My Wall
ineedinsanity


And I do walk upon Wan’s Dyke
And I do survey the land
And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands
For I am Wodan,
Though, some call me Hermes,
Some call me Roman Mercury,
God of cargos,
God of weather,
Hanging God of boundaries,
Hanging God of Gibbet Hill
Killing God of hidden doorways.

Spinning the yarn from Wansdyke to Silbury
Spinning the taelbook, telling the tale
Telling the tellbook to all and sundry
Keltiberians and Irish Gael
Then I hear camp followers bellow afar
Their shrieking lament for Johnny Guitar:

"Look to the farthest far horizon
Look to the bloodlust deepest scar
Look to the scattering Brythonic uprising
For this be the wall of Johnny Guitar

There be the ditch that you shall die in
Here be the wall that I shall cry on
Ditch dug with antler and ox bone shovel
This rising wall that shades our ancient hovel."

Look to the north a quick mile yonder
Look to our Yggdrasilbury
Look to the Saxon chasing Viking
Look to the Norman chasing Saxon
Look to the German chasing German
German German German German
Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar

"Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
Sub bass clinging to the sides of the valley
Sub bass ringing in each last ditch and combe
Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom."

To rage in sound this valiant despair
Doom and gloom as each a splendid pair
To rage in sound the valiant despair:

Not Abraham,
Not Moses
And not Christ
Neither Jove to whom we sacrificed,
Not Attis
Not Mohammed,
But to hilltop Thor
We rave and dance and weep and we implore:
Look to the farthest far horizon
Don’t blame the messenger,
Don’t blame the messenger,
Look to the farthest far horizon
Don’t blame the messenger.
Don’t blame the messenger,
For I am Death so Ragnarock with me
For I am Doom so Ragnarock with me.

And I stood upon Wan’s Dyke
And I did survey the land
And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands...

And then I was King Vikar with his arms outstretched
And then I was King Vikar with his broken neck
And then I was the villain and the victim and the priest
Was grim misunderstanding and was grim as death itself

My Wall My Wall caught in the thrall of my Wall
My Wall My Wall caught beneath the thrall of my Wall.

Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom.

Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall

Mothers to your bosoms,
Grab your child and sing,
As to your breasts cascade and sing:
Brothers and fathers,
Down to the thing in the middle of the town
To judge at the thing

These the effeminate priests of Frey
That don their drag
And shriek through the day
That drag their God through the muddiest fields
Spilling seed to raise the yields
These the odd castrated womb-men
On this onerous land of no men

There the infernal priestess of Freyja,
These her people layer on layer
Then the infernal priestess of Freyja
Visiting the farms
The seething seer
Visiting the farms
And rarely leaving
Mounting the tumulus
The people grieving
Dodens doddering dead and dying.

Hear the modest priests of Ing
Who’s harkening always let us sing
That let’s us free our tightest waistband
Let’s us fertilise our own land
Spunked entire nations from one phallus
Spunked the vegetation into being
Spilled the super seed into the one day superceded earth.

Old Mother Fucker
She was a cocksucker
To give her poor family a home
Went down on their ding song
And drank for a sing song
But ended her sad life alone.

Around the church in Yatesbury the dead
Lie scattered underneath the sacred yew
As Sheila the Witch attending Sunday prayer
Praises a God but never tells them who
And from my Wall observing Sheila the Witch
Praises her God but never explaining which.

And every Monday night by the light of Moon
Those Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells
Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells

And Doggen can testify to my claim
That the Christians of Yatesbury are Christian in name
But their stomping pounding actions attest
To their Christianity happiest at rest
And Doggen who played at the John Stewart Hall
Can attest that its keeper is the heathenest of all
Is a shapeshifter tending to her hogweed hidden
And her dear Paul wallows in the village pond nay midden

For all of us are boundaried by Wan’s Dyke at the west
And the great world hill which spies us and can never let us rest
Bringing on Iranian Mithra
From its home beneath the east
Caught always in the thrall of my Wall
Caught always in the thrall of my Wall

Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my wall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my wall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall
Stand in the thrall of my wall

Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom...

Don’t blame the messenger of gloom,
Don’t blame the messenger of doom,
For this be the Ragmarockingest aeion
In stillness O’Malley and Anderson play on... play on... play on...

The Sea Priestess
ineedinsanity


On the sea coast of Tibet
Egyptian Aztecs are arriving from Norway
They've been varnishing the woodwork for forty-three centuries
Here, Nature is naked, her acrobats bathed in blood
There's a beast of prey on the threshold of pleasure
And the giantess, sea priestess, beckons the passers-by
"Do not lose sight of the sea. Do not lose sight to the sea."
Her wizened mouthpiece whistles with silver fishes
Swirls of spider-crabs crackle like Wimshurst mechanicals
All around her, jellies are diaphanous

After washing myself clean, I had breakfast with the sea priestess
Whose sibilant esses are escaping gas from the sea floor
The sea priestess lays on a bed of nails
Twenty-seven lead soldiers at her head
The sea priestess is escaping gas
The grass that grows is turned to gas
Gas fired from a gun, herbal hydrogen
If it goes any faster there'll be an astral disaster
If it goes any faster there'll be an astral disaster

We spent the rest of time
With furious faking of dreaming
Pissing tiny diamonds, and passing the time wondering
Whether we should walk down the same path
That had introduced us to the valley the day before
I was woken three times in the night
And asked to watch whales, listen for earthquakes in the sea
I had never seen such a strange sight before
Somehow I think the soft verges of insanity
At the hard shoulders of reality
Point past signs posted in the past sea
It's probably a lack of poor visibility
And something special in the sand
And the essences the rocks on the seashore make

The men here are desiccated like mummies
Been out in the sun for thousands of years, walking along
The women stuff themselves full of collagen and other animal remains
I don't think we'll stay here long
As soon as the ships have been rebuilt, we'll be out of here
Into the sun

Our ship was wrecked on the sea coast of Tibet
The first thing we saw were several Egyptian Aztecs arriving from Norway
Here all nature is naked
We watch acrobats bathing themselves in blood
And over the doorway is a beast of prey
Straddled on the threshold of pleasure
And a giantess, sea priestess, beckoning the passers-by
She implores them, "Do not lose sight of the sea."
She says, "Do not lose sight to the sea."

Paranoid Inlay
ineedinsanity


Serenity is a problem
When you get this close to Heaven
But you really want to see
The wonders of the underworld
I caught Saint Peter's disease
As he rattled his keys

Serenity is a problem
Serenity is a problem
Such a paranoid inlay
Hand-painted, pain by numbers, just join the dots

Serenity is a problem
Serenity is a problem
Bloody British bulldozers
These vegetables are suicidal

It seems concussion suits you
It seems concussion suits you

Dear Diary, I must take risks
I must not be afraid of failure
What do I need to give up?
Crystalline ladders, shiny things, mirror-balls

On a clear day I can see forever
That the underworld is my oyster

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