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Rated: E · Lyrics · Music · #2171792
I found a copy of some old recordings, and this song's lyrics intrigued me...
Whiskey Gods

You admonish that child,
For having some dirt on his face…
Now you’ve set up a monster
Right in that child’s place.

Welcome to this new old street,
It’s new to you and old to me,
You’re miles, miles, miles from home,
This is the heart of the city.

You arrived at this pretty dive,
There’s a band taking the stage.
You quote what repression you hold,
Write it down and burn the page.

Burn one down, stand mystified,
Like the first bird that flew.
Your god’s all soaking in whiskey
And your devil is singing the blues.

The music’s over, the sun is rising,
You’ve never seen it quite that colour.
Strange new creatures behind your face
Say now you can love another.

You can take your joy from beauty,
Instead of money from devastation.
We’ll give you a tower and a megaphone,
You can shout to the warring nations.

Draw a picture of the moon on your floor,
Say it looks a bit like your father,
You can say that the earth is your mother
While warring on her shoulders.

But you can bow right out of that game,
that game it ain’t a part of you.
Your god’s all soaking in whiskey
And your devil is singing the blues

The sails are tall, the ocean is green,
Grandpa’s in a zoot suit covered in steam,
He’s jiving to Stompin’ Tom out in the street,
Maybe that’s wrong, but he’s doing his thing.

Spreading the way a family should,
He’s got six grandkids and a pile of wood…
The eldest said his life makes his blood boil,
He’s going to run to Alberta, get his hands in oil.

Fistful of cash, you’re never going back,
Got a generation to prove wrong.
When we become dumber than what me make
You’ll fall in love with a plastic radio song.

She said she’s an artist, her eyes are profound
With her long purple hair and razor frown,
Painting old colours upside down,
The good teacher said get out of this town.

Her magic man’s found at the bottom of a beer can,
Do you feel bigger now?
Breathe deep man, you’re still on your feet,
You can still breathe life into this town.

Draw a picture of the moon on your floor,
Say it looks a bit like your father,
You can say that the earth is your mother
While warring on her shoulders.

But you can bow right out of that game,
that game it ain’t a part of you.
Your god’s all soaking in whiskey
And your devil is singing the blues.





It was weird finding a copy of this old album that I thought I'd completely lost. This song wasn't musically the most interesting, but the lyrics were such a crazy form of shotgun delivery that I pretty much had to try and decipher them as if someone else had written it. This is from at least eleven years ago, and I don't remember writing this one. It's such an extreme example of my old school style of ranting song and poems, that it's kind fascinating to me.
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