The Wake

Trip this shit man, it’ll free your mind
Swallow it
But only if you want

And make no mistake
I’m no babysitter
And if you don’t know your way, you’re soon to get lost

Squashed under thick heavy block chords
Over-amplified and distorted by the child on the organ
Those rhythmic flourishes on the attuned electric battleaxe will be of no comfort
And those lumpy, oddly shaped pulsations invigorating the madness
They’ll hardly consolidate that feedback into some sort of package
It’s one hell of a dull blade man
And it sticks into the most profane of places

Still yearning for my hand?
Skin yer knees and supplicate me baby
Cuz I might just give you what you ask
I hold a big bad gun and I point it freely
I could make you bleed all over the floor

SQUEEEALL!!

Oh no, my baby runs away
Leashed round the throat
Back to the coast
Probably back to Carolina
Out to find a sailor
Waiting for the weather

I can see her through my shades
I know the room is dark

But if you’re in this for the end

Let us get down on the carpet

Impress a crimson rash
I can hit it sideways
Just like…
Just like…
Sister-Ray said

Ohhh,

Ohhh,
Whip it on ‘em Jim

SQUEEEALL!!

Whew, I just peaked

It’s still not over?

No end
Sticks on strings, fat ribbed inappropriate viola strings,
There is sound and pain
Buzzing ataxia
Sinusoidal sound wave needles threading copper panic
Through a nervous system’s tingling ebb too placid to defend

Let it coarsen and crackle exposed to raunchy oxygen
Burning tears into your cheeks until you’ve become someone.