1. |
Vad ska vi med en till?
02:48
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2. |
Sleep Shite
05:28
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3. |
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A change in the air. Frantic nervous flair
Howling gaze. Blazing sun
A distant trawler
Merts the herring run
House dwellers watch
Boats ebb and surge
Crashing waves wind swept bay
Shrill cries of the tern
Join the elements sway
Catch the wind
Hear the cry
Picture the headlands flashing by
On the wings of a tern
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4. |
Market
05:16
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5. |
omm feat. Patrick Shand
01:12
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I need a silent struggle to keep me standing at attention,
a suit and tie to fight for free speech and coathanger parties
I need your identity solely pejorative
or a trenchcoat; a Trojan horse;
a compulsory black god bleached by a stock prod
I need this corpse seasoned
I need quackery ammunition
I need no permit to be a careerist slaying schematising ‘oh dear’ists
I sink my teeth into blue markets
I lobotomise with a tiny plastic spoon
Look, some of my best friends dwell in sepia-drenched communes,
signalling virtues, or means to keep breathing, or emergency exists
Look, if a brother’s got legs they can sidestep a cesspit
Let them leave me levamisole by the fireplace
but I drip peacefully while they slap the mammary glands of the nanny state
and she’s on ‘Facial Abuse’ and you can see what she just ate
infowars.com is a broad church
I’m a broad guy but I call them bitches
I’ve got a podcast, I’ve got a great ass
Cunt, drool on my digits, where fucking Mao sat,
on his face on a bath mat stained with the Spengler-y piss
manufactured by post-apolitical crydaddies
I am at once alchemist; executioner killing for company; hitching a ride
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6. |
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7. |
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Yes this room is crowded, but right now I feel quite alone.
Don’t get me wrong this women is strong,
Barricading herself from the headache, the thunder, the ponding of waves lunging into my overcrowded already crumpled mind. Heaven of insanity, gorging on any desperate discovery declared on this floor. Enticed to look back, ‘cos for sure it’s a slap, in the face, I see withering dismissal from this foreign place. Eyes of lies don’t dry my internal cry, for you, the jester, the joker, the judge. Good luck with washing your face,
Well right now, I want to douse you out and all away without a trace. Lost and burdened in this embarrassed reflective wake, I break.
Hung suspended yet pouncing on every murmuring mistake.
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8. |
Monica's
07:03
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Oxtered to the Bothy Glasgow, UK
"Oxtered to the Bothy" are a contemporary traditional music group, aiming to create new sounds for folk music, through the fusion of various other styles.
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