Striking Sparks Off the Moon: Home of Tomorrow's Man

instrumental

Contains a sample of “Let’s Never Stop Falling in Love” by Pink Martini.

Gotta go,
Gotta go,
Gotta get on my way,
Gotta roll,
Gotta go,
Ain’t got nothin’ to say;

Gotta roll, gotta run from this blank demon,
keeps staring me in the face;
broken glass, broken pride, broken back can mend,
broken faith can’t be replaced.

Gotta feign, gotta fake, gotta find a way
gotta fight on another day;
Gotta realize the cards are stacked
before you ever play the game.

Gotta go,
gotta go,
gotta get on my way,
Gotta go,
gotta go,
ain’t got nothing to say;

Gotta move, gotta twitch, gotta get on the list
of those with their lives Hell-bent;
Gonna walk right up to the gates of heaven
and tell’em that I’ve been sent
from the faithless left on the planet below
still wishing life was just a curse –
All those feeling their days are numbered,
and hearing just one verse:

Gotta go,
Gotta go,
gotta get on my way,
Gotta go
gotta go
ain’t got nothing to say;

Gotta take the time to realize
Happiness is happenstance;
Breath-one through ultimate demise
We’re handed one fleeting chance.

Gotta go,
Gotta go,
gotta get on your way,
Gotta go,
gotta go,
nothing left for you to say.

Gotta be willing to take a chance –
Happiness is happenstance.

Oral fixation, muffdiving obsession, lick-happy laps at a lover’s cycle at the fullest red of the moon, enamored of the copper act we are the stonedrivers, embracing her lunar bloodwhirl we are the thirsty red shredders.

Spreading wide, sinew and bone
Stretching under skin holding blood in her stone
Stitched apart tight her shred spatters a thrak
Her Stonedriver cycle blurs and blends to black

Yin Yang into a searing Bloodwhirl
Red cells burning back to normal
Folds spread wide, glistening curls
Disenchantment with all things formal

Germs feed on this endless BrainStrain
Tongue-clack cycle’s ramping up again
Copper-painted tight, blood from her stone
A blood-diving red-shredder moans….

Tongue drips spit on her searing BloodWhirl
Thick crimson dilutes this red-shredder’s thirst
Enchanted by folds slick and unfurled
Blood from her stone…bursts

Stonedriver cycle, her searing Bloodwhirl
Cells slicking back to normal
Crimson folds, slick and curled
Legs wide enchant the immoral;

Tongue-yang laps at a searing Bloodwhirl
Thick crimson satisfies this mortal
Lips glisten slick, red smile unfurled
Copper swallow and I’m immortal.

Yin Yang into a searing Bloodwhirl
BrainStrain burning back to normal
Folds spread wide, glistening curls
Copper swallow and I’m immortal

Her Stonedriver cycle, a searing Bloodwhirl
Pink flesh lapped back to normal
Glistening folds, Crimson curled
Legs wide enchant the immoral

Bloo/d/iver…
Stonedriver
Bloo/d/iver…
Stonedriver

Roll to your left…sigh.

Hi, it’s me:
The E in your need.

Roll to your right,
release a slow moan.
When you awake…I’ll next be:

I’ll next be the E in your HUNGER
I’ll next be the E in your CORE
I’ll next be the E in your FEVER
I’ll next be the E in your PETITE MORT

I’ll next be the E in your SEX
I’ll next be the E in your DREAMS
I’ll never be the E in your SUFFERING
I’m the E in your NEED

I’ll next be the E in your LIFE
I’ll next be the E in your BREATH
I’ll next be the E in your HEARTBEAT
I’m the E in your DEATH

I’ll next be the E in your ME
I’ll next be the E in your ME
I’ll next be the E in your ME
I’ll next be your E — and you’ll be ME.

Stay asleep…
Stay asleep, angel…
Stay asleep…
I’m coming.

piano interlude by Brainbook

Sloggin’ down my path from wrath to wreckage
Now I’ve perfected a subtle extreme
Breathing in other than air to exist means
Sucking the life from this dream

Pounding temples with fingerweights quelch
The quickness of quieter thoughts
Queazies that climb from bowel to brain
Thick thinking in the Temple of Ought.

I shoulda / woulda / coulda but I didn’t
Get the right dose of shock (I’m Shocked)
And now I find myself still bound to this
Thick scheme in the Temple of Ought.

Feeding on the flesh of mass-deception
I’d give more than a finger but don’t
I’ve long been perceived a deceiver cross-fingered
Heavy with mendacity

I’m beaming I’m screaming I’m a smile I’m a stain
Here’s the hint that never gets caught
The first stutter of doubt that burns
From brain to mouth
Becomes the moment the lie is bought

Pounding temples with fingerweights quelch
The quickness of quieter thoughts
Queazies that climb from bowel to brain
Thick thinking in the Temple of Ought.

You shoulda / woulda / coulda but you didn’t
Get the right dose of shock (Shocked)
And now you find yourself bound to this
This scheme in the Temple of Ought.

instrumental

Father Spider lives inside her
He will never let others bite her
He keeps her in His sticky web
She’ll be His pretty pretty host until she’s dead

Father Spider won’t abide her
Wrapped within another’s legs
When she bleeds she feeds the Father
His venom’s the only seed she’ll ever need

Father Spider has a gift for me….He sees me. He sees me.
Father Spider gave a gift to me…and now I’ll sleep. Now I’ll sleep.

A song that went through a two-year writing process, beginning with the first sketches of the sequel to my book “Jessica Red,” She’s a Crime is for the cutters, and for those who don’t understand why.

She’s a crime.
She’s an agony of walking dread.
Cuts serrating her pale young flesh.

She’s a crime.
Legs always shivered agape.
She thinks it’s strength — but it’s just a robbery.

She’s a crime.
Has a glance automatic,
“What comes next then anyway?”

She’s a crime.
Blood-cries and crimson teeth.
A silent grasp for anyone’s reach,
As tears stain her gritted smile.

She’s in crimson, she’s in black, she knows why
she’d die if she left behind agony;
She’s a slim child threnody;
And she’s a crime.

instrumental

music: Tomorrow’s Man; words: Tomorrow’s Man, adapted in part from “The Pains of Sleep” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Contains a sample of “Another Version of the Truth” by Nine Inch Nails

Never’s it been within my nature to pray
But in the dark of my bed at night things have changed
I once humbly trust’d my eyes closed,
But now my spirit, ill-composed
with reverential resignation and no wish conceives:

A dream in red, red
I picture you in red, red
I can see you in red, read like a story
With a desolate end

Last night I prayed aloud in anguish and agony,
Brought about by the fiendish crowd
of the shapes and the thoughts
of the nightmares that torture me:

I dream in red, red
I picture you in red, red
I know you in red, read like the story…
And you know the end.

A lurid light, a waiting throng,
A sense of intolerable wrong,
And behind the gate
those fueled by the pains of sleep
won’t be held prisoner for long.

Bled together, the night’s dismays
Sadden and stun each coming day.
And sleep, the wide blessing, has become a promise to me –
A promise of the worst calamity.

On the third night my own loud scream
Waked me from the fiendish dream…

instrumental

Meat machines move, a thrumming beat
Prance and cavort thighs wide
Moonlight glitters on sharpened teeth
Cool skin, hot blood inside

Meat machines move, a thrumming beat
Prance and cavort thighs wide
Moonlight glitters on sharpened teeth
Cool skin, hot blood inside

Jaws lock out, spittle wets sky
Pulse thrums under slickened throat
Moonlight glitters, sharp smiles wide
Voices ululate one red note

Meat machines move, a thrumming beat
Prance and cavort thighs wide
Moonlight glitters on sharpened teeth
Cool skin, hot blood inside

Jaws lock out, spittle wets sky
Pulse thrums under slickened throat
Moonlight glitters, sharp smiles wide
Voices ululate one red note

With flower and fist, and bestial wail
Meat machines strike sparks from stars
Jaws lock in, make food of the frail
A solution for human scars

In a silent slip-by the moon bemoans
The race has evolved again
Blood cools black beneath the white of bones
Survival in the Age of Men

I’m the unrated movie, you know me:
Religious pornography.

instrumental

(Music by Tomorrow’s Man; lyrics by Tomorrow’s Man w/TSCG)

I am the swordfish that will never shower
The shape of your ears is the totality of glower
Bedpans in a fit of cholera
Spasmodic rice will improve your flora

How thick as treacle the snowshine in your eyes
So directly current from the static in your brain
Your elbow patches rumble with a fear of pies
Never align yourself with the Listerine salesman

I must demand your pleasing chin
How it passes there and back again
Like a leopard searching for its misplaced frontal lobes

I love your eyes but only with molasses
You’re more beautiful than a bouquet of fossils
Your fingers are divine as the Pope’s nostril hair
while they sublimate volcanic gases

With the slightest cooling touch from passing geese
and the dizzy ambivalence of your crumbling fleece
I could never contemplate the ways of so many feet
walking and walking and walking and walking…

I must demand your pleasing chin
How it passes there and back again
Like a leopard searching for its misplaced frontal lobes

If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, you’re on fire

Your breath, delicate as vapors of methane flows
toward my frontal lobe
since my hair is on fire;

I must demand your pleasing chin
How it passes there and back again
Like a leopard searching for its misplaced frontal lobes

If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, do not run
If you have set yourself on fire, you’re on fire

instrumental

instrumental; vox by Sarai Lenore

I’m too much time on the clock.
Too much envy from afar.
Too much flame on the rag.
Too much vodka in the jar.

I’m too much clever half-wit.
Too much angry young man.
I’m too much finger in the air.
Too much head-in-the-sand.

I’m too much half-breed of rape.
Too much fear in a fist.
I’m too much dangling rope.
Too much don’t give a shit.

I’m too much tunnel no light.
Too much scar, too much blight.
I’m too much savage wind.
Too much an excuse for sin.

I’m too much diametric stance.
Too much fuck, no romance.
Too much infuriating fool.
Too much stare, no glance.

I’m too much ADD.
Too much SOB.
I’m too much F-U-C –
Okay?

I’m too much a body outline.
Too much a drain on your time.
I’m too much conflagration.
Too much desecration.

If tomorrow ever comes I’ll hate me more
than you can, so hate today, man.

I’m too much break and no bend.
Too much thug, not enough friend.
Too much a bone-bag of bad breaks:
I’m all of my mistakes.

I’m too much justification.
Too much just fucking insane.
I’m too much maladjustment.
I’m too much pain!

I’m too much a five-fingered slap
Too much six six six
I’m too much lucky seven
I’m far too fucking forgiven

I’m too much lonely parasite
Too much blood running in the night
I’m too much murderous rage
I’m too much demon uncaged

If tomorrow ever comes I’ll hate me more
than you can, so hate today, man.

I’m too much zero sum
Too much wide smile in rotten gums
I’m too much needy drug fiend
I’m not nearly enough O.D.

I’m too much furious flame
I’m too much a man of mayhem
I’m too much psychosis of shame
That stays contained.

I’m too much do-don’t-think;
too much whine and wail;
Too much poison in the drink;
Too much toxicocktail.

I’m too much monstrosity.
Too much bargain, not enough plea.
I’m too much “God, why me?”
(‘Cos I’m fucking guilty.)

I’m too much sniveling human.
I’m too much repetitive plot.
I’m too much insecurity.
I’m too much bullet that hasn’t been shot.

Today I’m just trying to understand
What makes a demon out of man,
If tomorrow ever comes you’ll hate me more than I can,
So don’t hate me today;
Hate me tomorrow, man.