The Horrors Album

Walking down the streets late at night,
Night is crawling and something's here,
I've seen him in my dreams,
Oh no, Jack The Ripper.

Every now and then my mother calls,
Running around disturbing growls,
I've seen him, in my dreams, Oh no,
No, Jack The Ripper.

Now my mother's dead and buried,
We found her bones everywhere,
I've seen him, in my dreams,
Oh no, Jack The Ripper.

Walking down the streets late at night,
Night is crawling and something's here,
I've seen him in my dreams,
Oh no, Jack The Ripper.

Jack screams, No.

Count
Yeah I count in fives.
I do it everytime.
And If another number confronts me
I will cut you in half.

Irrespective of the subject
I will make it apply,
no matter what the object
I will count in fives,
just tell me the location
I will stand outside...

Oh yeah,
if you give me too many
I will multiply.
Force too many into my hand and
I will not comprehend.

Oh yeah,
another number confronts me
and I force it to divide.
The first time with someone holding my hand. The second, me holding it out.

Tally tally.

Oh yeah,

if you try to deceive me
I fell it burn in my hand.
Now watch the numbers run to me as
I count them in fives

Butcher the paper with a ravenous pen, Carving out trees and scoring skin
Animals too placed in plastic cages, carted around these filthy pages
I will draw Japan
Spectres holding sceptres with fingers thin, empty vessels asserting,
We are still King, we are still King
Black stuff running like nosebleed danger
Swarming towards the scource of the noise
I will draw Japan, with fervent hands
Black cells depict a foreign land ,I draw Japan
Sleeping city emits no sound, in this compound
No beast awalks, in this compound
No beast awalks, in this compound
I will draw Japan with a ravenous pen, hungry for oil and iron and tin
To your left a concrete factory, smoke billows, fists punch, Victory!
And my hands start shaking, and Japan starts shaking
And I begin to draw out Japan, in the shape of a man
Seen rushing through a market town, through the compound
No beast awalks in this compound
No beast awalks in this compound

Today I found a baby's glove
Lying on the drainage board so still
Yesterday a leather glove from the slim hand of a woman
The next time I saw one it was lying half frozen and twisted on the kerb..and I...Now I have my own private collection
All lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors
Now I have no room for my obsession
Lined up and labelled in neat little packets
The next time I saw one it stuck inside my head and became all that I could think about
I'll think twice before I pick it up this time
Since I thought about what it had done and where it had been and who it had belonged to
And I'll twice before I pick it up this time
I thought about who it might have done and where it had come from and what it might have belonged to
The next time I saw one I had that itching sensation but my hands stayed by my sides and I couldn't take it
And through wax seals and padlocks... A hand through my ribcage
Past the choking I saw palms and fingers grasping shoulders...collarbone...crushing
I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages, forward and right, freeing myself like a butcher, feeling the mash of bone and sinew running slowly down the front of my body... and I couldn't take it any more, I said, I've got to go, I've got to get out of here, and I ran down the street, I've got to get out of here, I've got to go..

Morgan moves back to the familiar charms of his fiery days when Morgan still felt something.
No longer, Morgan's like a slave, three feet of paper and a family of four.
Morgan wonders why his wife is so slow, blames his wife for his slow love.
He shakes his head as he climbs into bed,
Grits his teeth as he moves between the sheets.
Morgan feels like sudden laughter when he sees.
He doesn't sleep much on account of a terrible pain in his head.
And sometimes Morgan sits up in the loft reading from a book of children's stories.
Jaws no ordinary sucking harder, sagging eyelids & pocked cheeks,
Intelligent the television buzzes & crackles & preaches
Morgan feels like his family have made a conscious effort to cause him misery.
His taste buds have deserted, sneaking away from his wife's cooking.
Morgan dreads the family meal, clenching one hand under the table.
The bland wall hangings nod at the food in recognition. They are far too familiar with one another.

Now, listen
Well I don't want to question your decision,
In my opinion you've made an excellent choice.
I don't want to put the doubt in your mind
In my head , well, you're just fine excellent choice
Excelent choice, excelent choice.


Morgan's work for minimum wage is no comfort whatsoever.
He thinks about the items that have sapped his money over the years, shoe polish, oven cleaner, vacuum bags, sugar substitute.
A pathetic collection of unwanted gifts and dream-sapping commerce.
Any creative reserves once stored are long gone.
Morgan seethes at the realisation he has given his children too much of the little he has.
Morgan wishes his family dead.

Now, listen
Well I'm not trying to alter your opinion,
I'm so happy that you've finally found your voice
I don't want to put the doubt in your mind,
In my head, well, you're just fine excelent choice
Excellent choice, excellent choice (x2)


Lacking imagination, and full of despair, Morgan turns tail and leaves without a word.
The door shuts compliantly as he moves outside.
Morgan crunches down the path with regular, driven feet, pushing through the grey clouds escaping his mouth.
Approaching the train tracks, he sighs, lays flat across the line, and shuts his eyes.

I press your hand in mine however cautiously, I keep a smile right to myself
And I lapse into the grasp of an overriding obsession
And I get sick as I watch my interests fall into suspension
This Winter
So cold, Creeping down your arm
Stealth soldiers, Creeping around your palm
It's hard, hard to understand
Little victories won creeping around your hand
The sickness has taken hold through violent, blurted syllables
Escape my mouth under my breath
The voice of pricking dread is whispering insistent in my ear
My paranoia galvanised by your gaze, so austere
This Winter...
I pinned your crest to my chest, hoping it might start to look right
There was hushed talk of young boy's corpse lying face down in some river
His hands used to move like mine
I can't stand myself this morning, i am practically that boy
No strength to endure, Ghostly insecure, Pallid through lack of choice
This winter...

She's a special girl you know, the kind I'd hope to see, hanging on a wall, watching me cross the street
I wonder how long it will be before I'm sick of her, and I no longer care where she goes or has been, because she's the new thing
Feel my stomach sink. Whatever she brings, I cast myself in
She is the new thing
It started so slight then I flared into life, attention again onto another new thing
Once she had me on my knees, enamoured with disease
Now, she fails to impress
A different sickness
A different kind of sickness, lacking any interest
And I, sunk in apathy, totally absorbed in me
Sitting vacant on my own, my senses lying prone
She was the new thing
Feel my stomach sink and I curse my slow limbs
Staring at her, alterior girl, I cast myself into whatever she brings...
Another new
With sickness, it ends how it begins: First mine then hers, and then the cycle blurs as my actions reoccur through no fault of my own, through no fault of my own

Sheena is a champion of self-reliance
As soon as she needs it
She knows just where the knife is.
Her fingers aren't so fast anymore,
It's been 29 years since she came to these shores

Sheena is a Parasite

Send her back to the sea they cried,
But Sheena spat bile til they let her lie.
She claims she's working for the Lord,
But you know what she's looking for.

Sheena is a Parasite

Sheena's ambition sneers at your routine,
And behind that glass she sits, cold.
If Sheena was buried no one would care,
She hates everyone she knows (no one)

Sheena is a Parasite

Sheena is a Parasite,
Send her back across the sea

Watch them speak in thunderclaps
No one more or much as Jack
It's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bone
One more for the slaughterhouse
CHANT
Force from the butcher, machine-like
One mighty hand at shoulder height
Feet tread heavy on black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingers
One more for the Chopping board
CHANT
Cast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyes
CHANT
Thunderclaps fly through low-light
Jack sits amongst them in the sky
There's no place here for me tonight but Jack needs no invite
Lunging for the meat and prize Lunging with his roving eyes
CHANT
Hours go by In thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go on
RANT
I'll do myself in, I'll pick up this thing
Sits heavy in my hand
I'll do myself in

[No lyrics]

Outside a Train roars, the clatter is deafening
Louder than everything, drowns what you were saying
And the Boys get on the back of that train
Their clamour is deafening, It is louder than everything
And they accept no warning
And me in my brilliant red shirt
And my shirt hangs open at the neck
The Train is always passing through
Male passengers turn their heads, following the passage
of a beautiful Ducchess running from carriage to carriage
And it ploughs through the city, and everyone rides the Train
It ploughs a primal instinct to rail against better sense
The Train is always passing through
And me in my bloodstained shirt, my body hangs open at the neck
It is always passing through, through me
The bodies on the back of the train they stink of greedy sex
Leave a trail of instinct and roses and things

On a night of weddings he decides to change the setting,
And as he feels himself start to sicken,
Oh too late for Jimmy,
Adjusts his goggles as the fog begins to thicken.

Under shadow of the chapel he saw Jimmy run for cover, And pushing down on the accelerator,
Oh too late for Jimmy,
Ducking down as the young man flew over the bonnet.

With a heart as black as coffee he smashed into John and Betty,
Screaming, "No one will ever love you!"
Too late for John and Betty,
And the realisation hit them like a fist,
Like this.

You know what's next for Eddie as he dives behind a pillar,
Looking back on his motorcycle,
Oh too late for Eddie.
Turning around to face the cackle behind him