Roger Moore - Johny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Roger Moore in the Giant Round Bed.mp3
Sleeve Notes
In her cage, a trap The kingfisher’s gymnic exercises are insurrectionary. The river bank is tame And tractable only for time. The coot cannot be wondrous. The scum on the water has two meanings. You agree the river may admit to some rule but isn’t obliged. There’s a hidden ferocity and even bad laws have the same effect as the good. The force of principles draws everything into you. I see it in your eyes that have the consequence of lawyers in them, shining black gold over the teaming land and its liquid tributaries. Hand yourself over. Your body is precarious magic. There’s a strange beetle on the tree bark and nothing’s going to set everything to right. Get used to it. It’s not the liquor but the vessel that’s corrupted was what you told us. Jeez the way you shimmied. I have a way of seeing the nocturnal daylight. Is this a second rate value or one higher than ever before? You were accommodating the strangers who wondered about the origins of self-defense. Yet the cities continued to fall and corruption burned our innards. Only this proved we weren’t puppets. Yet always, always, you were deciding on a final work that would prove the transition, against all bets, of lowness to grandeur. The reeds held something of dread. The swifts derided shelter and killed flies at will. Nettles become persistent in certain areas and expect to reach extremes. Voles and brown rats are contrary to what some men say. They are alarmed by their strength. Security shelters the corrupt, perhaps even ferments them. You knew where to look. Women like you make sure the whole world gets out of control. Burn the seeds of men was something you scribbled. These don’t introduce but are themselves objects of luxury. You despised these monarchs where we’re all in rigorous servitude. At the palace walls the slow river quarrels, & is indiscrete, repugnant, jealous, piqued and attends to fatal consequence. Torches burned on the walls, flames banishing corruption and vice. So they said. You raised your eyes and mind to the charms and passions of the dumb courtiers. Vanity attends everything. Your boundless insolence was a virtue and always a kind of triumph. As was friendship. And good manners. You were always rude of course. All you heard when the rulers spoke were maxims of ridicule, and debased idleness. You were necessarily contrary. And it was time for your severities. I await your inevitable hammers.