Naevus - Truffles of Love lyrics

TRUFFLES OF LOVE

BREAD AND CHEESE IN THE DOCTOR'S SURGERY

An obscure breakfast
My sugar dumpling
Spilled over plates
And leaving me wanting

Time woven in gentle, glancing touches
Grazing the internal organs
Wiring them up to the heat of the outside
The glory and deceit of treatments
The sheer metal surrounds
Glancing and spreading flat onto a table
Paper replacing the maggot spew

Holy as whims
Silent as the short side of a door
I ask for nothing
Except that the conduct
Be worthy of its own means

I hide like a fungal growth
In the sourest corner of your heart

ORACLE, ORACLE

Oracle, let the chicken live…
If he may leave his short career
If he will not interfere
Oracle, let the chicken live…
If this world is a patient place
If he will owe you not for this grace
Oracle, let the chicken live…

Oracle, let the chicken live…
If his weight will not be too much
If his pain will not be seen as such
Oracle, let the chicken live…
If this world will not resent
If there is nothing he must represent
Oracle, let the chicken live…

Oracle, let the chicken live…
If this world is worth more than he
If to kill him leaves him to me
Oracle, let the chicken live…

THE MOUTH SONG

God bless morbid loathing of the human mouth
Confess disease and feel a satisfaction of your own
The bright and airy honesty of wholesomeness
Has nothing for the back teeth to fasten into

The action is removed to the front of the mouth
And what is left but introverted rubbings?
The motion of gyrating molars further mocked
By empty, cutting canines

A piece of peanut
Hot coffee on the gums
The guilt of the body for its own blind needs

Canines do not care for their satisfaction
And cannot understand the cravings of those buried ones
Like hard mushrooms reared in the dank earth of the mouth
They feed only blindly

A piece of peanut
Hot coffee on the gums
The guilt of the body for its own blind needs

YONDER

Can you see me on your lawn?
I am lying on the whore
Can you feel which way to go?
I can't see you, can you see me?

I'm lying in the garden
I hope and pray for this final day
And when you're on your own
I hope to say I cannot find the way

Can you see me? Can you feel?
I can't tell you what's yet to be
On some Wednesday I'll find you
You can tell me what to do

I can't tell you when I'll find you in the walls
I'll hone your jewels on the window
And can you see the way I lie and hope and pray?
I answer all your calls, too

Can you tell me? I can't hide
Do you see what has to die?
Aubrey wanted Dresden heart
Legs of tungsten will not start

PARADE

Some shoddy past parade
Where promises were made
To cleave unto the daylight
And to freshness and to space
But now the truth therein
Is falling from the window
Rolling down the rooftop
To the gutter, to its place

For such a potent curse
To all at once disperse
Is something to remark upon
Travestial debris
I see you're lost for words
Let's leave this to the birds
This thinning square of fabric
Seems to illustrate our needs

And now you must demur
Take your place in the circle
Pity through absorption
Of the qualities we see
The pattern holds you fast
You have your chance at last
To live and yes, I know now
Your subsumption brings release

COMPLIMENTS SLIP

An apparition at the bus stop
Chased by unreal appeals
To vanity, not flattery
But pure, corrupted vanity

If there is no second
Then there will always be a third
Unreal spectre, so freshly cold
After wishes and pleas

Compliments slip too easy
From the lazy tongue of love
And they choke in the throat
Of everything higher or lower

What's the use in a costume?
Well, it gives you a hat to doff
If nothing else

BEGGAR

You are a modern man
You are a man of today
But you belong to all the beasts
Of yesterday
Drumming out emotion
With reference to thickness
To the ability to slide beneath these
Hot radio
Just slid there
Send a calendar to you father
Send a picture to your mother
Neither need ever know
That the one contains the other
A pathetic stew
A feeble home-brew
Heating meat from the bone
Gives you something to do
Chrome shysters
Apple-bobbing burgomeisters
The chemical composition of which
Is new
Moth or mosquito
Take me to Geppetto
Teach him of the errors
Of his son's embarrassing measures
A mythical figure
A comical snigger
Drawling out
Drawling out
Drawling it out
To be spelled
To be counted
To be taught the sweetness of decay
Born in the shallow heat of the human mind
Teach the poor, ailing father
A few lessons in magnitude
Oh, the poor fellow
The simple distinction is beyond him
A simple tool
Enabling you to bang your head against a wall
A simple tribute to death
Performed by the deed itself
A sure-fire way to argue with no-one
A remedy for decay
A rack for self-display
I'm not trying to defend it
I'm just trying to remember
No valleys
No sheep
Just a motorway
That charges straight through
And dumps you in the Irish Sea
Then hooks you back out
Under the same moon
Half a different side
A handful of stars
Thrown around somewhere up there
Bowels are reaching for something
There's an overstimulation
As if to make up for threatless absence
Skimming lines of cloud
Skirting rudely around
A face of platitude
A low line
A dim array
A bright transport
So far it's as dull as my own
I throw another stump
Bounding from barriers
An acute desire for crudeness with a story
Defeating every kind of fire
It's true
That this side of the far line
Has served me better
Serves me better now
Not as well as before
Those few years eloped somewhere
And though I've been away
It was me that got left behind somewhere
I'm disabled by the unnature that persists
In hammy, small, recent constructs
By the labour that failed
Not without some projection
Or hope
A shimmer through high bushes
The point of the arc of a house
Adding me down
Again
To a buried sum this time
I'm waiting under your soil
Through it I see the silver fringe
Of coniferous trees
Still afraid to specify
But getting there
I'm not the only studied one
Crippled aloud
I see your friend is not mad
Just alone
Alive
Suffering a shell
Like every other

THE BALLS, THE BALLS (The Lonely Remedial)

Bound to the straining testes
He is rendered irresolute
The upper body
Spacious and needy
A turret of ferocious force
Learns itself as separate
From the less vigorous limbs

While its location, never free
Arcs through its limited route
Near below the balls, the balls
That nearly bind him near to that turret
That learns itself as separate
From the less vigorous limbs

The balls, the balls, he's bound to them
Belongs to their space beneath the upper
Caught on the long surrounds that hang in use
Flinch at a pinch, gangle in halves
Drawing their keen and steady direction
From the power that is the face
To the double pendulum

BLENHEIM

A clifftop romance summoning up every well-used recourse
This is the palace, this is the park, this is the way, this is the way
Shake off sheepish fetters to return to the fine country house
Pay or display
I'll take your choice

There is a human body face-down in the roses
There is a crime beneath every fence
Drive me in your car, drive me in your car
Sink or sing the swan song, sink or sing the swan song
Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate
It must be here somewhere, it must be here somewhere

So few people for so many rooms
Are you sure that this is the way it was supposed to be?
There must be a draught
The invasion of art nouveau has left us wanting
A touch of class
Oh commissioner, you are spoiling us

Can you hear it?
Rain is sinking through soil
Feel the brightness seeping or sapping
Proximity to anything is an interesting phenomenon, every time

There is a human body face-down in the roses
There is a crime beneath every fence
Survey the fine estate, survey the fine estate
It must be here somewhere

Sometimes there is something
Doubt has the least innocuous power

There will be an investigation
And we all dread it

Without the grounds: intruder
This is not a story

A final heading: misdeeds
Clench

RAGS

Musty red mock velvet
A platform for the dirty blue
For the rag of dank absorption
For the wafer-thin mattress that cushions
A bitten fleece of weak reward
To smother little deaths
And other spillage, seepage, discharge
From the world

These are the remnants that recreate
The place that we bring with us, the refuge that pursues us
And waits for information, a platform, a stage, even
For the re-enactment, the preservation, the perpetuation
Of the static myth of the self

A curtain to draw across the deeds
That no-one really pries for
A blind to wind around the signs
That no-one thinks to try for
A spirit too mean to care to be seen
A soul disowned by physical entity
Dirty and practical
That is the way it is supposed to be