1. |
Nequient - Kakistocracy
03:49
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The end of the empire.
Nero live-tweets the fire.
Lunatics take bedlam,
Purify the asylum.
Kakistocracy -
The power of hypocrisy.
Nuclear arsenal
Becomes a child’s toy.
A world of enemies
For him to destroy.
Turn the flock over
To wolves at the door.
They scarcely hide
Fangs stained by gore.
Kneel before the spray-tanned face of destruction
And get over it, losers.
The mob takes revenge
With strength fueled by
A century of resentment.
Read to grab a nation by its pussy
And refuse to let go.
A clown is named ringmaster.
The main event is disaster.
Watch as reason is shackled
And science led to the scaffold.
Exalt narcissism,
Suicidal nihilism.
Obsequious cronies in the wings.
Maggots play at being kings.
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2. |
Nequient - 2°C
02:52
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Stunned silence gives way
To a cry of horror
At the enormity of
This collective failure.
The old world gone -
Hope rejected.
As mercury rises,
Another species dead.
The future lies in
A state of entropy.
Reality sets in,
Though you still deny
The truth bearing down
With your demise.
Patriotism leaves no room
For prejudice in your heart.
So says the hateful betrayer.
American carnage loosed upon the globe.
American carnage - better learn to swim.
There's no solid ground.
Waiting our turn to drown.
Lies will not save you.
Our time is running out.
Our time is gone.
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8. |
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Oh welcome, welcome emigrante,
to my country, welcome home.
Welcome, welcome emigrante,
to the country that I love.
I am proud, I am proud,
I am proud of my foremothers
and I say
they built this country.
And they came from far away
to a land they didn't know,
the same way you did,
my friend.
So welcome, welcome emigrante,
to my country, welcome home.
Welcome, welcome emigrante,
to the country that I love.
I am proud, I am proud,
I am proud of my foremothers
and I say
about their courage.
For they spoke a foreign language
and they laboured with theirs hands,
the same way you did,
my friend.
So welcome, welcome emigrante,
to my country, welcome home.
Welcome, welcome emigrante,
to the country that I love.
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9. |
Tong Po - The End
03:32
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Our time’s come
And there's none left
Will we freeze or will we burn
From the fallout
When we’re bombed out
Or when we’re scorched by the sun
And the clock’s hands
Moving forward
Only 3 left
And the clocks hands
Moving forward
Only 3 left
3 minutes left til the end
They rape they raze they pillage
Poison the sky
Retreat into their castles
While they plot our demise
And the clock’s hands
Moving forward
Only 3 left
And the clocks hands
Moving forward
Only 3 left
3 minutes left til the end
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10. |
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Just who's to blame, the ultimate shame
This reality TV horror show
A dystopia, oligarchs run amok
Just how far will they go?
To strip away our rights
Make illegal the fights
Our last stand for a dying world
With lightning speed
And ferocity
They put us under their thumb
Just who's to blame?
For a party whose game
is a fetid religious regime?
The fingers they point
To conspiracies and the young
Every place but where blame lies
Let's point it where it belongs
Let's unite and pull out their claws
The DNC and pundits
The fucking corporate news
The lobbyists that fund them
For all the shit they spew
To all the monied interests
To all their power games
Who plan to plunder the Earth
Without an ounce of shame
Our crumbling infrastructure
Facing the final blow
Just who's to blame?
Just who's to blame?
For the coming fallout?
Just who's to blame?
Just who's to blame?
For the death of our world?
Just who's to blame?
Just who's to blame?
For the coming fallout?
Just who's to blame?
It's ours to share if
We don't fight back
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16. |
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You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.
If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
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Sassbologna Records Muscatine, Iowa
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