BONS MOTS RECORDS
Clear Vinyl (October 14, 2016)
BONS MOTS RECORDS
1st CD pressing: Edition of 150 w/ silkscreened sleeves [OUT OF PRINT] (June 4, 2005)
2nd CD pressing: in jewel cases (June 2006)
Hell Is Eux Autres
LYRICS:ÉCOUTEZ BIEN. pamplemousse, petit chien. ça ne fait rien. arc-en-ciel, et le chagrin. ça ne fait rien. un ambulance, ligne de chance. écoutez bien. pomme de terre, et chapeau vert. écoutez bien
OTHER GIRLS. the other girls tell me that you don’t love me, you think I’m déclassé. I should wash my hair. the other girls tell me that you eat at the old buffet downtown, with the foot balloons. I sing your praises like a bird. my faith is unshakeable. the other girls walk hand in hand along the skyway to the bank, whistling secret songs. they play a board game meant to instruct them in what life has in store. two of them always win. I sing your praises like a bird. my faith is unshakeable. I wrote your name on an index card, so you can come to me in a flash. a blinding and instructive flash. oh, bailey.
SALUT LES COPAINS. laissez faire. salut les copains. de temps en temps tu es très très bien. mais quelquefois je pense que tu es une chienne.
THE SUNDANCE KID. and me, I failed to understand that I’m a shadow of your man. you found a debutante. worthy of epic denouement. a foil flattered by the inattention. the sundance kid. who needs a life when there’s a life who needs you? cold cocked by laxity. anthropologic scrutiny. could you indulge me in this one convention? I’m standing by to light your cigarette (that was my cigarette), and burn your castle down. left my life alone (moving toward you). tried to find a home (I adored you). soon I was to find (waiting for you). home it wasn’t mine (what else could I do?).
THE THINGS THEY CARRIED. right, you’re right. ready to go. your pebble is in my mouth so long. martha, be a virgin. fourteen hours a day. ninety-five degrees in the shade. bug juice and a grenade. boom down just like a bag of cement. your tweed it itches in my mind. I burn your letters. you made me join the bones brigade. a cross for jimmy.
WIND AND WINDOWS. window needs a dressing and the roster needs your blessing. and still I can believe it’s temporary. when you cross the doorway, we will reach our former glory. if you plan to confess. who’s been bleeding on your ceiling. I’m right. did she promise you that she’d need no life? do you think she’d make an understanding wife, always breathing through a straw? lightening strikes the chorus. if it’s frightening they’ll ignore us. on deaf ears it’ll fall. wind and windows. every waking hour is a countdown until I roll into bed. it’s a blessing, second guessing. I’m right. I know I’m right. if I could make myself stop breathing I would mean it this time.
PARTICK NIL. phone the help desk. snowstorms slow our progress. pants to the public houses smell like rubbish. ride round on the underground. does nothing but compound our problems. in these places, finding traces of the spaces we once loved. six nations can’t distract me from govan station or your hackneyed attempts to win new supporters are lacking. we’ll be heading home, cap in hand. stoned in the valley sure beats egged in the alley. former glories overshadow promotional stories. hey mate, don’t you rate my pal? we only meant to take the piss. our good intentions never mentioned the conventions we hold dear. jags making progress. getting shit on the train from the toothless sound of rails. politically infested trails. I never thought it’d turn out this way.
CAROLINA! carolina carolina quietly. carolina carolina fall asleep on me. a landmark where we found each other. an island in a market friendly sea. you dropped the names. I ducked for cover. I watched you prune your family tree. I know you’re from another region. full of giant panted legions. and so if for no other reason. carolina? I wanna, I wanna, I want to waste your time. there are some letters you want to see. I’m unsure if they’re dj or jd. but I know they’re not m or e. carolina? I wanna, I wanna, I want to waste your time. carolina, I want to pass you by.
LE PROJET CITRON. ten thousand lemons don’t make a renegade. ore don’t fade. the juice our stainless brethren produce. their hands are clean but they have nails under their nails. the course our father figures endorse. they love machines but they have sales under their nails. the plan: our needs belabor the man without the dream. but they have pins under their skins. the toil, the opportunity spoiled without machines. but they have nails under their nails.