Bracktul Thleecher

by irr. app. (ext.)

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about

Bracktul Thleecher

[eie dig004]

credits

released October 26, 2011

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This EP collects studio and live versions of two tracks that have a related trajectory: 'Black Teeth' and 'Lurcher'. The former was created to be my first publicly-performed 'proper' song and unexpectedly turned into a Nurse With Wound track; the second was created to be a Nurse With Wound but ended up being my second publicly-performed 'proper' song. Both live versions were performed as part of Faun Fables events.

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All final versions mastered in 2011 at Rock Creek Tributary, Hillsboro OR. Specific details are included with the individual tracks.

tags

license

all rights reserved
Track Name: Black Teeth [live at the Oakland Metro, 26-May-2006]
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Another year ending in a bloodless haze
Jumbled up ashes in an unmarked grave
Little green apples, tobacco road:
It's all the same

Begging crumbs from a cracker just to waste my breath
Finding blinders on a dumbshit who's selectively deaf
Bunch of wasted motherfuckers sipping whisky in the gutter
Loafing round the toaster with no bread an too much butter:
It's all the same

Makin whoopee under the Boardwalk at Santa Cruz
With a body that's got no name
Makin whoopee on the promenade at Coney Island
Three thousand miles away
Red bricks in Boston, Black teeth in a jar:
It's all the same

Trading insults with the dogs on the sunless strip
Passing pearls to a stranger with a cloven lip
Little green apples, bloated bodies on the bayou
Gonna make that trip

Try to score some purple at the donkey-end of 1967
Shooting horses in the alley where the saints convene
On the wrong side of the kingdom of heaven
Passed out on the subway, cranked up on the L
Pukin up my liver on the express train to hell:
It's all the same

Makin whoopee under the Boardwalk at Santa Cruz
With a body that's lost its name
Makin whoopee on the promenade at Coney Island
Three thousand goddamn miles away
Little green apples, tobacco road:
It's all the same
It's all the same

And Satan says: Here comes a stop, get off the bus
And the man says: Shut up Satan, I won't get off
And Satan says: Here comes a stop, get off the bus
And the man says: Shut up Satan, Satan shut up
And Satan says: Here comes another stop, get your fat ass off the bus
And the man says: Give me Easter Bunny!
and: I'm sorry that I put my hand over your mouth
And Satan replies:
Repent of your sins! How many angels fit on the head of a pin?
And the man at the back of the bus stands up and cries:
Pick up your cross for Jesus... asshole

etc.
Track Name: Lurcher [2008 demo]
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Dismembered rubber cosmonaut
Sprawled underneath a curdled sky
Grafted to an orchid and the skull of a goat
And waiting to be scattered by the turlock tide.

Wriggling black hordes in every bucket and bowl
Or clustered into scum-skinned waterholes
Hiding under hogweed from branches haunted by crows
And waiting for their turn to rise up and smother the roads

While the collected stones raised by forgotten hands
Pour through invisible holes that only breath can mend
Fences that are raised out of the skin of the land
Peeled up from the horizon and stacked end on end

Pine martens hungry for blood scatter red feather ruin
Forsaken by God but loved by forks and spoons
Still the wind scours down the stones of Lambert's shallow grave
Another handful of dust to feed the seeds of a distant day

Rat-sized and lurching through the mineral puzzle
With a head stuck in a cone and a brine-soaked muzzle
Digging spawn-sodden fields ready to burst their bubbles
Where the ass-puffers lurk and the mud eels squeak and mumble

And the congested mass of the atmosphere
Oozes through the Merzbild membrane
Greasing the receivers, sending sparks down the wires
With friendly silver tendrils of electrical fire
Electrical Fire!

And the piss-bearded beast that once wandered free
Is just a pile of ash and blackened bones and teeth
He lost his ground to the hoarders of dirt and meat
Who carve it into shapes to fit their worthless schemes
The rubber cosmonaut has fallen from his seat
And his domain is being siphoned away into memory
Into memory...
Track Name: Black Teeth [2011 strip]
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Another year ending in a bloodless haze
Jumbled up ashes in an unmarked grave
Little green apples, tobacco road:
It's all the same

Begging crumbs from a cracker just to waste my breath
Finding blinders on a dumbshit who's selectively deaf
Bunch of wasted motherfuckers sipping whisky in the gutter
Loafing round the toaster with no bread an too much butter:
It's all the same

Makin whoopee under the Boardwalk at Santa Cruz
With a body that's got no name
Makin whoopee on the promenade at Coney Island
Three thousand miles away
Red bricks in Boston, Black teeth in a jar:
It's all the same

Trading insults with the dogs on the sunless strip
Passing pearls to a stranger with a cloven lip
Little green apples, bloated bodies on the bayou
Gonna make that trip

Try to score some purple at the donkey-end of 1967
Shooting horses in the alley where the saints convene
On the wrong side of the kingdom of heaven
Passed out on the subway, cranked up on the L
Pukin up my liver on the express train to hell:
It's all the same

Makin whoopee under the Boardwalk at Santa Cruz
With a body that's lost its name
Makin whoopee on the promenade at Coney Island
Three thousand goddamn miles away
Little green apples, tobacco road:
It's all the same
It's all the same

And Satan says: Here comes a stop, get off the bus
And the man says: Shut up Satan, I won't get off
And Satan says: Here comes a stop, get off the bus
And the man says: Shut up Satan, Satan shut up
And Satan says: Here comes another stop, get your fat ass off the bus
And the man says: Give me Easter Bunny!
and: I'm sorry that I put my hand over your mouth
And Satan replies:
Repent of your sins! How many angels fit on the head of a pin?
And the man at the back of the bus stands up and cries:
Pick up your cross for Jesus... asshole

etc.
Track Name: Lurcher [live at Blackbird Farm, 15-Oct-2011]
--------------------------------------

Dismembered rubber cosmonaut
Sprawled underneath a curdled sky
Grafted to an orchid and the skull of a goat
And waiting to be scattered by the turlock tide.

Wriggling black hordes in every bucket and bowl
Or clustered into scum-skinned waterholes
Hiding under hogweed from branches haunted by crows
And waiting for their turn to rise up and smother the roads

While the collected stones raised by forgotten hands
Pour through invisible holes that only breath can mend
Fences that are raised out of the skin of the land
Peeled up from the horizon and stacked end on end

Pine martens hungry for blood scatter red feather ruin
Forsaken by God but loved by forks and spoons
Still the wind scours down the stones of Lambert's shallow grave
Another handful of dust to feed the seeds of a distant day

Rat-sized and lurching through the mineral puzzle
With a head stuck in a cone and a brine-soaked muzzle
Digging spawn-sodden fields ready to burst their bubbles
Where the ass-puffers lurk and the mud eels squeak and mumble

And the congested mass of the atmosphere
Oozes through the Merzbild membrane
Greasing the receivers, sending sparks down the wires
With friendly silver tendrils of electrical fire
Electrical Fire!

And the piss-bearded beast that once wandered free
Is just a pile of ash and blackened bones and teeth
He lost his ground to the hoarders of dirt and meat
Who carve it into shapes to fit their worthless schemes
The rubber cosmonaut has fallen from his seat
And his domain is being siphoned away into memory
Into memory...