One of my favorite Clinic songs, from the period when Clinic was still putting out new and original music.
One of my favorite songs on this earth.
from Martha Wainwright’s spectacular debut album
(from the anime Samurai Champloo)
Broke stride as last of men realized their deep deceit. / This troubling advance of half-assed crews crowd these streets. / Never mind of who I am, son, just listen when I speak / Broken paragraphs hold wrath of a hundred million deep. / Bleak circumstance led masses to only want to dance / A bastard child of Reaganomics posed in a B-Boy stance / Make our leaders play minstrel, Left with none to lead our people. / How the fuck am I gonna shake your hand, when we never been seen as equals? / Deemed evil by those housed in church steeples. / False prophets read backwards from broken tablets to the feeble, / I seen you! / Regurgitate their lies. / I’ll bide my time with scrolls and ancient’s wine. / Heady brew left mark on this hazy scribe. / If stars align I suppose even the blind will see, / How they stole our last voice, corrupted culture into industry. / Few minutes remain, a tame soul wanders wild when it dreams. / Mine are filled with ill visions of soot and dope fiends. / These slit wrists won’t rest till I spill these last drops. /Tarnished skin only sin when I awoke on sidewalk. / Seen your movements through peripheral / Remain same individual. / When a man’s viewed as criminal to act animal is logical. / Audible tones honed to hold substance / Form sentence / Poor reluctant poet, speak prose / Refuse to beg repentance / Reluctant poet speak prose / Incite our peoples / We got raked through those coals / Once the truth was divulged. / Conscience calls thoughts subliminal / Actions all cyclical / Deplorable descendants of men depressed clinical. / Answers seem visible when visionless / Useless souls fold under pressure like hands pray to false Jesus. / Inadequate adversaries advance awkwardly. / Anger expressed outwardly / Causes ranks to break amongst these frail MC’s. / Your fictional tales told with conviction. / Concise concepts once written enter bloodstream / since this inks been forbidden. / Distorted poet, speak prosen / Incite our peoples / We got raked over coals / But the truth’s still untold. / Meaning lost to these zealots / Prefer bullets to ballots / Watch the rich sip from chalice / As these eyes fill with malice / Peasant hands remain callous / as our days retain darkness / I swallow razor blades to keep my vocal cords sharpened. / Morbid mixture of mistrust and anger paints picture. / Perception now blurred words slurred to form scripture. / These sullen souls misinformed / Storm gates of stronghold / Strange fate that I chose / Morbid poet speak prose. / Tattered voices arose / Red Blood written on scroll / Escapes throat an ill flow / For my violence atoned. / Modest thoughts monotone / Infant MC’s play grown / Found them hung in hallways / from cords on microphones