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Walk Around the Block at NightSilent shadow silhouettedIn the blue light unregrettedInsects fly and die and quiverShe breaks down without a shiverEffervesce electric feverPick her up and never leave herTake a step and face the thunderLive your nightmare all a-wonderFill the well upon the mountainYellow blood will stain the fountainOn the way to touch the reaperTake her hand and maybe keep her.
AngelsAngelsThey tell me - write a song with angels in itIt's just something that you doEvery singer and songwriter knowsIt makes the public smile at youSo home I go to wrack my brainsThinking ANGEL all the timeAnd man, I'm getting so annoyedI can't even find a fricking rhyme!ChorusI see angels everywhereThey're in my lunch they're in my hairOh come on come on this isn't fairSeems to be compulsory to write a song about angelsSo Angels, angels, thinking angelsWhat hasn't been done before?My mind is blank as paperAnd I'm knocking at sanity's doorAngel eyes and angel face and angel liesThat's old - so's angel tearsAngels cry and angels deserve to DIEYeah, that sounds like a good ideaChorusSo now I've had too much caffeineAnd I think I'm hallucinatingThere's angels dancing round my headThey're taking pot-shots at Satan!Go home and write your own goddamn songThat's it, that's all, I give up! That's it!I see angels everywhereThey're in my lunch they're in my ha
StoriesYou always forget. You say the word History and you forget it means People, and people are like you. You say the word Grandma and you forget that it means someone real, a person with her own story, someone who spent nine years in a soviet orphanage, someone who was in a movie once because she walked past the studio in a pretty blue dress when the director came out for a smoke - and a myriad small things besides, which nobody thought important enough to tell you.You forget that your grandfather had an older brother once, who died during the evacuation, thirteen forever.You forget that he didn't get into university because he was Jewish, but he stayed out because he wasn't brought up as independent and self-assertive as his best friend, who travelled to Moscow and argued and became a physics professor. That he lost two fingers from his right hand in one of the silly industrial accidents that happen every day. You forget he has a story; he is a person, not just the jumble of association
Thoughts of a Hopeless SoldierThe time has come. We can feel it in our heads, the increase in temperature, the pressure rising, the nervousness evident in our fellows. Rolling down upon us, knocking into us, the unstoppable force - and we, the objects, are far from immovable. We huddle together in fear, all ten of us, as if it could delay the inevitable. It's coming, we know it is. And when it does... well, it's all up to our luck. Perhaps it will just clip the sides - some of us will go down, but not all. Or it might miss completely. We hardly dare hope.We are hardened veterans, most of us - our leader has gone through this countless times, I myself also (although not enough to stop the fear - never enough), but each time it is as new. The unbearable knowledge that there is nothing we can do. The terrible, terrible helplessness. We cannot fight it, we cannot stop it, but still they send us out, ten at a time. Those that survive, towards the front. I am second in line. I can see the leaders battle scars - he has s
FinalityFinalityShaking off, throwing offMatterAnd floating in the mistsOf somewhereThe inkblots of the mindScatterAnd sink into the lightWithout fanfareAll that's left behindElsewhereIs blood on the roadAnd a chalk outline on the pavement.