Every day a deeper breath,
I don’t know how much i’ve left,
In me, i’ve lost the will,
To live, now all is still.

Every day another step,
One foot closer to my death.
It’s the art of decay,
Better to burn, than fade away.

Every day is like the next,
I can’t help but regain conciousness.
No one to devote it to,
That someone, it once was you.

Every day a deeper breath,
I don’t know how much i’ve left,
In me, i’ve lost the will,
To live, now all is still.

My dear friend Lemond and I had a short writing session together a couple of days ago. Just 3 hours with a basic hook, stolen from Willie Wonka, Lemond laid it down on piano, one mic in a room, and lyrics made up on the fly.

I never work this way alone, as I don’t have the discipline. I’ve always got several songs on the go which are slowly added to and completed as and when I feel they’re ready, so it was quite a thrill to work this  fast.

I’ve no idea if this song is any good, perhaps it’s all over the place, disjointed, laboured? I would appreciate an honest opinion though, ruthless is always respected. Up on www.myspace.com/marmadukedando take a listen, it’s called Great Expectations.

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Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Oh the swelling, this unbearable dwelling.
All these lights are an inferno, seering a path through my kernel.
This homunculus is under seige, from this petty need for speed.
Talk of conspiracy? Dismissed as heresy.

Give me, give me, give me detumescense.
Welcome relief from this ape and essence.
Of Man, the severed hand.
That divine amputation with all it’s grand hallucinations of itself.
Give me, give me, give me detumescence.

A most heinous violation of every child in the nation,
But they craved it from conception, a monstrous unnatural selection.
See them pawing at their switches, like petrified ostriches,
Marinetti would be proud, yet all I can do is howl:
“The horror! oh the horror, yes the horror!”

Give me, give me, give me detumescense.
Welcome relief from this ape and essence.
Of Man, the severed hand.
That divine amputation with all it’s grand hallucinations of itself.

Bipedals stand proud, on mother Earth.
Frontal lobe aloud, in multicellular girth.

Give me, give me, give me detumescence.

The path of least resistance, echoed in every instance,
All these glorified troglodytes, fiddling with their kilobytes.
It’s a detail we just can’t pull off, so please please please just make it stop,
The horror, yes the horror, oh the horror!

Give me, give me, give me detumescense.
Welcome relief from this ape and essence.
Of Man, the severed hand.
That divine amputation with all it’s grand hallucinations of itself.

Give me, give me, give me detumescence.

The snivelling remains of humanity,
Scooped up off the floor and served back to itself.
Masticated already in preparation,
For the toothless masses of this dying nation.

If this is civilisation, I want no part in it.

To think one can comprehend so little,
Yet live in such complexity is nothing short of a riddle.
The deeply satisfying myth of progress,
That faceless object that offers divine purpose.

If this is civilisation, I want no part in it.

Another day, another horror.
No one seems remotely bothered.
Sat there all day twiddling little machines,
Sucking on dicks of men they’ve never even seen.

If this is civilisation, I want no part in it.

I would burn my right hand in a slow fire,
To change the future before we expire,

If this is civilisation, I want no part in it.

The division of labour has outsourced your mind,
The spunk’s gone dead, you can’t fuck for your life.

If this is civilisation, if this is civilisation, if this is civilisation, if this is civilisation,

… I want no part…in it

Before I met you I was quite resigned,
To live a life of restless compromise.
How short lived, I would never have guessed.
I’d see your smile descend in parenthesis.

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Sincerely yours,
Despite the rolling eyes,
That have seen it all before,
And don’t wish to see it again,
Well to hell with that and them,
Because I, have finally figured it out…

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I’ll drink to that, I’ll drink to anything and everything, that keeps the spirits high and flowing befriended strangers from going oh anything will do, to occupy the mind of a fool.

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Who would have thought we would go to the moon and stop? To harness the power of swoon and then drop, the reins as if failure were not a choice but preordained by an authoritative voice, who would have thought we would go to the moon and stop?

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Forgive me not for the slightest humility. Question not my plight’s futility. You once handed me your heart, I just crushed it with a laugh. Treat me not as a gentleman, but like the savage that I am…and you’ll have all of me. Yes, I mean all of me. Well, what’s left of me, is yours to keep and do with as you please.

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So you say, there’s nothing here to live for. Everyday I long to hear my name called. Even though I prepare the ground for words to leave you, still they don’t tumble forth so freely.

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