Here are the lyrics for the new Mekons album HORROR:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
01.The Western Design
\nIn 1654 on Christmas day the fleet left
\nPortsmouth The British empire, taking off
\nBefore the Western design
\nPrivate citizens, individuals or companies
\nManaged the work of expansion<\/p>\n
Jon Dee, with his scrying mirror
\nNecromanced the British empire,
\nOliver Cromwell kicked it off<\/p>\n
Brutal men, sick and untrained
\nThe worke we may doe in the the world
\nThe worke we may doe in the world<\/p>\n
They couldn’t capture
\nHispaniola So they went and
\nfound a harbour
\nThe red dawn of England’s empire (400 years)
\nLand of wood and water (XAYMACA)
\nThe Arawaks was there first<\/p>\n
A slave operated imperial profit generator
\nThe Western design, a giant Frankenstein
\n400 years of stealing and killing,
\na giant Frankenstein
\nGhostlining the Western design<\/p>\n
02.Sad and Sad and Sad<\/p>\n
Oh, I am so sad and sad and sad
\nAnd all the bad things I’ve ever done
\nFix me with an evil eye<\/p>\n
And the sizzling coals I walk upon
\nHave much bigger feet to fry
\nI measure my age by everything that I’ve forgotten
\nAn old steam kettle with a rusty bottom<\/p>\n
A whisper comes from the living world
\nNot much, but it will do
\nFaint as a heartbeat, its message is curdled
\nThere will be no knock or ring for you<\/p>\n
And in the night there are sights to be seen
\nFrom out of the wall my sorrows creep
\nYou can’t keep the shadows from giving up their dreams
\nAnd there is a lack of tomorrows<\/p>\n
Had made that sin appear a virtue
\nHad it made it appear no sin; had made it appear
\nAbsolved by time and circumstances
\nAs by some magical wishing; and yet it remains to fester uncured
\nAlmost as if those sinned against still felt themselves to have some unaddressed complaint<\/p>\n
03.Glasgow<\/p>\n
I lived 10 years in Glasgow
\nBut it sometimes felt like home
\nAll the time in the past we don’t get back<\/p>\n
For duty and for family
\nI slipped out the close
\nBroken glass and arrows pointing south<\/p>\n
On the M6 at Carlisle
\nI was sick and tired of everything
\nMother India calling you last night
\nChill me and thrill me
\nFrom Govan up to Gallowgate
\nWhatever may betide<\/p>\n
04.Fallen Leaves<\/p>\n
Cold sweats through late summer, blood traces on the ground
\nThe dry earth cracks and shadows grow, a dying sun sinks down
\nHorrors and cold slaughter, silent mystery
\nStaring down the winding sheets, draped across the trees.
\nAnd back up in the city I watched the falling leaves
\nBlown wild across the courtyard and gathered at your feet
\nFallen leaves<\/p>\n
Words cut from a puzzle filled with kryptonite
\nMoved around and rearranged, dark in your heart at night<\/p>\n
05.War Economy<\/p>\n
On behalf of the future, I ask you leave the past alone
\nYou are not welcome, we have no government
\nWe did not invite you, you do not know us
\nNor do you know our world, you have no right to rule us<\/p>\n
Our identities have no bodies
\nPhysical coercion will not achieve dominance<\/p>\n
East of Eden only violence and greed
\nSupernatural financialisation<\/p>\n
Some are 12 up, on the low 40
\nBetween markets of fear
\n22 was hit off CFGI<\/p>\n
It’s a war economy.\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n
06.Mudcrawlers<\/p>\n
An old grey river winds through heavy miles of night
\nA sleeping town, ballast in the hold
\nFleek the famine in coal and potato bins
\nBlood money, three pounds a head<\/p>\n
We came across as cargo, Mudcrawlers contraband
\nOver the side into the sucking tide
\nJust our own hands to guide us home
\nA gibbet against the sky, a blinking moon that flies
\nUp the muddy banks crawl contraband<\/p>\n
In the foundations of new buildings, the bones of Irish families still lie
\nCork for America, ended up right here
\nMud and shit dried in our clothes and hair
\nBlind in the morning sun, we walk and then we run
\nBallast cargo contraband<\/p>\n
07.A Horse Has Escaped<\/p>\n
Were we ever happy or were we never happy?
\nWhat lengths would you go to to prove the omission to me?
\nWhat form will it take? What size and what shape?
\nNow the barn is on fire and a horse has escaped<\/p>\n
What business requires my immediate attention?
\nWhat steps should I take to obscure my mistake?
\nThe ship is sinking, and a horse has escaped
\nMeanwhile, the horse has escaped<\/p>\n
We don’t know where he’s going, but he knows how to run
\nWe left the gate wide-open now it’s over before it’s begun
\nThere’s nothing to do, it’s already too late
\nIt’s too late, a horse has escaped<\/p>\n
08.Private Defense Contractor<\/p>\n
So, The bud disappears when the blossom breaks through
\nAnd all that you knew takes the pain that you knew
\nPrivate defence contractor sitting in the sun
\nDoesn\u2018t care, doesn’t need to run<\/p>\n
So, He wears a golden helmet in the market of Um
\nThat’s what we do carrying a gun
\nOur enemies are here and over there
\nUnderground in the sea floating in the air
\nSo, Decline purchase Transformation Stage Senile up our holy Unit human cage Politics of death, bottom of between Rustic Vampire going for the grain<\/p>\n
So, In my fantasy world, the owl has flown
\nCryptic signs say crawl under the throne
\nMay the happy church hold you
\nPolice priest your body for evermore<\/p>\n
09.Sanctuary<\/p>\n
Lightly Pfund the tin plate hearts, shining with regret
\nMiles and climates we passed through, like friends we never met
\nI am taking you home, now I am leading you on
\nLooking down from the hills on somewhere that we might belong<\/p>\n
Jesus on a chain-link fence hanging in the sun
\nRusty iron with cactus blooms in the wilderness
\nIn the blood of Christ Mountains, shoes for tiny feet
\nAt the end of the road we stumble on sanctuary<\/p>\n
This dead land is our monument rising up and round.
\nDusty dry to brush the sky and shade the sacred ground
\nAnd our eyes and feet follow one tiny shining hand
\nThrough a crack in the earth, down to the Rio Grande<\/p>\n
10.Surrender<\/p>\n
When you love me, if you love me
\nWhen you love me, it will shine
\nWe turn and spin, twisting desire
\nA bonfire flames in twilight’s tower<\/p>\n
Some mortal wound, some injury
\nWe barter now the days and hours
\nDrive the nail, fix the lock
\nStalk and spy, and watch the clock<\/p>\n
As it withers, soul distressed
\nWe damage all that we caressed
\nIn the future, we’ll find ecstasy
\nIn the future we surrender<\/p>\n
11.You’re Not Singing Any More<\/p>\n
Despite the passage of time and an agreement to forget
\nStill sitting on secrets and opening graves
\nDespite the passage of time<\/p>\n
Plucked from the air, it’s hard when you fall
\nSongs of the past, you’re not singing anymore
\nYou said it was easy, no questions at all
\nSongs of the past, you’re not singing anymore<\/p>\n
Streets I walked down, bars, and hotels
\nThe day may never come, you can’t please everyone
\nThe streets I walked down<\/p>\n
Can you tell us about what happened here?
\nTell us how you slayed the beast
\nThe wind blows in from off the sea as we prepare the feast<\/p>\n
She wears black clothes and holds a carnation
\nFor 82 years she has been waiting, she wears black clothes<\/p>\n
12.Before the Ice Age<\/p>\n
It\u2018s like something walking around
\nWhen I know I’m all alone
\nAll the lies I’ve told coming back to taunt
\nShapeless ghosts coil writhe and creep
\nFrozen with a fear that will never learn to speak
\nSweat turns to ice on my face
\nI age a thousand years<\/p>\n
I’m falling through the cracks in the floor
\nIs it slime or blood that oozes from my skin
\nTrapped and suffocated by my sins and infections
\nSlow motion catastrophe melting worms crawl out my eyes<\/p>\n
My surplus value stolen by a Victorian vampire sucking out my cold cold heart
\nThe walls of my self are crashing quietly in the transistor dark
\nSlimy fingers on the glass touch scream<\/p>\n
My data stripped and whipped and sold in chains by officious machines
\nAll the harvested organs grow legs and run like rats in a swarm
\nIn a cold cellar with peeling walls the light bulb swings
\nAs the torturer begins to sing and chant
\nAsteroids are falling in the empty acid dark<\/p>\n
Vomiting up frozen bile, the tide of fear draws back long enough to see the beach
\nIn between the blows of the policeman’s truncheon cold blue and long
\nI go back to sleep, I go back to sleep<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Here are the lyrics for the new Mekons album HORROR: 01.The Western Design In 1654 on Christmas day the<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1297","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-allgemein"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1297","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1297"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1297\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1298,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1297\/revisions\/1298"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1297"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1297"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/mekons.de\/news\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1297"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}