Midnight in Aberporth - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
In the Corner of the Room (1).mp3
Sleeve Notes
And age
From a fine old eye the weave is threaded just once more. I walk covering my face without paradise nor virgin nor incision. There is no sea nor mountain, no flesh nor paper, and then broken and ungodly and bodies heavy with stern weeping and trim goddess, sun slumbering across the deepest ravine, solar rays and stars looking back from rigid backward burial places, dark blood and souls and brides half born and stained, tender men and bronzed arms, crowds shouting and slaughtered sheep bleeding to Pluto, nothing preserved and narrow the impetuous dead, cast on the wild earth to pitiful depths, host of semen and fate and wine, who sleeps whilst this, this shatters the late nerves and remembers the unburied, the inscribed sunless corpse, the unwritten soothsayers, the strong Neptune without companions, the mighty Homer crazy with Aphrodite, the girdled dark eye-lids, heaving & lost across dust & sands, without house, stone, plot, I endure my concubines and find my stale home once more and am no longer strong and shall come to market no more nor weave my cloth nor speak.