1. |
Tarmax
02:52
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I've read the inflight magazine. Times three.
Such a rewarding boarding
Exit emergency
Suddenly, I have Titanic flashbacks
"I'm the king of the" words
On the wing of the bird
I am Tarmax
Oh, the baggage limit
I know I've exceeded mine
And in the strident silence
"Tiny prayers to father time"
The universe's ruling curse is payback
I'm the Malcolm X of malcontents
I am Tarmax
I'm a claustrophobe in the thirteenth row
And I am flying home
I interlink my fingers and I lie back
With apocalypse upon my lips
I am Tarmax
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2. |
Terrifying
02:36
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Click and push through
The turnstile's stern smile stirs me toward you
And I sit and wait for the 8:08 train
My true course is due north of the boarding gates
And it's terrifying
But I'm trying to close it all up, and board it all off, and nail it shut
Central station tunnel's a central nervous struggle
They fill and funnel, I charge the arteries
I step pedestrians at my equestrian best again
Desperate to have lived and to have left again
And it's terrifying
But I'm trying to close it all up, and board it all off, and nail it shut
Cityrail
I sit derailed, fairly vacant and fare evadin'
And it's terrifying
But I'm trying to close it all up, and shut it all down, and move it along, and board it all off, and nail it shut
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3. |
Sydney
02:46
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I was useless and lonely so I got myself out
I grew out my beard and I moved to the south
But an empty apartment does not a home make
Now I'm useless and lonely in a far away place
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
The cruellest of mistress' cruellest of tricks
And your obvious opulence gives me the shits
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
Now I'm uncertain about where I sit
I'm paddling upstream through this miserable bullshit
Things look up only to look down again
When you stop looking it usually rains
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
The cruellest of mistress' cruellest of tricks
And the temperature's temperamental as all shit
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
I spend my time spinning backwards
Borrowing springs from the mattress
Used to have promise and maybe potential but now that's gone
It's over and done with and all I have left is...
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
You upper class, backward arse, fuck of a city
You're winning in increasing increments
Sydney, Sydney
You son of a bitch
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4. |
A Barricade Grows
03:00
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The miniature jungle from which you were saved
The gangrenous limb of the grocery chain
The cashier who happily sold you away
All "how can I help you?" and "Have a nice day!"
The people who disembark street after street
The men who must vacate the pregnancy seat
The pensioner boards to escape the heat
The personal walkman the puts her to sleep:
NONE OF THEM KNOW
We are but the stars in their luminous show
"They have captured the skies"
So we must move below
Where once was a garden, a barricade grows
The hubbub that Hubbard and those in his name created to validate property claims ...
I don't care what you earn, cause the truth that remains is that you cannot use science to justify faith
Gimme gardenias to soak up the rain
Homemade insulate
Aluminium phosphate reflecting the alien's rays
You keep the sunlight away
NONE OF THEM KNOW
We are but the stars in their luminous show
"They have captured the skies"
So we must move below
Where once was a garden, a barricade grows
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5. |
The Marrickville Metro
03:15
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I threw up at the Marrickville Metro, just outside of K-Mart
The concierge looked at me apathetically and handed me a mop.
I treat my body like horseshit
I drink because I like myself more when I'm drunk
I am a circus of short-circuits, a surplus of purposelessness
You were the paragon of why I would carry on
Getting drunk on a tuesday
Nursing bruises in both ways
Inside and out, insidious doubt dogs my every decision
If I had just shut my mouth
But I can't shut my mouth
We sat on your floorboards
Listened to records
All of these remixes make me so squeamish but they're important to you
And you said you were being selfish and I said everyone else is
And then we slept in my horrible bed in a box in the city
You were the paragon of why I would carry on
Getting drunk on a tuesday
Nursing bruises in both ways
Inside and out, insidious doubt dogs my every decision
I'm so tired. SO tired of triteness and this nauseating politeness.
You used to ask me questions
Now, you don't ask me questions
I will purge until the urge surge and swerve and finally drop dead
If I had just shut my mouth
But I can't stop myself
Getting drunk on a tuesday
Nursing bruises in both ways
Inside and out, insidious doubt dogs my every decision
Eating breakfast at half twelve
Sleeping in because it's preferable to being awake, where I continue to make all of these awful decisions.
So I sing shitty punk songs, and sink til I'm sunk. I guess this is throwing up.
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6. |
Orange Juice
02:46
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I could've drank ten litres of orange juice that day
In a sad and underwhelming bit to wash away the taste of watching you fumbling through the last trimester of your pregnant pause.
You said: "I don't think we can do this anymore"
With Blacktown in the distance, and sulphur in the air
Dioxide, or die inside? I decide there's no distinction there
I sat in a cafe and 'All By Myself' played and the irony was not lost on the waitress.
She said: "I don't think you can eat here anymore"
It's not as if you have wrecked me for the entirety of time
I mean, it sucks. It's f u c k e d.
But I will not be set aside for later
I'm worth greater than this, or any other setting sum
I really drank four litres of orange juice that day
A citrus litmus with my breakfast; a pulpy and paltry buffet of lukewarm food
I thought that you'd be more receptive than you've been heretofore
You said: "I don't think we can do this anymore"
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7. |
Campbell
02:24
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If you believe it, can I believe too?
Too true to be good
To good to be true
When you are sleeping, what do you see?
I enter a state of complete reverie
You are my Campbell
You turn me to soup
I'm Andy Warhol
Imagining you
Just like a gospel, you opened my eyes
I kneel at your pulpit
You let me inside, where I have these visons
But between you and me
I have more faith in what I can taste than what I can see
You are my Campbell
You turn me to soup
I'm Andy Warhol
Imagining you
I've got no eyedrops
But I can't lose sight of you
Don't underestimate the moves I'll make just to see you
You are my Campbell
You turn me to soup
I'm Andy Warhol
Imagining you
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