The Blood Brothers Album

These hot machine years burning time across your face
See the smoke stacks rising up like fuck you towers?
My girlfriend sang like a hummingbird today
until that cough stole her voice and fed it to the furnance.

Shrew laugh, trench throat..
There's a party on the 16th floor.
this apartments paper thin walls....
you know your neighbors sobs by heart.
Tight coil, cold grin...
Highways wrapped around my body like a snake.
Got a view of a cement lawn, amputated horizons.
Thanks for the survival rags.
thanks for the soiled skies.
thanks for the fucked up future.
We can learn to love misery.
Was it just last night
that I woke up to a snarling baby?
Did I hear it right?
He begged his mother, Feed me to the forest!


The factory is singing us to sleepless beds tonight.
Lungs like twin garbage sacks sucking charcoal breath tonight.
Sick squeal, dull moan...
Looks like your neighbors found another victim.
Screams Help but no one comes.
honey won't you turn the TV on?
Brown summer, stench wind...
the globe spinning one a rusty hinge.
Get in your car go to your job
like a train that's being robbed.

I've spent 22 years in this zoo of broken faces.
Parents and school children watch me sit on this neon nest, naked.

There's a girl in a cage making love to a switchblade.
There's a man behind bars milking abandoned cars.
There's a priest in shackles building bombs out of bibles.
And piano wire vines and the men in the pines
that spin round and round and round and round and round.

Take me to the pit of celebrity pregnancies.
I want to wear the skin of a magazine baby.
Take me to the pit of celebrity pregnancies.
The five o'clock news is a fucking fantasy.

I stole rice from the beggar's death bowl in this zoo of broken faces.
I told a widow that she was beautiful when half of her smile was missing.
And I've done my addition:
gun plus gun equals bang, bang, bang!
And I've done my division:
trash into trash equals trash flavored trash

I wanna see more dirty places.
Take me to the hall of filthy faces.

There's a girl behind chicken wire coughing up ghosts.
There's a housewife in a cage that vacuums all day.
There's a boy in a toupee speaking in resumes.
And teeth-heads with no eyes on the carousel rides
that spin round and round and round and round and round.

I've paid my submission.
I've seen the petition.
I've done my addition.
And I've done the division:
trash into trash equals trash flavored trash.

Those tire tracks
zigzag your torso like a Devil's self portrait.
The car accident, the skin graft treatment, the flower baskets,
the wincing relatives...

you bid her farewell then you got in your car
and that's the last thing that you can recall.
and when they pulled you out
you didn't know your name
exploding semi truck blurred your face with flame...

you met Jane four years ago today
dancing at some vomit-stained frat party.
Her newspaper gown, glowing headline brown, her violent gypsy dance,
her tired underpants...

Love (x12)
rhymes with pity now
Love (x12)
rhymes with sympathy now

Jane let you touch and feel her
she was so free like a pineapple in a tree
You said it's dangerous
to be so intimate
You know it's dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

Jane said when she laid on her back
the sun hit her body like an ugly landscape.

But some things never get better
like used cars and bad livers.
So you traded her in for a better looking brand.
One with fake porno tits
a pad lock on her lips
disposable tan
biodegradable hands.

Back at the hospital
you got no visitors at all.
She visits you in your sleep,
but that newspaper gown is always on fire (x2)

She met him a week after you left her
when you tossed out her touch to the garbage collector.
He talked her out of her skirt in his beer-soaked apartment
and then they did all the things
you never said that you wanted.
And the sirens are laughing underneath your skull.
And your thoughts are turning dull, callous and cold.
Yesterday you gave your burden a name.
Yesterday you gave your burden a face.

But your burden looks an awful lot like her.

Love (x12)
rhymes with pity now
Love (x12)
rhymes with sympathy now

If the sea shakes like an empty maraca
I know I know I know I know
and she falls in love with the sounds of ships sinking?
I know I know I know I know

Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
If the heavens part and nobody, nowhere, nothing,
every apartment is vacant, every home for rent?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just want to know what your feathers are made out of.
Is it bruises or roses or cradles or coffins? (It's all those!)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
If your friends are all cripple, all wither, all wilt,
I know (x4)
and you smile at their pain on your angel bone stilts.
I know (x4)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?

If the brick you throw puts a bullet in your skull
and a police boot lands atop your gaping jaw?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just wanna know what the babies mouth is full of.
Is it flies or cries or straw?
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?
Which peacock's police? Which peacock is thief?

If machine guns come knock, knock, knocking
Who's cashing out your bad luck?
If wedding bells sound like death knells baby
is a wealthy groom worth all this gloom?
If tuxedos slither off corpses
and copulate wild on wedding cake
and the priest starts snapping photos?
There's a peacock on your shoulder
pole dancing around your neck
while reciting the Book of Revelation.

So who do you love?
Who do you trust when your friends take a match to your front lawn?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.
So who do you love? Who do you trust?
Who do you kill when your senator drags out your first born?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.

If the forests turn to static and the gnarled branches, too?
I know (x4)
Your body starts to fall into a concrete tutu?
I know (x4)
which peacock is beast? which peacock is priest?

If you strike for better wages at the cola factory
and they drink champagne as they kick in your teeth?
Hey Peacock?
What's that?
I just wanna know what his blood tasted like.
Was it like sugar or vinegar or whiskey or dirt? (It's all those!)
Which peacock is beast? Which peacock is priest?


If machine guns come knock, knock, knocking
Who's cashing out your bad luck?
If wedding bells sound like death knells baby
is a wealthy groom worth all this gloom?
If tuxedos slither off corpses
and copulate wild on wedding cake
and the priest starts snapping photos?
There's a peacock on your shoulder
pole dancing around your neck
while reciting the Book of Revelation.

Things are never what they seem, the peacocks static melodies.

So who do you love?
Who do you trust when your friends take a match to your front lawn?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.
So who do you love? Who do you trust?
Who do you kill when your senator drags out your first born?
A panicked face makes the peacock proud.

I wanna tell you about the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse.
C'mon and watch him spread his legs and birth another diva.
Prommageddon pit, smash hit. Prommageddon, chart topper.
Your song is gold like the color of piss (x2)

The Fifth Horseman stuffs the radio (oh oh oh..oh oh)
with singles until it's sick to it's stomach. (oh oh oh..oh oh)
He scouts the dumpsters for a cobweb guitar
to polish into a superstar,
finds the gurgle of a skeleton without love,
turns it into a commercial.

Prommageddon pit, smash hit. Prommageddon, chart topper.
Your song is gold like the color of piss (x2)
He shaves his sideburns into dollar signs,
he mingles with the band,
his mustache made of vines.

A hot tub stuffed with gorgeous ass? (We want it!)
Bronzed lips? Mouth full of cash? (We need it!)
A sizzling tan? Life of the party? (We want it!)
A full-length mirror for every inch of your body? (We need it!)

And when he steals your teen heat
it sounds a lot like...

So store your songs here in the Prommageddon pit
because the kids are spoiled rich
and they don't know shit from shit.

Mr. Howell: The dinner was fine until she opened her mouth.
Oh, Candy! Yeah! Oh, Candy! Yeah Yeah Yeah!
Behind her teeth 15 rats started screaming and sobbing.
Candy girl! Yeah! Candy girl! Yeah Yeah Yeah!

When we were kissing in the car
those rodents smoked cigars in her throat,(Yeah) blowing smoke.
(Yeah Yeah Yeah)
(You turn on the lights and look a bit closer...
there's shutters on her eyes, there's a door on her thigh.)
Oh Candy! Yeah! Candy Girl! Yeah Yeah Yeah!

Candy: These rats are not living inside my hotel face.
They're just sick and they need a bed lined with fine lace.

Mr. Howell: You know that pity's got an ugly price tag.

Rats: Our fur feels like it's on fire.
There's thorns growing on our bones.
Our hunger is x-rated.
Oh, mother, we love you so!
(Candy invites you upstairs, you say it's getting awfully late,
but she yanks your hand through the door.
Her clothes fall off and she presses into you.
But those rats have chewed a hole straight through
her navel yeah.and nipple.yeah yeah yeah.)
Mr. Howell: Oh, Candy. Yeah. I've got to go. Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Candy: Oh, won't you stay the night with me Mr. Howell!

These rats are not living inside my hotel face.
They're just sick and need a bed lined with fine lace.
Mr. Howell: You know that pity's got an ugly price tag. (x2)

Rats: Our muscles have turned to cement.
We're coughing up needles and nails.
Our veins are flowing barbed wire.
Oh, mother, we are so frail! but wait!
We've got a trick for him.
We twist tears into shit eaten grins.

(When you wake up in the morning, (Oh Ooh)you find yourself alone in
Candy's bed.(Ooh) And everything is gone: paintings, jewels, songs.
Candy's blowing in the breeze;(Oh Ooh) those rats devoured her up in her sleep.
(Ooh) Her skin's tied to the bed post like a flag on a ship of ghosts.
You read the letter on the dresser;(Oh Ooh) the sick brown sun rubbing in your soul).

Reading letter: Oh, mother, you should have known.
You should have seen through our fake broken bones.
Our tears that we razor-sharpened were calculated to rob you blind.

Mr. Howell: Three weeks later from that day,
I saw those rats on a bicycle.
They crept by me and started balling,
their eyes turned to icicles.
Crying, "We need a vacancy!"

There's a fire
on Junk Island where
they send their garbage
is anybody listening?

After work we'll watch
the seagulls diving in
and out of the lashing towers of flame.

It twinkles like a pile
of rotting jewels left
to bake in the sun.
Is anybody listening?

We're just like those condom wrappers: used up torn up
thrown away.
And we're just like yesterday's headlines:
drifting, floating, towards the blaze.

If we rob the
liquor store we could
be in Tijuana by the crack of dawn.
If we rob the
mayor's mansion
we could pawn his pawn his modern art and make a fortune.
If we rob the lonely widow
we could steal her credit cards
and buy a cottage by the ocean.
If we swim to Junk Island we'll burn up like the seagulls
and the whiskey bottles.

We're scrapped valentines.
We're tangerine rinds.
We're crimes, crimes, crimes, crimes, crimes. (x4)

And the children
in the subway
eating apple cores.
Is anybody listening?
They're breathing paint out of plastic bags.
Their mumbled mouths say:
"Is anybody listening?"

The carnival's glossy ghosts
zebra-painted horses parade
the cotton candy prostitutes
caramel apple corpses singing:
"Just this way to the neon orange gallows!
Tonight we tie the noose around the killer's collar!
Watch him play his wind pipe organ!"

Just five dollars to see a face explode, to see a man strung up by his throat.
Come one! Come all!
If you look close enough
you'll see death's machinery exposed.

So won't you hold me closer
just one more minute
until the executions over?
just one more minute
Won't you behead another
c'mon we're waiting
won't you shock and entertain us?

The hangman selling tickets to the sparkling death scene.
Tonight we watch the rope choke a conscience clean.
See it up close, see it in person!

His lips spun like revolving fun house doors as the hush kisses at our neck nape.

"Any final words for your loving audience?"
says the man with the dazzling sapphire cape.

So won't you hold me closer
just one more minute
until the executions over?
just one more minute
Won't you behead another
c'mon we're waiting
Won't you shock and entertain us? (x2)

Until the end of the world?

Snap, snap, snap goes the neck.
"Rah, rah, rah!" the audience.
Black, black, black goes his face.
The sky spreads like thighs inside lace. (x2)

Scarecrow, you ruined me.
Now I've caught my hands in the death machine.
They fed my children to the lions;
they made me watch it on the television.
Scarecrow, with your blackbird wives,
I was promised you'd come and save my life.
They chased me down with the farmer's son,
bashed our brains out with an oil drum.
The cross-eyed map of the afterlife is knitting tiny neck ties...

But scarecrow, I'm still alive.
Who sewed me back together to watch the whole world writhe?
Watch me stumble on the cobblestones.
Mothers, grab your children, here comes the town drunk.
Scarecrow, they took my wife.
They tied her to an oak in a field of rye.
They flood the field with kerosene;
as the moths ate the flames their faces beamed.
The bald-eyed map of the afterlife is knitting tiny neck ties..

And the Graveyard Ship flies over us.
The celebrity host walks the plank.
The verse of the day is, "Baby heads planted in the ground don't make baby trees. Thank you, goodnight."

Scarecrow, did you hear about the priest
they found jerking off in the confession booth?
His collar spinning like a top
he looked so pathetic crying to the cops.
Scarecrow, did you hear about the man who locked his daughter
in the basement for 12 years?
They dragged her out of the house to the hungry audience.
The cross-eyed map of the afterlife is knitting tiny neck ties.
The bald-eyed map of the afterlife is knitting tiny noose ties.
The wild-eyed map of the afterlife is knitting tiny death lies.

Ride! Ride! Ride the crippled horse.
Ride the broken mare.
Ride the jaundice buck.
Ride the dead Pegasus.

You're so fucked up, you're a fucking mess.
Ride the naseous horse.
Ride the broken mare.
Ride the bony nag.
Ride the tattered pony.

You're so fucked up, you're a fucking mess.

Manes in your mouth, hooves on your chest.
From the country club, girl. To the crypt now, girl.
Saddle up now, girl.

Climb into the television
stick your horrible nose into every sitcom.
Into the vile game show host's
cockpit mouth and down his throat.
Jump over jungles cooking in napalm.
Leap over nations shaved by carpet bombs.
Into the burning treasury and set the heart attack children free.
C'mon pony, deman your rights.
C'mon pony, demand your rights!

Prance into the halls of Congress, vomit into the speakers lap.
Gallop into your romance novels, dance atop heavy pectorals.

Ride! Ride!

You're so fucked up, you're a fucking mess.
Trash can saddle
ride in the show pony parade
and collapse
and come in fucking last.

Wolf mechanics. Those wolf mechanics.

Today you beat the fortune teller
to death with your bare hands.
Was it his smirk laugh
or the ostrich feather taped to his purple hat?
He read the lines on your palm,
chanting a creole song,
"It is soon you will die, and angels don't take bribes."
Don't linger on the skylgight you smashed between his eyes.
Just run into the alley
and tell jokes to the bricks and rats.
Because one man's murder scene is another's champagne party.
One man's butchered spine is a soldier's war decoration.

Those wolf mechanics flare up again
as you make your way back to the financial district.
The subway is a numb field.
Every dazed boy and girl makes you lick your lips.
The girl with the accordion, chewing grass like a lamb,
she hands you the juicy eye and then she laughs at your pathetic tie.

But don't linger on the grin you gouged in her throat.
Just take the subway home.
But the wife and kids twinkle like stuffed dogs.
You're like the stormy ocean now,
collecting death like driftwood.

But one man's suicide is a credit company's bride.
One man's poisoned mind is a pharmaceutical gold mine.
You bring your kill from the savannah
and bake it in the sun.
The heat warps it's flesh and you see the face of God in the tarry mess.
Those wolf mechanics banging.
Those wolf mechanics crashing.

I just want to join the party,
but the confetti falling is razor sharpened.
I just want to blow out the candles,
but the cake is sprinkled with punctured skulls.
I just want to celebrate,
but the stripper they hired lost both her legs.
I just want to join the party,
but the pinata's stuffed with oil and sand.
I just want the flag to be my baby,
but her kissing breath is so revolting.
Tastes like hospitals, machine guns, burning hair, McDonalds buns.
I peel the wrapping paper back,
and I'm staring at an amputee.
When they fish a corpse out of the pool
the applause light goes beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
And every soldier's spewing black cum from their victory hard on.
I want to celebrate!
And the clown in the fight suit is cracking jokes to the camera crew.
I want to celebrate!

The children smile and clap their hands
when they pull another baby from the rubble.
While their parents scamper for a partner to dance the freedom shuffle.
I just want to join the party,
but the song on the karaoke says,
"If you want to celebrate compassion is crulety and hip, hip, hooray!"
And every soldier's spewing black cum from their victory hard on.
I want to celebrate!
And the clown in the fight suit is cracking jokes to the camera crew.
I want to celebrate!
Wolf-faced gladiators always ruin a party.
They lick your punch, bomb out your windows, feel up your wife,
chew up your clothes.

And every soldier's spewing black cum from their victory hard on.
I want to celebrate!
And the clown in the fight suit is cracking jokes to the camera crew.
I want to celebrate!

Neon black tanks grope the skyline.
Neon black cocks rot into poison wine.
Neon black flowers on the mass grave.
Neon black corpses, stacked, eclipse the horizon.
Neon black whip, war gang hiss;
while Devastator sips from the crystal chalice.
Neon black lemonade drip drips from his grin crammed with cool charm,
culture and opulence.

The bayonets clamor on all night, hemming scars into the hillside.
Devastator sleeps under satin sheets.
"Death campaigns are a fucking gold mine."
And all the swine at the cabaret lick their lips as they clap along.
Devastator, in a negligee, does a strip tease while he sings this song:
"Everybody needs a little Devastation!"

Neon black dirt in the garden.
All the roses blossom into the skulls this season.
Neon black branches hanging from the trees.
Every limb is empty, robbed of pleasant memories.

The fields are throbbing fresh cut bruises.
Devastator violates with dirty fingers.
Neon black flames cook the calm air.
The party's over, what was your favorite gift?
Neon black future charging like a bull with a funeral bouqet ready to explode.