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lirik lagu leash (cont.) – jam baxter

…and sometimes their tiny ashen legs swell into giant golden thumbs so that they may squash even themselves

[chorus]
got ’em in the end, ain’t got the guts try swallowing a friends
one of them sk-nked every shotter in the ends ’till he bounced out
feels weird watching it again
like a fly on the wall, plotting for revenge
cold stomach sank to the bottom of the thames
sh-t you’ll never be anonymous again
sorry you’ll never be anonymous again

a singular cripple in an unspoilt morning scratches a path to a silhouetted cross
looks like a r-t-rd, better let him off
he found god sk-nking with the devil in the loft to a two-step tape pack
spudding in the corner
the demons were downstairs eating
he got slapped with a yin-yang, bleaching the blindfold
find something else to believe in
ears still steaming
never seen an insect bleeding, between the extremes bugged out still breathing
nah, just mimicking a chainsaw ripping through the room or squashed to the ceiling
trapped in a pint gl-ss, peppercorn ball and chain
pixelised face in the hall of fame
ritualised dances around the collection of rusted inventions you call a brain

what, you think i wanna see you grovel
daytripping in the bits with the bluebottles
all chased by an ailment salesmen, screaming “upgrade to the new model you fossils!”
why not move with the times luminous suits hang loose on the spine
end every sentence marooned in your mind with “f-ck ’em! the future is mine!”
rise as the king of all things with a singapore sling
solve every issue with a little more gin
and i’d just popped out when your k!ller crawled in with a smug squashed face to deliver your sting
thanks!
recline on a scorpion headrest, rise to a ripple of reluctant applause
as the voice of the people we love to ignore
and nothing says ‘shoosh’ like a punch to the jaw
numb to the core
spend a couple comfortable months in the morgue reheating
cos them man are hungry for more
“can we hear a few words for the smudge on the floor?”
sure, he excelled in the strangest places full time jobs putting apes in cages
flies on the payroll, leashed to a maypole
muddy are the eyes of the great escapist

- jam baxter

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