1. |
Dance of the Mummers
05:28
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~~~~~~~~~~
’68, summertime, July, papier mache magpie.
Seven miles of ashen smog and brume blotting out the sky.
A cascade of hail and sheets of rain bringing down the dark.
The iconoclasts shod in bast shoes, they hoot and squawk and bark.
Midnight at midday.
Hessian sackcloth covered face.
Empty playground and the only sound is thunderous drumfire.
Praying parish folk swept from the streets into a new born mire.
The question posed, how is it this is what comes of the true devout?
Knocking at your door, the question asked, are you coming out?
Midnight at midday.
Scattered coins in an ashtray.
Take a sip from the cup, take a look directly up.
They are in your kitchen.
Revel in the night, rest in the day.
We don’t need the light to stage our play.
What looks like a storm is just a bad thought clouded in your mind.
Take a step of the dance and soon enough you will be fine.
What feels like a flood is so called good beliefs that chill your skin.
Let us in to entertain you and the gaiety begin.
Midnight at midday.
These are games that we play.
I was once a proud and sullen child, fearful of the gales,
That blew half the Tees up from the valley and down on our shales.
Now I am a horse, now I am a kiln, now I am a queen.
Now I am the Tees, now I am the great unseen.
Midnight at midday.
Burn it all, burn it all away.
Take a sip from the cup, take a look directly up.
They are your sisters.
Revel in the night, rest in the day.
We don’t need the light to stage our play.
We don’t need a drum to beat out our tune.
We don’t need to work to make a fortune.
Michael, you are a man.
Michael, you more than a man.
Michael, you are a man.
Michael, you are more of a man than I will ever be.
~~~~~~~~~~
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2. |
The Exciseman
03:55
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~~~~~~~~~~
Malkins on the moor, dancing, hands and feet aflame.
Stag men on the moor, dancing in eternal circles.
Alchemist on the moor, dancing in the skillet.
Killing me.
Her fiancée reckons it’s a nice problem to have.
What is right and horrible, my waters move my bones.
No-one died apart from those who did, well it’s what they would have wanted.
She talks about sunk costs, I’m at a loss.
In this competitive marketplace, how do we source the funds for vinyl stickers that say “Live Love Laugh"?
It’s bad enough here.
It’s bad enough here for me.
Is that right enough, pal?
That’s quite enough now from me.
Samhain squeezes in, the darker half is here, throat slit ear to ear.
What is right and horrible, so horrible, the coins that built this home.
No-one left apart from those who died, well what’s wrong with the coward’s way out?
She talks about how the lack of an altruistic and compassionate form of management will invariably lead to industry standards well below acceptable levels.
It’s bad enough here.
It’s bad enough here for me.
Is that right enough, pal?
That’s quite enough now from me.
I’ve blackened fingers, I’ve got some savings.
Never left him, metal shavings.
Cheers yourself up, the devil’s waiting.
I’ve blackened lungs too, and it’s still raining, and it’s still raining here.
Malkins on the moor, dancing, hands and feet aflame.
Stag men on the moor, dancing in eternal circles.
Alchemist on the moor, dancing in the skillet.
Killing me.
Will I see my son?
Devil's in the detail, stag men say "No".
Has the end begun?
Devil's in the inn, try to keep your head low.
Can I die before the setting of the sun?
Devil was with you after all.
Here she lies, here she lies, a hard worker, it’s true
Malkins on the moor, dancing, hands and feet aflame.
Stag men on the moor, dancing in eternal circles.
Alchemist on the moor, dancing in the skillet.
Killing me.
~~~~~~~~~~
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3. |
City of Piss
02:10
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Hold myself like you'd hold onto mistakes,
You have made that have changed the course of all things.
Awful sights, awful sounds.
Left alone in this city.
~~~~~~~~~~
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Platitude Queen Stockton On Tees, UK
Platitude Queen is a folk project by Teesside based musician and certified daft apeth J. S. Gordon (formerly based in Leeds).
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