It's hot! Too hot to write sober I've stacked my papers high but I'm never getting over This infernal block that darkens the running waters Of this sick and humid place where the system nearly caught us Could she be the Organiser? Will she land upon the rock? Or will the boards beneath crack open 'Fore the workers can take stock And will tonight's performance Be like all the others that you did? Or will you have a new persona Like the trade union kid? It's hot! Too hot to be out on the tracks I've stacked my tablets high and my itch is getting cracked These fuckin' shitty jobs are taking everyone's time Still she sails out of the harbour on a song and a rime Could she be the Organiser? Will she land upon the rock? Or will the boards beneath crack open 'Fore the workers can take stock And will tonight's performance Be like all the others that you did? Or will you have a new persona Like the trade union kid? It's hot ! Too hot to lie anymore I stacked up all my bullshit and I'm clutching an oar We arranged our provisions, all our hatred is canned And though we have no pilot we're about to make land Could she be the Organiser? Will she land upon the rock? Or will the boards beneath crack open 'Fore the workers can take stock And will tonight's performance Be like all the others that you did? Or will you have a new persona Like the trade union kid?

Softly glide we along, Softly chant we our song, For someone who to claim is come; Oh, beloved and best, Thou art failing the West, And the dear isle Britannia, thy home. Calmly there shalt thou sit, With thy career gone by, Their regret mixed deep with thine own; Ne'er again to awake, Till the last straw shall break, And the trump of the sanction is blown.

Authentic ========= I can't party with the punks any longer I can't stay out past my bed time I'm too weak to rave all night on the beach And I'm fatter than a slaughtered swine The sheer mank of it all The bodies on the floor Baggies in their hand Stoned to the core Would it still be authentic If I went home now? You'd think I could keep to my promise To never accept reality But it's so so sad to see all your friends Still feeding their addictions at 30 The sheer mank of it all The bodies on the floor Baggies in their hand Stoned to the core Would it still be authentic To ask them to leave now? What is an authentic experience? Do we need depravity to live? Because I know if I catch pneumonia again I'll surely have no more no more to give The sheer mank of it all The bodies on the floor Baggies in their hand Stoned to the core Would it still be authentic If I stopped hanging out? The sheer mank of it all The bodies on the floor Baggies in their hand Stoned to the core Would it still be authentic If I did something else?

The first one to exit The Encyclopaedists Was an energetic playboy on the town He wanted to be seen at a photogenic spot And wasn't very happy with the alleys they went down He didn't want to order wine in violent bars He didn't want to wander round the docks He didn't want to have a confusing altercation After sixteen measures of gin on the rocks The next one to leave the group was in politics She had a niche perspective on the role of work A bartender refused to serve somebody so drunk So she ranted that the staff were all thugs losers and jerks She wasn't on a search for those transcendental thoughts She didn't find joy on the path She didn't find the comfort at the bottom of her glass Despite giving her insides such a long warm bath The third one to drop was a congenial chap Who treated everyone he met with polite respect At the 6th venue locals asked to utilise his form As an experimental sexual project He didn't want to change orientation without thought He didn't want to have an awkward talk He didn't want to tell them all to kindly bugger off So he bid good night and headed on a walk The Encyclopaedists are a scholarly mission They are psychonauts on a quest to find Every public house from Torry to Babylon And what motivates themselves to drink until they are blind The fourth one to leave them was a hardcore punk girl Doing lines between pints and between tracks She couldn't listen to them drone about Kerouac So she punched someone and fell over right on her ass She didn't want to wait until the buzz rose to her She didn't want to take in the scene She didn't want to pace her intake of substances She refused the mythic because she preferred the spleen The fifth one to say goodbye was a real talker Who could orate till your heart wanted to stop After the 15th venue and eighteen thousand words His poor vocal chords gave out and his swollen head popped He didn't want to listen to the others' talk He didn't want to open up to space He didn't want to shut up for a single damn second So he wandered off to chat in cyberspace The ones who remained on this nomadic campaign Were dedicated down to the last To exploring these caves of human remains When everything that once was logical has long long passed They wanted to illuminate the promenade's end Where nightlands began in the mind They wanted to feel what fellow creatures feel: In secluded nightlands we are all entwined The Encyclopaedists are a scholarly mission They are psychonauts on a quest to find Every public house from Torry to Babylon And what motivates themselves to drink until they are blind The Encyclopaedists are a scholarly mission They are psychonauts on a quest to solve The question of whether nightlands really exist Or if enough drinking will make them dissolve

My dear friend was a shy boy who had lost his mother He had an certain energy that came out drinking We talked over firelight on freezing beaches Sometimes he would open up and share his beliefs Staring into embers come the memories Staring into fire makes the old dick rise up Staring into embers come the fantasies Stepping into fire makes the skin all crack up When his shift ends he's as sober as his drunken treck to work Sleepless as a Tommy in the bunker on the 13th day What drives the Red Dragon in becoming such a force of will? There's a box of matches in your bedroom waiting This lizard is dressed for rampage This crotchless visitation This invasion of cellars Our larceny is dead He's still looking through the smoke The Red Dragon is becoming But what becomes of art When you hold this match to -? I offer one hundred prayers for your safety Find help in Ezekial 7:11 I offer one hundred prayers for your safety Find some help in Genesis 6:20 Staring into embers come the memories Staring into fire makes the old dick rise up Staring into embers come the fantasies Stepping into fire makes the skin all crack up Manager is driving him to masturbate in the storeroom Sleep will only come will only come will never come will never What drives the Red Dragon in becoming such a force of will? There's a box of matches in your bedroom waiting This lizard is tooled up ready This crotchless sparing system This invasion of our heads Our larceny is dead He's still looking through the smoke The Red Dragon is becoming But what becomes of art When you hold this match to -? I offer one hundred prayers for your safety Find help in Job 12:11 and Psalms 2:12 I offer one hundred prayers for your safety Find help in Deuteronomy 11:19 Staring into embers come the memories Staring into fire makes the old dick rise up Staring into embers come the fantasies Stepping into fire makes the skin all crack up Shy boy steps outside before the pilgrimage gets underway Such an intense feeling to light up the city's hidden rooms What drives the Red Dragon in becoming such as force of will? There's a box of matches in the cellar waiting I couldn't take your pornographic ways I couldn't take the drunken fits I couldn't take your shit Our larceny is dead You're still looking through the smoke The Red Dragon is becoming But what becomes of art When you hold this match to heart?

In ancient Babylon and Assyria The monster symbolised chaos The king defeated monsters And brought order to the world Bringing water to the desert And making plenty when there was none In the modern world The monster primarily chases teenagers across a TV screen Often methodically Often with a calculated menance We now embody chaos And the monster represents a cruel order imposed upon us The holocaust was another modern invention That was formal and bureaucratic in nature Its victims documented, numbered, stamped, and finally destroyed There is a monster in our culture And its face is a seething mass Of change requests, sign-offs, milestones, and budgetary requirements A corporate ant-hill that functions like a particularly slow and inaccurate computer Like the analogue calculators once used To find the appropriate trajectory And tabulate those numerical identifiers Of importance to the national campaign

Woke up dark and early And I put a little make up on my pale face and some Nail polish for my toes and fingers I wanted to be like my favourite singer Headed out to the black sky and rain Normies and the morons on the light side in pain But I'm in love with the sleet and stone Listening to little children on my walkman ear phones Laaa laaaa laaa laaaaa laaa la la la She said Good grief, you're a goth kid sweetie Why do you have this interest in something so beastly Why now this big obsession with the colour black? Do I have to worry that you'll need to take some prozac? At night we all drank spirits Sitting up in trees within the graveyard till its Late enough for the dealers to wake And we'd had enough of all that vodka to waste We went far enough if the world was spinning We went far enough but we were never grinning But I'm in love with these ancient stones Listening to little children on my walkman ear phones Laaa laaaa laaa laaaaa laaa la la la He said By jove you're a goth kid sonny You better keep your nurocks and your trench coat shiny You'll never get a good job if your hair is greasy You'll never meet a girl if your shirt is creasy The dirt on my clothes Growing all the time The strain on my body Was thinning out my life Ecstatic in our temple Of social housing grace For that epic feeling That mythologised the place And when it all came down at last I had more than just a headache After years spent on the carousel Spinning without a break

There's no such thing as posers They're people trying to survive Slaves to the in- and out-group Social dividing lines Don't hate on some poor fool Dressing to fit in Save your hate for Nazis Toast your friends with gin I have no time for edgelords Arguing so much online I'll save my bile for real life For the masters and the swine Living with courage is choosing To shed your chicken skin But even if we keep losing I'll toast my friends with gin What are you missing When you're alone at night? I heard the propagandist say "Loneliness is delight" Well don't buy it for a second No, don't let the bastards win If you find yourself alone Toast your friends with gin I've been a drunkard, a loser, a media pirate, a poet, a gimp, and a spook, Many times I thought of praying, but I can't believe the news How can there be a God judging what you do? Well if you're watching, baby, here's something obscenely taboo! What are you missing When you're strung out in a crowd? I heard the supermodel say that Everyone should bow Well don't buy it for a second No, don't let the bastards win If you find yourself with wankers And the night is wearing thin Be proud of your misfit condition Toast your friends with gin