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1. |
Fool Ox Heart
05:12
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FOOL OX HEART
I gotta shit tattoo, poked over my heart,
My heart it broke, it broke the gun.
Mark of a fool, that’s what it says,
A botched aleph, that stains my breast.
But beneath the skin, if you could see,
My heart it beats, it beats out hard for you.
Sometimes at nite it beats so hard
it tries to pound the ink outta my flesh.
But when I lurch up an’ the lite goes on
an’ I look down all I see’s an inky mess,
When I lurch up an’ the lite goes on
I’m stuck with this motley breast.
When I left you, I’s ‘bout half drunk.
On the aeroplane, I got full up.
The cabin crew, didn’t give me lip,
They all could smell, my heart was ripped.
An’ with every throb it renews the wound
the lung it heaves an’ I start to cough.
Haven’t had a smoke for 3 days now but it’s no use
I cough an’ cough an’ cough.
But don’t ya worry darlin ‘bout my thuds,
I got the constitution of an Ox,
Gonna take make much than a little cough
‘fore this beast bows to the chopping block.
I took the train to Friedrichshain,
When I arrived couldda used a line.
Scored some dope from some turkish kids,
Plopped in a park and sucked it in.
Can’t ya hear it babe? Don’t ya feel it thrash?
Can’t ya hear it bash an’ crash ‘gainst my breastbone?
Like a stone bashed fish waged ‘gainst current
my heart battles it’s way back towards it home.
But when I lurch up an’ the lite goes on
an’ I look down to peruse the inky mess,
I know no mop will do besides your hair
to wipe it up an’ even that won’t erase it.
I’m just a fool, with an Ox heart,
Ox aint so dumb, fool aint so smart.
I think of you, your heart so raw,
Your precious heart, cupped in it’s black bra.
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2. |
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A Queer Child, An Aberration.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away,
in a cabin in the woods on the edge of a lake,
a baby boy was born.
A queer child. An aberration.
He couldn’t cry but wouldn’t be quelled from screaming.
Born with teeth he would thrash in his cradle gnashing his tiny jaws
taking big ol’ bites outta the orange sky and turning it purple.
His mother didn’t dare give him suck.
No, his mother didn’t dare give him suck,
An’ the father left the cabin with his ax for the woods
a little bit earlier each morning,
Returning home later and later with each passing nite.
The child’s screams were heard upon departure and arrival alike.
Unfed, the aberration ate the air in his room
until everything turned fuchsia and so cold
you could see his
breath chomps.
Still hungry he fed on the bed, the hearth,
The chimney, the eaves, until the entire cabin,
Roof and all, was enveloped in a shadow like a bruise,
That had nothing to do with the clouds or the trees or the slant of the Sun.
Indeed, some song folk ‘round there
still claim
he was the chosen one.
Whatever that means.
‘And what happened to the child?’ one might ask?
‘How did it survive there in the cabin in the woods on the edge of a lake?
All alone with no ma or pa to fend for it?
Who kept the wolves from loping the cradle?
Which flick of a wrist staved off the wasps?’
Well, there are many tales with as many endings.
Every drunkard in that land will trade you their thoughts for a shot,
But perhaps the question shouldn’t be
how the child survived there in those pines on the edge of the lake,
But how
the woods and the water couldn’t survive the child.
Yes. For it’s true.
Ever since that time all the fish have died
and no beast will dare to sup of it.
No birdsong, no berries, no orange light lingers
within those purple woods anymore.
He was a Queer child. An aberration.
A real Queer child. An aberration.
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3. |
Phoenix Cat
05:58
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Just a little bit of improvisation.
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4. |
Beauty Queen
05:10
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BEAUTY QUEEN
Brother never leaves the basement
Sister cowers in her 9 to 5,
It’s been exactly three an’ a half hours since I last got high.
Dad was a swimming shark,
Captain of the football team.
Ya know that buck-toothed frock
even pulled the homecoming Queen.
Doncha know my mama was a Beauty Queen?
Again and again and again.
You betcha my mama was the Homecoming Queen.
Uncle Joe’s never been the same
since he got in that last Harley crash,
Little cuzzin Jimmy in a halfway house
fresh out of rehab.
(Jimmy boy what happened to you?)
Ya know I swear his old man
was born with a can in his hand,
If he rolls that van one more time he gonna be dead.
And doncha know that be so sad.
Again an’ again an’ again.
Crocodile smile ya better get yer ass back in check.
Don’t become another kamikaze next of kin,
Another pile-up waiting to happen,
Better buckle up tight, pull them straps right in!
Marie Darlene stole a car,
Made it far as North Dakota,
Ya know they hauled her ass back
an’ through her into a wilderness camp.
(chopping wood and all that jazz)
When ma and pa went to pick her up,
Their truck crashed down the pass,
Papa almost drowned, ma nearly broke her back.
An’ doncha know that be so sad.
Again an’ again an’ again.
Ma I won’t go steppin on them sidewalk cracks.
Jus’ don’t become another kamikaze next of kin,
Another pile-up waiting to happen,
Better buckle up tight, pull them straps in!
Yer a jack-knife slicing up chunks of sin,
Calling in the nieces of distribution,
Grandpa was a lech, grandma found gassed in her car!
(You know pa found her in the garage?)
Again an’ again an’ again.
(Can ya picture it, can you, what that swimming shark saw?)
Brother never left the basement,
Sister died in her 9 to 5,
An’ once I finish this song ya know I’m gonna get real high.
If there’s a warning here,
It’s to steer clear of yer dynasty,
But doncha know it’s real hard
when yer mama was the homecoming Queen?
She was a beauty Queen,
Again an’ again an’ again,
Betchya bottom dollar my mama was the homecoming Queen.
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5. |
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BITCHES GEM
(of Lady Macbeth)
When first we met, the crowning jewel
lodged in your diadem,
Shined like a bite of white sky
gnawed off from heaven on high
–It hurt my eyes.
Now there you go in your ratty robe,
Fingering your rhinestone clothes,
The crease of dread
slashed across your forehead
a dent from your diadem.
Now I don’t fret ‘bout what them witches brew,
Since that last dream I had about you.
You said only Lady Macbeth
could compete with your breath’s treachery
–I don’t doubt you.
Because you smoke too much!
And you drink too much!
You flash yer talons
and stomp hooved feet!
Demanding nothing less
than the rawest, choicest meat.
Already well imbued with trust issues,
Now I got proof that you are a spy,
I hope your espionage
can justify my lies.
But your diadem, with it’s bitches gem,
Has become rust encrusted.
It’s grown into your head,
Can’t even take it off
–You were right about Lady Macbeth.
So flare up a menthol vogue, and stub it out,
And get yer ass back into bed.
Come and smother me
with your cutthroat breath.
Because you smoke too much!
And you drink too much!
You flash yer talons
and stomp hoofed feet!
Demanding nothing less
than the hardest, sweetest treat.
Yeah, you smoke too much!
And you drink a lot!
You flash yer talons
you stomp hoofed feet!
Your posture misaligned
with the bloodline of Furies.
Now that bitches gem
in your diadem,
Looks like it’s been kicked across the floor,
But you don’t try to shine it up,
You want more . . .
You want more . . .
You want . . .
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6. |
Fissures
04:04
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7. |
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HOME ON THE RANGE
(Traditional with London Lyrics)
O’, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer an’ the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
An’ the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the range,
Where the deer an’ the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
An’ the skies are not cloudy all day.
Though I turned out my lite, I’ll be missing you tonite,
Yer my lover, that is assured,
But in the cold grey of dawn, I’ll pull my cowboy boots on,
Think of you an’ mutter a curse word.
Lover, lover, estranged,
We did that thing an’ took too much cocaine,
An’ we yabbered all nite long, you through yer sexy things on,
An’ we fucked away a rare sunny day.
We did it again baby, the only time it’s nice out anymore,
We’re hiding away, in your old loft bed,
Hiding away from the Sun, in London.
So just give me a home, where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer an’ the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
An’ the skies are not cloudy all day.
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Rasp Thorne Berlin, Germany
Rasp Thorne is a writer, musician and performer based in Berlin.
Current musical
projects: DRUCKS, CHAGRIN, Silk Rut (Berlin)
Previous bands include: Rasp Thorne & the Briars, LaZY SHaRKS (London) Ryder Pales, and SPAR HORNET (NYC)
Along with solo songs he has also recorded poetry extensively.
'Etched in the Ether', a collection of lyrics, is available now through CHAGRIN PRESS
... more
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