Me Temazepam, Huge Joint
The Function of the Organ

These are instrumentals, so they don't have any words.

The Function of the Gaucho

(words & Music: Howard)

He's an existential gaucho like the desert's empty ground
He doesn't say or do much but when he does it's baffling and profound

And once there was a showgirl, sassy pink mescaline queen
But the townsfolk frowned on gaucho, it was a square and messy scene

He's a psychedelic gaucho, he doesn't feel the pain
and all the drugs he's taken, just lie like drugs in his brain

Bandits in white patent leather loooking like ? & the Mysterians only better
Tripping out in New Mexico who-oh-oh, minds fried on peyote

He's an ambidextrous gaucho, sixgun blazes paisley from his hand
he rides a horse called zero to the final sunset rodeo

Gunshots and hallucinations in the old saloon,
acid in the moonshine, the townsfolk turned too weird too soon
with the showgirl strapped to zero's back,
the Gaucho rides out like a cosmic thunderclap

He's the omniscient gaucho, like then night he has 1000 eyes
If you think you've seen him, well you haven't

[bridge]

He's a multilingual gaucho, he speaks french, Italian and Japanese
If you don't understand it doesn't matter because you can always ask
"would you mind repeating that please?"

Godstar

(words: Strong, music: P-Orridge/Fergusson)

This is a story, a very special story.
It's about Genesis P, the bloke out of Psychic TV

They did a song about Brian Jones,
He was one of the Rolling Stones.
The Stones, you've probably heard about
So I suppose this quite absurd now

Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. God.......star.

And I used to live next to you, but at the time I never knew
That was when you were in The Throbbing Gristle,
not much rhymes with that but maybe this'll

Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. God.......star.

Where were you and your band that morning
When Special Branch came calling?
I missed that episode of 'Despatches'
I'd gone down the boozer even thought I was knackered

Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. God.......star.

And when they broke into Round Hill Crescent
I heard it all got very unpleasant
They took away loads of your stuff
If I was you I'd be really pissed off

Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. Godstar, Godstar. God.......star.

Here's a verse in Enochian or is it backwards or is he speaking in tongues
I dunno but it's pretty fucked up

Blood Sugar Dropping

(words: Strong & Howard, music: Howard)

Your brain is a sweet shop so what will you choose
You like the red ones and I like the blues
The red ones are hard but the hard ones are easy
The blue ones are bulls-eyes so now you can see me

Hypoglycemia! That's easy for you to say
If your teeth all fall out, i guess that that's ok
Hypoglycemia! It's multisyllabic
And if it didn't taste so sweet I'd soon kick the habit

See the man in the sweetshop, his teeth are intact
He's got rows and rows of things he keeps in jars out the back
But I never understand the things that he tells me
His eyes as cold and glassy as the humbugs that he sells me

(chorus)

Sherbet bombs and barley twists, love hearts and swizzles
All day suckers, kola kubes, spearmint leaves
Flying saucers, love hearts, life-savers
Satin cushions and aniseed balls

(chorus)

The red ones last longer, they melt on your tongue
The blues ones leave a funny taste after they've gone
The green ones make the earth seem like a tiny ball
And the purple ones taste the best but they don't make you
feel like you're anything at all

Studio 567

(words: Strong, music: Howard)

(spoken) mid-late nineteen seventies, Pond Street Bus Station, Sheffield, South Yorkshire. I used to go and hang out at the amusement arcade. I used to play the video games like Asteroids, Galaxians and a strange game called Rear Gunner that never caught on. When the cash ran out I'd walk home past the gangs of skinhead girls outside the chip-shop and wonder about the strange films that were playing at the cinema there. It's been burned out and boarded up for almost three decades now, but back then it was the Studio 567.

And it never bothered me much at first
Coz in those days I was much more concerned
With my hi-score, and whatever that meant
And all those 10ps that I spent
Yeah, my reflexes were second to none
But as time went by, my wrist got numb

But still I started to go there more and more
And I started to notice the posters they put up next door
There were actresses in varying states of deshabille
There was an audience in varying states of dishevelled
Then this one time some pissed up bloke
Came out of the fire door to throw up
And he just fucked off and he left open
So I wandered in and it was a pornutopia
It was the Studio 567 - alright!

Well, they say that it's darkest before the dawn
But before, during, and after the hardcore porn
It's always dark in a XXX theatre
Well, you can work it out while you're sitting there
I'd never dremes there was so much filth
And the lengths that some people go to just to sneak into a film

So from then on my interest increased
And it culminated during a showing of Walerian Borowczyk's opus, The Beast
Now curruption and depravity are my middle name
(although to the uninititiated eye they probably both look the same)
From the satin sheets of a French chateau
To a handkerchief in a steelworker's moleskins
It's easy to look at, but it's hard to turn away
And if even if you'd only ever been there once,
there's a part of you that will always and forever stay
in the Studio 567, oh yeah!

The Function of the Gorgon

(words: Shelley, music: Howard)

It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky,
Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine;
Below, far lands are seen tremblingly;
Its horror and its beauty are divine.
Upon its lips and eyelids seem to lie
Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine,
Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath,
The agonies of anguish and of death.

Yet it is less the horror than the grace
Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone,
Whereon the lineaments of that dead face
Are graven, till the characters be grown
Into itself, and thought no more can trace;
'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown
Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain
Which humanize and harmonize the strain.

And from its head as from one body grow,
As grass out of a watery rock,
Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow
And their long tangles in each other lock,
And with their unending involutions show
Their mailèd radiance, as it were to mock
The torture and the death within, and saw
The solid air with many a raggèd jaw.

And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft
Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes;
Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft
Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise
Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft,
And he comes hastening like a moth that hies
After a taper; and the midnight sky
Flares, a light more dread than obscurity.

'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;
For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare
Kindled by that inexorable error,
Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air
Becomes a and ever-shifting mirror
Of all the beauty and the terror there-
A woman's countenance, with serpent-locks,
Gazing in death on Heaven from those wet rocks.

Lucy Leave

(words & music: Barrett)

Leave me when I ask you to leave, Lucy
Please fall away from me, Lucy
oh, go little girl
See that I'm so broken up about you, Lucy
Mean treating me and done me harm, Lucy
Being in love with you and your charms, Lucy
oh, go little girl
I'm in love with you, Lucy
You got my heart, you got my heart, oh no
You tear me apart, you just won't let me go
You hold on so tight, so tight I just can't breathe
Now Lucy leave, Lucy...

Leave me when I ask you to leave, little girl
Please fall away from me, little girl
yeah, go little girl
See that I'm so broken up about you, Lucy
I'm in love with you, Lucy
You got my heart, you got my heart, oh no
You tear me apart, you just won't let me go
You hold on so tight, so tight I just can't breathe
Now Lucy leave, Lucy...

Now (That [You've {Gone}])

(Music: Howard words: Howard & Strong)

I been feeling oh so high, think I'll have another slice of pie
Hanging out feeling groovy, last night I went to see a French movie
Now that you've gone gone, now that you've gone gone gone
I'm feeling... I'm feeling fine all of the time

Yup I'm feeling really swell, all my friends say that I'm dressing well
If you thought that I'd be going under, they all say I'm looking so much younger
Now that you've gone gone, now that you've gone gone gone
I'm feeling... I'm feeling fine all of the time

I been feeling oh so fine, think I'll have another glass of wine
In a little while I'll phone for a curry, go down the Dragon later, there's no hurry
Now that you've gone gone, now that you've gone gone gone
I'm feeling... I'm feeling fine all of the time

Guess I never told you how much you shit me,
But I never even saw the bus when it hit me
And what was the last thing that went through my head
Well, it was the bus just like I just said, and
Now that I'm gone gone, now that I'm gone gone gone
I'm feeling... I'm feeling fine all of the time

St Anne's Wells Gardens

Words: Strong

See that blind man in the street, week old dog turd at his feet
Tap tap tap across the road, tap tap squelch is how it goed
there's a hedge that separates the rest of the park
For the sighted and the eternal dark
So I'll say I beg your pardon but now
I'm must take me down to St Anne's Wells gardens

And if I waited for one thousand years
Just on the off chance that you'd come by here
And when at last you strolled on through
I pretended not to notice you
There's a thin line between tragedy and mundanity
And none at all when you stood next to me
but when the night falls and the shadows lengthen
I lost sight of you in St Anne's Wells Gardens

Five minutes from home all alone in the forest
woke beneath the slide from beneath the frost
couldn't tell my fried egg from my toast
And you were sleeping while I was lost
There's a thin line between tragedy and mundanity
And there will come an hour when you'll wake next to me
Mid-winter soon it's 4am in the morning (sic)
I'm there waiting still in St Anne's Wells gardens

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18 February, 2002 10:52 AM