1. |
Perfect Pictures
03:53
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The vandal's runaway
with the preacher's son
she's not happy with him
she just likes to run
The picture is perfect
should I rework it
or leave the stains
coudn't live another day
woke up in an ashtray
burn the remains
and the flame is still burning
but it looks like it's yearning to die
and there is an answer I can't find
to that question on my mind
Why
The convict has escaped
to write the lawbooks her way
she don't give a damn about justice
But she has a few things to say
The picture is perfect
should I rework it
or leave the stains
coudn't live another day
woke up in an ashtray
burn the remains
and the flame is still burning
but it looks like it's yearning to die
and there is an answer I can't find
to that question on my mind
Why
and the flame is still burning
but it looks like it's yearning to die
and there is an answer I can't find
to that question on my mind
Why
The rebel has gone off
with dangerous stories to tell
she's not much of an author
but she has history to sell
The picture is perfect
should I rework it
or leave the stains
coudn't live another day
woke up in an ashtray
burn the remains
and the flame is still burning
but it looks like it's yearning to die
and there is an answer I can't find
to that question on my mind
Why
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2. |
All Work No Play
04:57
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Ain’t much to do in the winter snow
The time has come; I’ve got to go
Either I stay down on my knees
Or head out on the great white seas
You’re voice is hollow
You’re eyes are so cold
But when you say follow
Well I’ll do as I’m told
All work no play
But it ain’t all that bad
I’m going away
No need for a note
I’m going to heaven in a little rowboat
My boat is sinking in the waves
Only a fool can be saved
And if I don’t swim to shore
Well this sea will be my grave
You shook my hand
And looked me in the eyes
Swore to the moon
that the water wound’t rise
All work no play
But it ain’t all that bad
I’m going away
No need for a note
I’m going to heaven in a little rowboat
I come from a land of starving thieves
And lies that all believe
And in this land of plenty
Well, everyone is empty
And I’m leaving a land
That lives on in me
And this is the land
Of hypocrisy
All work no play
But it ain’t all that bad
I’m going away
No need for a note
I’m going to heaven in a little rowboat
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3. |
Shades of Grey
02:21
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Different people want different things
I want to see what wanting nothing brings
Different people have different views
some walk free some pay their dues
A lot of people cling to conclusions
They can't reject their shattered illusions
Some live like fools and follow bent rules
Others are out in the shed not the sharpest of tools
Some people see in black and white
Some people think of wrong and right
but the wise ones see in shades of grey
wrong and right ain't like night and day
A lot of people cling to conclusions
They can't reject their shattered illusions
Some live like fools and follow bent rules
Others are out in the shed not the sharpest of tools
Lust is the master and I am its slave
Not matter how hard I try I can't make desire behave
Lust is the mast and I just follow
But I'm never satisfied I just feel hollow
Lust is in charge it's sad but it's true
and I know there ain't nothing I can do
I do its bidding I follow its lead
it's a starving beast that I must feed
Lust is the master its wish my command
I play the cards but it deals the hand
I do its bidding I follow its lead
It's a starving beast that I must feed
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4. |
Burn the Oil
05:11
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You're born into a cycle
you can't escape its iron grip
Your on a vessel that's set sail
sorry son you can't jump ship
Born into a world
hurtling towards self-destruction
you are taught many lies
disquised as instruction
living in a land
that exists just to sell
progress' destination is the fires of hell
Burn the oil
cut down the trees
Poison the soil
Mother nature's on her knees
Burn the oil
cut down the trees
Poison the soil
Mother nature's on her knees
You can't run, you can't hide
you're in the passenger seat
just along for the ride
boiling water
soon to be steam
There ain't no bigger picture
in you're own little dream
We are tyrants, we are slaves
from our craddles to our graves
lost and never found
from the womb straight to the ground
Redemption is to much to ask
So I must demand
No the evil has not been done
By the fingers of my hand
we have no choice
but to join the fun
we yield to the power of the barrel of gun
Lord, I have sinned the deed is done
you're richness wasted the blood has run
Burn the oil
cut down the trees
Poison the soil
Mother nature's on her knees
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5. |
Cuckoo's Nest
03:18
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Imagine a place so bland that it’s obscene
This is not a place to which I’ve ever been
Little rooms with four white walls
And the echo’s of screams, ringing down the halls
Imagine a place full of blank eyes stares
Nobody’s happy but no one there cares
Kids in cloaks sit quietly to eat
Treat them like dogs insanity can be beat
And you have got to believe me
I’m not really insane
I just have too many thoughts
That I can’t explain
No I am not dumb, I am not blind
I know, I know I have a powerful mind
Through my barred windows
I can see my home
I want to be there
Sitting all alone
Well I have torn up everything that I could tear
I’ve pleaded with prophets but none of them are there
And I don’t fear your judgment I don’t need your love
Just leave me alone, that’s more than enough
More than enough
Imagine a place from which you can’t escape
Men in white coats are paid to decide your fate
Blue pill red pill, green pill black
Once your there you ain’t coming back
you ain’t coming back
you ain’t coming back
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6. |
Intermission Rag
02:47
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7. |
Blame a Smoker
01:35
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If a building burns down blame a smoker
A forest fire is in town blame a smoker
Now I'm teaching you're learning
If something is burning
Blame a smoker
If you're coughing up crap blame a smoker
if you can't run a lap blame a smoker
Now the lesson starts here
have I made myself clear
Blame a smoker
If parliament burns down blame a cigar
it's a smoker's fault if there's a fire in this bar
If London is burning there's a smoker not far
If you're lungs hurt blame second hand smoke and tar
this ain't not joke
If you're dying you can always blame smoke
Blame a smoker
If shits stuck in you're throat
Blame a smoker
if there is a fire on you're boat
blame a smoker
Now have I made my point
be it cigarette or joint
the rules of the game
say a smoker is to blame
so find the one who breathes smoke
watch them die, hear them choke
and you will know that what I'm saying ain't no joke
If you're dying you can always blame smoke
Blame a smoker
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8. |
Le Mésadapté
03:50
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9. |
La Rage au Bec
02:33
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10. |
Ghost Cull
06:42
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My tools are in the bow of my boat
hooks and worms, rods and lines
The fish are out in the great white sea
rowing out, to make them mine
I've got a wife and two children to fee
Got no dough, to pay for bread
So I'm heading out on the great white sea
To make sure my familys fed
My father was a fisherman
and his father was before
we are men of superstition and lore
the sea is a cruel master
luck must be, on you're side
you must beg the moon for its consent
in keeping down the tide
Waves crashing, winds roaring, skies wailing, rains pouring
it took all of my strenght just to pull in the net
and what I saw then I'll never forget
A lobster as white as the sun is bright
a glimmer of beauty in the darkest night
superstition kicked in, and stories from the past
killing it is a curse but its value is vast
I used to tie a knot around a jagged hook
and use a live worm as bait
I was starving and so were the fish
So I'd just sit and wait
yes I sold the lobster
freed myself from poverty
now the hook is around my lip
I'm being reeled in by the great white sea
It's calling me down to answer fro my crimes
driving me mad by biding its time
it cannot lose, for it is much to vast
it wants to make my suffering last
the pull of the ocean, is driving me wild
wants me to stand trial for its murdered child
and I did go and now I see
I'm in a little rowboat but it looks like hell for me
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Street Meat Montréal, Québec
Street Meat was cooked up when three Montreal street musicians casually decided to band together and teach each other their repertoire while busking. Much to their surprise (who would hire a street musician?), gigs of all kinds started rolling in. Seeing this, Paul, Jean-Phillippe and Lucas decided to become more than bums with instruments and thus the Street Meat was served, spiced to perfection ... more
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