hands dripping
Fingers flowing
Under a dying olympic flame
Life revolves around yonder maypole
The gates will never really open
And the blood on the floor is yours
She’ll wail hysterical orgasms
And laugh at tormentor’s scourge
Chains and fetters for the formalist
The blood on the floor is yours
In beautifully groomed gardens
The gates of life opens upon death
A monstrous and hideous passing
The blood on the floor is really mine
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2. |
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First stone for ...
Second stone for ...
Third stone for ...
Fourth stone for the defile
Fifth stone for ...
Sixth stone for ...
Seventh stone for ...
At the heap of the defile
I’m throwing rocks at the devil, seven for each pillar
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3. |
Arrabal's Dream
03:11
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Nuns run with naked children, flags in hand
Red and black, half-and-half
Waving and shouting at religion, crusaders of the demagogue,
Who roam and pillage, spread open the land
and dream only of death
Do not pronounce the name
Do not
Do not pronounce the name
Nuns run with veils torn open
Big, red flags waving , ripped apart by bitter winds,
Half-and-half, the chastity of their beliefs turned to religious rancour,
Their skin now expose a bleeding eruption
the eyes watching wet from tears
Blood calls for more blood down on your knees down the sanguinary mouth calls for
more blood bloody eyes covered bloody eyes calls for more blood
spread your arms
spread your legs
Kill whom you jolly well please
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4. |
Blood On The Poet
02:56
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On demand, dum da di da
Of the statue deity, dum da di da
The young poet and a mirror linked
To the hallway of aqueous phantasms
Four doors, dum da di da
All locked for lunacy, dum da di da
The poet squint his eye through the keyhole
One more time for the death of the Mexican
One more time for the shadows on the walls
One more time for the tinkling-bell child
Spinning by the bed of the unmanly
One more time the gun to his head
One more time, dum da di da
For the assassination, dum da di da
The spinning hallucinatory imagery
By the aerialist by the bed of the epicene
One more time, the master’s choice
The gun put to his laurel crown
We are born with a wound, born with a wound
Wound of separation
Close the gap
On demand, dum da di da
Of the master, dum da di da
The poet plashes through the mirror
To the hallway of aqueous phantasms
One more time, the master’s choice
The gun put to his filthy wreath
We are born with a wound, born with a wound
Wound of separation
Close the gap
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5. |
Dedication
01:52
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I've dedicated my self to many a woman
Shirley Temple, Lee Miller in Hitler's bathtub
Louise Brooks, Brooke with the cat Agatha ...
Or was it Golgatha?
Never did I dedicate my funeral like Desnos
Never did I dedicate my death like Rigaut
So I dedicate my demise to you
I dedicate my death to you
First time I died was back in 2001.
I swirled my drink too close to see that what was doing on
Second time was the year 2006. I made a mistake and, god,
I had to pay for it
Third time 2009 all innocence had deteriorated and all left was murder
pure murder, pure death,
pure dedication
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6. |
Blood On Bunny
03:24
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Blood on Bunny, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
Bunny spread open, you dirty bastard
Bunny denies being the Christ but the blood will be on her own head
Blood on Bunny, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
She’ll die for your sins, you dirty bastard
Bunny denies being the Christ but the blood will be on her own head
Come away, my lover
The blood will be on her own head
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7. |
Drawing Down The Moon
03:26
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Blessed be you, that have brought me these ways
Blessed be you, as I’m kneeling at the altar,
Blessed be you, without which I would not be
Blessed be you, formed in beauty
Blessed be you, I won’t utter the name
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8. |
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The naked behind the starry skies is pouring water from the urns
I wink, I blink, I close my eyes, connivance at full swing
The Phoenician angels might bring hope and renewal for a bitter loss
But if you sing the praise of love you sing the praise of death
Hey, I traverse, I correlate
The horns of the devil grow
I grow, I the sycophant
The horns of the devil grow
No love without the taste of death, I was an intern at Hell-Salpêtrière
I got my taste of love confused and was well received in hysteria’s bed
The hysteria divine, its desires, it captivates, the madmen and flagellants
It’s mythical and it’s erotic, the horns of the devil grow
Hey, I traverse, I correlate
The horns of the devil grow
I grow, the non-entity
The horns of the devil grow
I sweat, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo
I cry, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo
I spit, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo
I retch, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo
Hell, I traverse, I correlate
I got the stye in the eye
I grow, the parasite
The horns of the devil grow
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9. |
The Bitter Tears Of Könt
04:38
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He finished his book cause the sun didn't set
The stifling heat gone, under Arabic veils
Her naked sex, a breath of cool air
He was warned: if she strips naked there
She'll lull out a devastating storm
But he worshipped her apropos of nothing.
She was idolized, let her hair fall down
Slipped out of a batiste dress, she undressed
At the first gate the crown
At the second gate the necklace
At the third gate her earrings
At the fourth gate her ornaments
At the fifth gate the belt
At the sixth gate the bracelets
& at the seventh gate the girdle
She entered naked into his secret, not known
Nor seen
And not meant
To be known
Nor seen
Now no more a wonderful mirage
Safe in his mind's eye
Grisly, she pivoted and spat back
Kill me with your own hands
I want your fingers round my throat
See the jugular vein throb
See the white foam at my innocent lips
Kill me if you hate me, but do it right
She couldn't help but sink in the sandy mire
Terror-stricken by a boundless void
Gazing out with blank wet orbs
Admitting the loss of a beloved
Not known
Nor seen
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10. |
Mænads
05:55
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Let’s raise our glasses to the mænads
The drunken, raving ones
Who in intoxicated exaltation
Will hunt you down
Who will howl and bellow
Who will let you taste their naked flesh
Under fawn fox skins and with thieves’ cant
Wrap their snakes around
They lick the honey-trickle
From vine-clad long sticks
Let’s propose a toast to substitutes and prostitutes
Those who lay naked spread on panther skin
After the maniacal revelling and raging hysteria
And feats of madness and loud bang of drums
And crashing of cymbals, sparagmos and omophagia
Praise the rapture of these rites
You’ll find yourselves within a droning frenzy
You’ll find yourselves engirdled by moist, damp bodies
Of the women of the Amphissa
Whose mouths are greedy with blood
A drop of blood on carnal lips
Are licked with an ivy-poisoned tongue
Wild, lively eyes project venereal ardour
And what will you do?
You will raise your glass for good health
Pour me some more!
As I slide my fingertip down the rima vulva
As I suck milk from phantom breasts
Lap wine from Earth’s womb
While serpents glide through sweat
In a ritualistic movement
Let’s raise our glasses to these nurses
And praise their mere existence
To the mountains! To the mountains!
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ÅRABROT Haugesund, Norway
Årabrot is Kjetil “Tall Man” Nernes and Karin “Dark Diva” Park. They live in the countryside with their two children in an old church. Rock’n roll is their religion.
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