Sacred Cough Bottle
(专辑: Isolation Tapes, Vol. 2 - 2020)
In the
bowels of old Georgian houses Bodies are wrapped in routine Peeling the
weekly allowance While Billie Holiday whispers in the
corner Using one another as canvases Happily absorbing every single brush stroke Subterranean skin pressed on subterranean skin While Billie Holiday whispers in the
corner What could beat it for a
life? Seldom-seen creatures of comfort Are leaning toward the
light And the
heirs are returning from their fruitless flight Dublin mumbles in the
morning Yeah, well, she buckles in the
night Out there in the
middle distance Some old woman is claiming To be the
last living suffragette Speaking in a
nebulized voice While she picks and she plucks a
busted violin Oh, by a
stained glass window Wearing nothing nothing nothing But trousers of bottle-green tweed A
young mesmeric who's just lost his marbles In a
haze of hashish and chamomile tea Into his gob, a
cigarette is lobbed Forsake sickness for ill health Stick a
few pound in an Irish Independent Send it to me by post, my friend What could beat it for a
life? Seldom-seen creatures of comfort Are leaning toward the
light Dublin mumbles in the
morning Yeah, well, she buckles in the
night I
hear the
meaning of life has been written down On the
back of a
holy picture In a
boxing club in town Some say the
men of the
ocean As they lie and they lie and they lie And they lie amongst the
waves I
will act as mediator For this score and tree While they compose their manifesto Read my kitchen table over cups of tar-like tea What could beat it for a
life? Seldom-seen creatures of comfort Are moving toward the
light And the
heirs are returning from their fruitless flight Dublin mumbles in the
morning Yeah, well, she buckles in the
night Dublin mumbles in the
morning Yeah, well, she buckles in the
night