1. |
Monolith
05:17
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2. |
Snow Day
03:20
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Icy
roads on
the way
to my
destina-
tion are
you going
too?
I see
snow on
the sides
as we skid
round this
turn black
ice directs
this vehicle
I won’t be seeing
anyone today.
The roads are all closed and the
town is far away.
The stores are all empty
because of the winter.
The city folk are in the city
eating fancy dinners.
Separate the knife, the plate,
the cup, the spoon, the fork.
Long meals, long winters
Long Island, New York.
Breakfast at eleven watch the
deer in the cold.
This house might be modern but
this town is growing old.
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3. |
Crawfish
03:45
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The restaurant was empty that night, except for one man sitting alone.
He was clearly drunk, and as soon as I walked up to the bar, I knew I’d hear his story.
He said: “I was a Spanish teacher… a Spanish teacher!
Señor Obregón was what they called me I suppose.”
He took a sip from his drink and slammed his glass down hard.
“I was respected… I was respected!
They were gonna make me principal of the school next year!
But this year all that changed.”
“There was this new guy, straight from Mexico.
Thought he spoke Spanish better than I did.
From day one I could tell things were about to head south
His name was Pancho.”
“Day by day his influence grew in my classroom.
He became more and more disruptive.
By the end, he had the whole class under his thumb.
And so one day I asked him if he wanted to teach the class.
To my surprise he accepted and walked calmly to the front of the room.
He called for the students to rebel, and they locked me in the closet.
I called campus security, he was going to usurp me!
They burst in and shot Pancho dead.”
“I fled for my life.
Gunfire broke out between security and the students.
I knew I’d have a target on my back, so I came to this bar.
You can’t enter if you’re not twenty-one.”
The man finished his story and put down his drink and I ordered some crawfish and patted his back out of that vague sense of comradery you sometimes feel with the other patrons when a restaurant is that empty.
My heart was racing and I was sweating profusely and I wondered “where was that damn crawfish?” and my hands trembled and shook within the thick green pockets of my green jacket that would have made me feel right at home in Fidel’s Cuba.
I wiped my shining forehead with my green sleeves and I asked a waiter what the holdup with my crawfish was and he said “sir you only ordered it five minutes ago, they’ve only just started cooking it.”
I couldn’t wait any longer so I firmly grasped what I had in my pocket and he was right there next to me and I’d entered the room knowing what I had to do and I could no longer wait to tail him back to some alley, it had to be done.
“My name
is José
de León
Toral.
I’ve come to end your life.
His eyes
widened
he stared
with horror.
But he didn’t run or fight.
I raised
my arm
it held
the gun.
The noise
the smoke
the light.
I ran
outside
into
the dark.
The moon was shaped like a scythe.
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4. |
King Lobster
07:21
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Chorus
Saccharine food coming out of my kitchen late into the night
People who send my cuisine back are just looking for a fight
Used to feed all the soldiers at sea on an aircraft carrier
Now I run the number one diner in the tri-state area
Verse 1
That night the critic was due to arrive and I’d been sitting there
Sweating bullets
He glared at me through his dark sunglasses and when he opened his mouth he
Ordered the special
Thank God he did that because my specialty is King Lobster.
King of the sea
As I dropped that green crustacean into the water, I felt a pang of guilt but its
Death was worth it
Chorus
Saccharine food coming out of my kitchen late into the night
People who send my cuisine back are just looking for a fight
Used to feed all the soldiers at sea on an aircraft carrier
Now I run the number one diner in the tri-state area
Verse 2
The critic had given me a positive review, and my diner had grown in size, but I
Was not done yet
Soon enough a representative from the league of chefs came to invite me to their world cup
Offer accepted
I travelled to Milan, Italy and faced off against culinary masters from
Across the globe
I was nearly decimated on the battlefield, but as I lay in the dust my wife
Whispered to me
Bridge
I will
be there
for
you x3
Bridfigh
I’ve still
Got my
Signature
Dish
Buildup Lyrics x8
I’ll defeat them all with my
Spatula and my
Team of trusted
Expert
su-chefs
Breakdown x4
King
of the sea
King Lobster
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5. |
Arrowhead
01:47
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6. |
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Chorus
As he rounds another corner
More sparks fly
Why he needs to do this
Only he knows why
His truck is stronger than
Washington
This is his one-man war against
The blazing sun
He sees kids on the corner
And he passes them by
They didn’t flag him down
And he never says hij
Some people think
He’s just a stick in the sand
But the ice cream truck
Waits for no man
Interlude
He sees them coming (x8, sing between Ian’s guitar riffs and steadily get louder)
He’s driving on the left-hand side (x8) (shout these)
No challenge will sway his hand (x 6)
BECAUSE THE ICE CREAM TRUCK WAITS FOR NO MAN
Triplets section (start after 1 rep w/ guitar)
His truck
ascends
The steep mountain road
Going to meet the devil up in his abode
He’s got his sub zero tank
To keep the goods cold
Going to help the devil
So he won’t grow old
The devil gets hot
In his summer retreat
So he requires iced goods
To beat the heat
Chorus again for the same length
5/4 Riff (start as soon as Ian comes in)
He’s falling
Behind
Following
The line
Of sweat
And lust
Only in his truck
Can he place his trust
x2
Chorus
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7. |
Scaling a Wall
04:16
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8. |
||||
The dust floats down to the ground by the barstools
he emerges from his cover.
His multi-gallon hat lays on the counter
it can no longer hold water.
The rambler struts through the ruined mass of wreckage
doesn’t see it as a slaughter.
He departs in his dirty white pickup
views himself as a martyr.
People band together
Follow the rambler
Oh he started in the
Heart of the desert
Where his wife lays buried
Beneath their failed crops
Oh he travels those
Southwestern highways
No destination til he
Makes his next stop
He sees himself on the posted wanted posters and he
knows he has to hide.
His rear-view mirror lights up with police lights
they have him in their sights.
The rambler stops the truck, steps onto the highway and says
“it’s time to make things right.”
The cops roll up with their fingers on the triggers but
they don’t feel the need to fight.
Bullets, dust and smokescreen
Memories of ice cream
Oh he started in the
Heart of the desert
Where his wife lays buried
Beneath their failed crops
Oh he travels those
Southwestern highways
No destination til he
Makes his next stop
The rambunctious red-state rambler rumbled across the desert.
What was left of his ten-gallon hat lay prone in the passenger seat.
Blood bubbled out from his belly which heaved inwards and outwards and with each heave, heaved a little less.
A dozen cops lay dead behind him and a dozen more would be on his tail again soon enough, but right now the rambler could only think things through one at a time.
One hand on the wheel, one hand on his wound, one cigarette dangling from his mouth, one last desert sunset to drive off into.
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9. |
Method Act
05:47
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Method Act Palo Alto, California
Est. August 2012
www.facebook.com/pages/Method-Act/339556999498206?fref=nf
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