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Shriekback lyrics: Faded Flowers/Nemesis

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Tim Scott

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Nov 13, 1990, 1:17:36 PM11/13/90
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To make up for the fragmentary post of yesterday, here's
a treat for Shriekback fans who find the liner of
"Oil and Gold" indecipherable.

(People who don't care, hit 'n' now...)

Faded Flowers

this is the sound of poision, a sickness no one knows
no one is crying for us this time, our shapes
are blearing under miracles of snow

weave a circle round him three times
you have to plan your moves at these times
our hearts are breaking, one more song to go

a splash and hiss, beyond all measuring
only the anacrusis [yup, look it up] the main event remains
shameful and naked out here in the great cold
outdoors we have to learn these things again

bathe in this incandescent glow
may leap to something, i don't know

[this is on the sleeve, but the actual lyrics, i think are:
maybe this incandescent glow
can lead to something, i don't know ]

there is no doubt upon us when
the greasymen [yup, that's what it is] come back again

these faded flowers, precious as memory
a veil of cloud, correct as energy
we had some good machines, but they don't work no more
i loved you once, don't love you anymore

these eyes are blind, this is a pure thing
these hands i kiss, tragic as anything
these eyes are blind, this is a pure thing
these hands i kiss, tragic as anything...

Nemesis

In a jungle of the senses, tinkerbelle and jack the
ripper. Love has no meaning, not where they come from,
but we know pleasure is not that simple. Very little
fruit is forbidden; sometimes we wobble, sometimes
we're strong. But you know evil is an exact science:
being carefully, correctly wrong.

[*]Priests and cannibals, prehistoric animals;
everybody happy when the dead come home.
Big black nemesis, Parthenogenesis, no one
move a muscle till the dead come home.--

We feel like Greeks, we feel like Romans; centaurs and
monkeys just cluster 'round us. We drink elixirs we
refine from the juices of the dying. We are not
monsters, we're moral people! And yet we have the
strength to do this. This is the splendour of our
achievement: call in the airstrike, with a poison kiss.

[*]

How bad it gets, you can't imagine: the burning wax,
the scent of reptiles. God is not mocked, he knows our
business. Karma can take us at any moment. Cover him
up; I think we're finished. You know, it's never been
so exotic. But I don't know my dreams or visions, we
could still end up with the great big fishes.

[*]
[*] to fade
--
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Tim P Scott . . sending from: Spectragraphics Corp.
9707 Waples St., San Diego CA 92121 [USA]+619-587-6834
Try: sc...@spectra.com or ...{ucsd!}nosc!spectra!scott

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