The recruiters want to know why you don’t do what they do
They want to know where you’re going and how you’ve been
They cling to me so loosely, I just want to scrape them off like dead skin
Rebel Jenny says, ‘Leave me alone for a little while, John.
Times are hard, I’m all charged up–hey, man, I’ve got a battle to win!’
But she’s told, ‘This battle is unwinnable, this goal is unattainable,
and the fight ain’t worth half what you put in.
‘So, you’ve got a pole through your nose, and a poem in your hand.
Well, tell me, who’s that going to save?’
She’s coming to you straight from the grave
with a lighter for your cigarettes
and a very dangerous silhouette.
Don’t forget, someone’s got to play it the way that it is
All those goons who hang around the bell tower will reject
anyone who doesn’t listen to their favorite songs
They’ll harass and harangue you and let you dangle, once they’ve hanged you
by the string with which they so easily led you
along
So, along comes this kid, scribbling, rolled on by the thunder
Everyone asks his neighbor, ‘Hey, who’s this sick kid?’
But before he can speak, he eats his own words, they don’t agree,
and his guts spill out his mouth like liquid
‘Oh, good show! Yeh, what form!
And how very, absolutely brave!’
He’s coming to you straight from the grave
with words you ain’t ever seen
He’ll make every day feel like Halloween
It’s obscene, but someone’s got to play it the way that it is
And all the vampires are asking, ‘What happened to young Kirk Douglas?’
though they think that he’s much sexier now he’s well hid
I’ll tell you what: they threw him in a bunker, turned up the heat,
and told him to come out knowing more than he did
Mortuary Marylin speaks in squeak-toy noises
The red on her cheeks hides the trails of her tears
And I feel bad for the man who made her sad, because
she’s got enough gasoline to keep a fire lit for years
She’s lovely, she’s gone
Why even bother to behave?
She’s coming to you, straight from the grave,
with a tattered, ill-fitting dress,
She is under, above, and beyond duress
She’s a mess, but someone’s got to play it the way that it is
No one expected much out of Peter–
he kept his nose clean, his hair trimmed–
they thought he’d live out life like the moss
Well, imagine Paul’s surprise when his eyes found themselves on the wrong end of Peter’s right cross
Joseph’s long gone, Robert’s last song’s nearly done
It’s all so criminal, but I ain’t heard a single complaint
So feel no shame now–it ain’t wrong
Just touch the ceiling, baby, and sing along:
‘Hallowed be the names of the saints!
Praise the very names of these saints!’
They’re coming to you straight from the grave
Someone’s got to say it
Someone’s got to play it the way that it is
Irish singer-songwriter Sarah E. Cullen bares her heart over pastoral folk arrangements enshrouded in a dream-pop haze. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 29, 2021
A hushed and low-lit EP from this Melbourne musician, where dreamlike melodies drift across a bed of tender guitar. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 19, 2023