No Control

Extra images
1. Change Of Ideas MP3
2. Big Bang
3. No Control MP3
4. Sometimes It Feels Like
5. Automatic Man MP3
6. I Want To Conquer The World MP3
7. Sanity MP3
8. Henchman
9. It Must Look Pretty Appealing MP3
10. You
11. Progress MP3
12. I Want Something More
13. Anxiety
14. Billy
15. The World Won't Stop

Change Of Ideas

well the sheaves have all been brought,
but the fields have washed away,
and the palaces now stand
where the coffins all were laid,
and the times we see ahead
we must glaze with rosy hues
for we don't wish to admit what it is
we have to lose
millennia in coming,
the modern age is here,
it sanctifies the future yet renders us with fear,
so many theories, so many prophecies,
what we do need is a change of ideas,
when we're scared,
we can hide in our reveries,
but what we need is a change of ideas,
change of ideas, change of ideas,
what we need now is a change of ideas.

Big Bang

this isn't another new fashion
or a new plastic trend,
everybody's searching for something
but in the mean time let's all just pretend
I've got this feeling
and I don't know what it is,
this room is overcrowded man
and I need air to breath
big bang, big crunch,
you know there's no free lunch
kneel down and pray,
here comes your judgment day
big crunch, you know it's going
to be quite a show
what goes around always comes around
a million hopeless faces
dwell within protected walls,
all waiting for a moment in their lives
when they can heed the clarion call,
and it's all so oppressive my mind feels
like a sieve,
this city is overcrowded man
and I need room to live
I think of the countless shadows
that have all come and gone,
all suffering in the notion of better
things to come,
if you share these beliefs
you know I wish you well,
'cause there's no room left in heaven,
and there's no room in hell.

No Control

culture was the seed of proliferation
but it has gotten melded into an inharmonic whole,
consciousness has plagued us and we can not shake it,
though we think we're in control
questions that besiege us in life
are testament of our helplessness,
there's no vestige of a beginning,
no prospect of an end
when we all disintegrate it will all happen again,
time is so rock solid in the minds of the hoards
but they can't explain why it should slip away,
history and future are the comforts of our
curiosity but here we are rooted in the present day
if you came to conquer you'll be king for a day,
but you too will deteriorate and quickly fade away,
and believe these words you hear
when you think your path is clear . . .
we have no control,
we do not understand,
you have no control,
you are not in command.

Sometimes It Feels Like

there's a spectre in the corner of an illustrated page,
and a lonesome muted stringling with a rapt remedial gaze,
the poverty of his language and the wealth of his emotion
bring him endless murky musings and unexpected frustration,
angst and madness weave the fabric of his life,
tomorrow might be better
but right now it feels like,
there's a panther wild and proud
behind the doors of a redolent cage,
and an undeveloped intellect filled with impotent and static rage,
and don't think you're exempt, if you earn a good weekly wage,
'cause your neighbour's going crazy
and insanity's contagious,
I know there's so much you want to say
but your tongue gets in the way
and sometimes it feels like
I know there's so much you want to say
and the tumbrel of your mind gets in the way,
it's the same for everybody to degrees,
we all get hat foggy freeze and
sometimes it feels like

Automatic Man

he's the latest super hero with powers so profound
he can leap a dotted line in just a single bound,
I know you must have seen him in books and magazines,
he's the quintessential mindless modern epicene,
his life is meaningful because he get things done,
bang bang he's dead
chalk up another triumph for our hero,
the automatic man
it's true you must have met him, he's your best friend and your foe,
his opinions are determined by the status quo,
a true creature of habit, he smokes three packs a day,
when he has an original thought he forgets it right away
he's a paradigm of carefree living,
he's our mentor disturb him if you can,
he's the answer if your peace of mind is lacking,
he's our savior,
he is the common man
so if you are troubled by the daily bump and grind,
then take a careful look around your brother
you will find . . . the automatic man.

I Want To Conquer The World

hey brother christian with your high and mighty errand,
your actions speak so loud I can't hear a word you're saying
hey sister bleeding heart with all of your compassion,
your labors soothe the hurt but can't assuage temptation
hey man of science with your perfect rules of measure,
can you improve this place with the data that you gather
hey mother mercy can your loins bear fruit forever?
is your fecundity a trammel or a treasure?
I want to conquer the world,
give all the idiots a brand new religion,
put an end to poverty uncleanliness
and toll promote equality in all of my decisions
with a quick wink of the eye and a "god you must be joking"
hey mister diplomat with your worldly aspirations,
did you see the children cry when you left them at the station?
hey moral soldier you've got righteous proclamation
and precious tomes to fuel your pulpy conflagrations
I want to conquer the world,
expose the culprits and feed them to the children,
I'll save the whales,
we'll have peace on earth
and global communion . . .


there's a watch in my pocket and its hands are broken,
the face is blank the gears are turning,
confusion is a fundamental state of mind,
it doesn't really matter what I'm figuring out,
I'm guaranteed to wind up in a state of doubt,
and sanity is a full-time job,
in a world that's always changing,
and sanity is a state of mind that you believe in,
there's a shadow on the wall where the paint is peeling,
my body's moving forward but my mind is reeling,
depression is a fundamental state of being,
it doesn't really matter how my day has turned out,
I always end up living in this world of doubt.


stranded in a life in which your struggle
for acceptance is a never-ending chore,
upbraided for your actions past and present
and rewarded for ideas
of the future's bright open door,
the henchman is the human analogue of
the suffering multitudes who like good
dogs sit and lick for their reward,
so what good advice have I got for you to
insure against your likely metamorphosis into this reprobate?
don't be a henchman,
stand on your laurels do what no one else
does and praise the good of other men
for good man's sake,
and when everyone else in the world
follows your lead (although a cold day in hell it will surely be),
that is when the entire world shall live in harmony . . .

It Must Look Pretty Appealing

the wheat waving next to you is healthy
and so fine as is dinner with your
loved-ones every day,
but your routines is changeless
through the decades of your life
green pastures open spaces holy ways,
and it must look pretty appealing,
the acres of lights,
the crowded festive nights
and the millions of others just like you,
it must look pretty appealing,
this other world of sin,
we keep dreaming of what other people do
the person sitting next to you
is dismal and deranged on the bus ride home from
work to end your day,
and the food on your table is more
plastic than protein,
and your intellect depends on your TV,
and it must look pretty appealing,
the pastoral retreat,
the folks on old main street,
and the few pleasant people
just like you,
it must look pretty appealing,
the simple way of life,
we keep dreaming of what other people do,
but we never do what other people do,
you're too scared of other people
not like you.


there's a place where everyone can be happy,
it's the most beautiful place in the whole fucking world,
it's made of candy canes and planes,
red choo choo trains and the meanest little boys,
and the most innocent little girls,
and you know,
I wish that I could go there,
it's a road that I have not found,
and I wish you the best of luck dear,
drop a card or letter to my side of town,
'cuz there's no time for fussing and fighting my friend,
but baby I'm amazed by the hate that you, can send and you,
painted my entire world but I,
don't have the terpentine to clean
what you have soiled . . .
and I won't forget it
there's a place where everyone can be right,
even though you remain determined to be opposed,
admittance requires no qualifications,
it's where everyone has been and where everybody goes,
so please try not to be impatient,
for we all hate standing in line,
and when the farm is good and bought,
you'll be there without a thought,
and eternity my friend, is a long fucking time.


and progress is not intelligently planned,
it's the facade of our heritage,
the odor of our land,
they speak of progress,
in red, white and blue,
it's the structure of the future as
demise comes seething through
it's the progress till there's nothing left to gain,
as the dearth of new ideas
makes us wallow in our shame,
so before you go to contribute more
to the destruction of this world you adore,
remember life on earth is but a flash of dawn,
and we're all part of it as the day rolls on
and progress is a message that we send
one step closer to the future,
one inch closer to the end,
I say progress, is a synonym of time,
we are all aware of it but it's nothing we refine,
and progress, is a debt we all must pay,
it's convenience we all cherish,
it's the pollution we disdain,
and the edge is dulling,
too many folks to plow through,
just keep your fucking distance
and it can not include you.

I Want Something More

going through a world of sad debris,
regard quixotic reveries of ownership,
the blossoming disease of man called tenure and accretion,
the ancient western treadmill or deception and derision
but I want something more
racing through a life of tragic wastage
I experience the loss of trust and innocence,
the billowing cyclone of time has blown away our reasons,
as we trudge like blind men forward trying to avoid collision,
but I want something more.


a love song to the self,
a story recapped every day,
a world of bogus feelings
and a world of slow decay.
a world of laughter hidden by this world
of fear and torment
a game of strange compulsion,
our visceral convulsion
anxiety for love of life,
anxiety for pain,
anxiety, a feeling that you know
you can't contain
(a fear that you have nothing more to gain)
anxiety destroys us
but it drives the common man,
foundation of society anxiety
suppress it if you can
the caste of coffee-achievers didn't perform like they planned,
the morning rush hour traffic is our play of false plan,
so run around your frantic track and lay you down to sleep,
tomorrow's the redemption
we strive for that exception
what are we angry for?
we all need a common cure,
that common goal for which you strive
to have more than the other guy
the quest for the truth,
the quest for the gold we en up all the same,
the common lie,
the righteous cry we end up all the same,
the angry crowd,
those lost and found everybody's all the same,
the poet's pen,
these words I lend,
we all bend to anxiety.


I can recall the warm youth of a summer day,
the sweetest lemonade,
the darkest game arcade,
and billy had a yearning
in the corner of his mind,
it moved him secretly,
it moved him powerfully,
but prescience was lacking and the present was not all,
and his aptitudes were carelessly wasted,
and challenging life with the abandon of a fool
he squandered the hours of his day
then darkness and disorder slapped him sharply in the face,
it hit him like a friend struck something deep within,
he couldn't break the chain of slow decay
that seemed to drag him just like a fatal tie toward the other side
and billy was a lunatic
just barking at the moon
and his brain was totally wasted,
he then exchanged his friends for a needle and a spoon
and he through his future away
bolt the door and throw away the key
your dim reflection is all that you can see,
so where is the justice when no one is at fault,
and a human life is tragically wasted?
how fragile is the flame that
burns within us all to light each passing day?

The World Won't Stop

you've got to quit your little charade
and join the freak parade
now that your road has been paved
from conception to your grave,
there are enormous thongs to do
others practices to eschew,
to be better than you is impossible to do,
but the world won't stop without you
your achievements are unsurpassed
you are highly-ordered mass,
but you can bet your ass your free
energy will dissipate
two billion years thus far,
now mister here you are an element
in a sea of enthalpic organic compounds
you're only as elegant as your actions let you be,
a piece of chaos related phylogenetically
to every living organ system,
they're siblings don't you see,
the earth evolves and will rotate
without you constantly.