Cold Cold Heart - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Sleeve Notes
the dealer World’s weren’t made to be understood. Nor seen. The Milky Way shone & Spiked my last moon shot. Waves of glum nostalgia delayed the departure. The shore’s a vast spectral gap. Everything here bestows the epitaph of the rich. How are your courtesans? Hellespont and the Euxine Sea were in a line And the attention of all was drawn to it. What was beauty and what merchandise? I confess the capriciousness of vanity and ambition. I never Understood what a settled regular project would bring. I plunge back into My ignorance. I can’t avoid losing. Do you need to conquer to trade? I live Like down a well. You arched your body and curled your ruby lips. Curiosity always falls south. The guitarist was faux Mexican and sang of a girl with long and well groomed locks. What perishes at night, in the march of the long hour, toward the palatine of heaven? Sure, I’m rough and scour. You join your delicacy To consecrated blades and eastern trade. Your talk is a monument to Punic antiquity. These are elegies to fabulous deaths, wry and in couplets. All I have Are excuses and a submerged delirium. My letters afterwards were nothing more Than soliloquies. But the way you placed your foot in the doorway you knew that. You have Phoenician blood and silver. You told me that death profanes sacrifice. You’re most brazen. These are the vestiges of the hurry found in beasts And savage hearts. Mr Hanno skinned two hairy women and thought it good gods existed. I find you a kind of watershed. In one town the mayor had ordered the vines pulled out by their roots. The strategy was to avoid the barbarians. You’re the sort who is both concise and marked by intimacies that reach out. I sometimes catch the fragrance of the new. You begin the cosmos in continuous poetry. I’m fighting battles, laying siege to towns and losing people. The Black Sea carries everything that has ever existed. On the wide shore the heifers are dressed in linen. There was a look in your face between euphoria and despair. There are always occasional consequences to barbarous fucking. The indolent peace is no celebration. Love’s a natural ferocity but ill conduct can be ruinous. The night smoked with its dark Lupercalia. You specialize in the shameful. This is a dangerous place. Tread lightly. It’s cruel to surrender your own love.