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| NOVEMBER 2001 |
| THEY CHARGE/THE SPECTATOR (MUSCUTT) They charge to watch them it�s been written on the wall your invitations accepted payment charged by the hour Forty pounds to watch them go another ten pounds to touch her slow Ten pounds more for service from either and half a century to move inside her If you choose to pay well a good time for all�s assured Write your details on the wall and the needs you can afford Forty pounds to watch them go another ten pounds to touch her slow Ten pounds more for service from either and half a century to move inside her It�s sleazy yes but so exciting to be a part of this rented love scene You�re a paying spectator just remember just remember that Oh forty pounds will buy you sights of unrestrained performance sex And if you give your cash to them you could end up being next They�ll charge you to watch them when you write your name upon the wall Just name your date time and place and you can see her pretty face Going down going down going down This is probably the song most based on a real life experience. The idea came about when I�d gone to the toilets at this bus station, and there was all this pornographic graffiti on the walls and things, and one very intricate piece that basically said �if you meet us here at a certain time and give us �40, you can come back to our flat and watch us have sex�. Some mixed race couple had written it, and there was this list of extra services that you could pay for if you so wished. I don�t know how much success they had with it, but�this kind of thing goes on. Coming from a small town in Devon, I�m quite na�ve with things like that, but I suppose living in a city is a bit of an eye opener. K B DIES AGAIN (PART ONE) (MUSCUTT) KB came home and ascended the stairs leading up to his eighth floor flat carefully avoiding stepping on the dead man slumped across his path, rearranging the carrier bags he carries in his weathered hands. Waits for the gang to move from the end of the corridor before moving, sees that ginger cat that belongs to the coloured woman in number seven - how he wishes he could kill that bastard thing; it never liked him anyway. Scowls at the feline creature as he manoeuvres past a pile of faeces, nearly drops a bag full of shopping as he is startled by a voice shouting at him. Shouting so loud he could scream at it to stop. Opens his eyes from the pain and rearranges his lapels � nobody there; looks over his shoulder at the graffiti on the cracked glass door. Notices the puddles of piss and the clouds of his breath as he looks over the railings. Sees some children jacking up in the playground, wishes his children never ended up like that because he�s never seen them. Thinks of death in the car as he approaches his front door, all smashed glass and rotten wood swollen by the rain that leaks from above, m aking the door hard to open as he reads the obscene messages written on it. Some kids thought it was a good idea to scrawl sexual slurs on the wood so everyone knew what his fantasies were or at least how it seemed to vandals. But now he�s back home again, closes the door behind him and stops to listen to a sound that shouldn�t be there - shouldn�t be in his living room. The tied up naked girl struggling for life as she bleeds onto his dirty shag pile. Turns round to confront the space behind him, sees the knife blade too late now he�s slumped on the floor head perilously close to a nasty looking stain blood mingling with that of the dead girl mixing cells and congealing later. Dead staring eyes of KB look at the flickering TV screen showing nightmares as the milk in his shopping bags slowly curdles in time, and that sodding evil ginger cat skulks about in the growing shadows. Treading lightly across the spreading red stain on the litter covered shag pile carpet, it�s feline eyes seeing but not understanding the carnage and waste of human life before it. Some kids were seen leaving the flat soon after this � their arms laden with material possessions not stopping to acknowledge or reason with the fact that KB has died again. Although I usually write spoken parts in italics, this whole song is done as a spoken word piece, and I thought doing it all in italics would make it look a bit gay, so I didn�t bother. It again focuses on a resident of a council estate, quite a simple story about him coming back from doing the shopping or whatever. I wanted to put quite a level of detail in it, and then have a line change the plot a bit ready for the second part. The second part of the story is where the �KB� character meets his maker. I suppose the line �dies again� implies some kind of re-incarnation thing � perhaps he comes back as the ginger cat he hates so much? Who knows. As a point of interest, the influence to put the part about the ginger cat comes from a James Herbert book called �Domain�, where this guy unwittingly lets a ginger cat into his nuclear fallout shelter as he�s constructing it. (ON THE) ROAD HOME AGAIN (MUSCUTT) On the road home again the hills are rolling past how I wish I was on them so far so far away from everything Far away in the countryside never to be lost or found again Clouds move overhead so close you could reach out and touch them See a house in the distance the only thing on the horizon So silent so quiet is the land nothing speaks and nothing cries the darkness descending from one side of the sky And the hills remain so silent and never ending I don�t really like these lyrics, another song written on a coach on the way home. The idea is good, I think, it�s just getting that idea and the imagery associated with landscapes seen out of coach windows that I found a problem. I didn�t want it to become a poem or anything, but it�s not really a song either, and it�s a bit naff in the end. |
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