Only Ornaments Died in the Conflict

by Coat Hanger

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1.
04:03
2.
3.
4.
5.
05:24
6.
04:32
7.
8.
04:52
9.

credits

released December 23, 2010

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Coat Hanger Cornwall, UK

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Track Name: Crust
This is the story of my asshole,
Whose breath bruised feet
In a valley of stars.

It was another blow against my bed plaster
And then, like my hand, probably painful.
It were a mark of shame.

Was the restful scene the restful scene on the stems?
Was there fabric?
I no longer know.

Refrigerated food power,
A virtue for oysters and silk,
Little anemone cakes,
Vegetables cook the adults.

Jeanne-Pierre had talked,
I had begun to bleed.

I knew cul de sac heads.

Swinging from a branch badly,
I saw the direction in which man inflicts the nightmare.

Remember the announcement about the cloud!
In paradise, Jesus was devastating.

God, his sandals, his beard,
Travels in a world of people pursued;
Fists clenched,
Like slaves to udders,
Milky millions with hips swaying in heavy make-up,
Desire slipping into each other,
Strutting out their miseries,
Without the money to catch a cold

I don’t like to wall when I foot,
I’ll plunge it into Henrietta,
To the other end of my mother,
To the castle words demolished!
There’s no mental patients in my head-hospital.
Track Name: Abu Ghraib babe
There’s a dog at the door and his name is pain.
If you go down to the woods today
Say ‘hey’ to the Abu Ghraib babe

(Its sleep-over time)

Bring the bag, bring the wire,
I’m lovin’ angels!

Charlie G’s gotta Monsanto seed
He’s ‘putting it into’ Lyndie -
Say ‘hi’ to ‘Terminator Gene’!

(Come at the ball)

Yes Britain thinks of England
As it takes it up the ass from the US of A!

There’s Texas teens and smother queens,
Blacks on blondes and blondes on blacks,
Piled up high like some frat house craic.

(They so do not like that)

Bring the mortar board
Let’s go water-boarding - I’m lovin angels!

Men in pain and first time bound,
Fearing up and fearing down
Eighteen interracial, pussies wired for sound,

(Now that’s really sick man)

It’s the Ultimate Surrender and
I’m still lovin those angels!

When you cut your finger – bandage the knife etc
Track Name: Your Work is in Your Skull
I’m a suicide bomber
I walk into big brother
I’m only the poor co-pilot
My work is in my skull

Push your finger for a mystery
Pull your finger and I’m history
Slit my personality
I’d die to be on TV

Your work is in your skull
Your work is in your skull
(Pussy licks the milk)
Track Name: Moloch
Rachel hears voices
Inside and out
He doesn’t hear hers

She prays to the first man
Beside the fourth man
He prays to(o)
Himself

Will I, the Father –
Punish and Protect her
Smash my piece of china
Deliver me

She’s nearly forty
A magnet to the ‘phobes
She milks them
When the bars close

Each day she sprays
Something anti-herself
But a child-size projectile
Lies in the breach

Children whose shade I question

Rachel fires the gun
that starts The War.
Track Name: Brit Art
Brit Art.

Eyes inwards!
Brit art, Brit art, Brit art, Brit art, Brit art.
Halt!

The breath of a Boeing
Is nothing compared
To emissions of Emin
That poison the air.

Sir Anthony Gormless –
He makes no gaping mouth!
Angel of the north,
Asshole of the south!

I like to play with the idea of death
And I like to call it ‘the work’.

Pickled in alcohol,
Encased in Groucho Club,
Degrader of the beasts,
Now you’re God above!

Long walks in the desert,
Dirt upon his hands,
Mother nature thank him;
He’s a Jesus Bobby Sands!

Remember you land or man?
That‘s the Rothko in the vault!

They’re Babies of the Baroness
They’re Babies of the Baroness Thatcher

A horse upon a hillside
So noble and so pure,
Pass the sick nose-bag
Its just more Brit manure!

Cum fill the holes
Of Henry Moore
Cum fill the holes
Of Jake Chapman too!

I show my taste in a bottle of Becks
Now you show me yours.

They’re Babies of the Baroness
They’re Babies of the Baroness Thatcher etc
Track Name: Football Shirt
Give me that football shirt
I need that football shirt
I love the way it shines
Man-made fibres are so fine

Look at that logo
It sells so beautifully to me

Ooh that’s so cool
Ooh stadia in the sun

The colours are so bright
If it’s a new one I want it
To be part of the newest
To be part of the latest

I want the cameras at the ground
To see me in it

Ooh that’s so cool
Stadia in the sun

High in a stand of steel
High from a transfer deal
The cops, they think ‘control’
We drink, and sponsor alcohol.

We smoke and sing until we’ve lost,
Not count the cost.
Track Name: Harlesden
As I gazed across
The units of production,
At snow covered obstacles,
Too steep for any animals, she said
“Are trees for my eyes,
Or arteries for this earth to breathe?”

Oh you’ve been distant lately,
Even more so now you’ve gone.
Like two crows by the road,
My passing was the only reason you
Took off together,
Two’s company and three’s a murder.

Chorus:
I am a black, teenage girl on a bus
Sitting with my posse,
Dissing those that pass
They say – “Go away”

There was nothing in the sky above me, chirping shrilly,
No distant dog,
His face stiffened into mine.

Somewhere over refracted light
Way up high,
I see clouds in their faces
No, the beasts never loved being wild.
It’s over as the minute hand
Strikes the two of them.

Repeat chorus
Track Name: The Clapping Scene
No applause
No excitement
No resolution
No comfort
No heroism
No moment of choice
No healing
No clapping scene

Just monotony
Just tedium
Just inertia
Just frustration

No dream
No journey
No growing
No confidence
No action
No insight
No lesson
No clapping scene

Just weakness
Just shame
Just indifference
Just failure

There is no audience
No climactic battle

There is no healing
There is no healing

No clapping scene
No clapping scene
No clapping scene
No clapping scene