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Only Ornaments Died in the Conflict

by Coat Hanger

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1.
Crust 04:03
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.
2.
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
3.
4.
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)
5.
Moloch 05:24
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.
6.
Brit Art 04:32
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
7.
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.
8.
Harlesden 04:52
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
9.
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

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released December 23, 2010

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Coat Hanger Cornwall, UK

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