MELTDOWN (From STINKFIST)

They outlawed everything that spelled pleasure.
Didn't want you to even think about it.
Wanted you to forget everything about how good it felt.
It was all so obvious why...too dangerous.
And what exactly was going to happen.
It was easy, so easy.
It wasn't met with much resistance.
Revolt didn't come til much, much later.
After the damage had already been done.

It all happened so quickly.
Or did it take forever?
I lost track of time
Got swallowed up in the Rush, the Push, the Panic, the Pain.
The Poison.
Dying and trying to stay alive.
I'm driving 365 MPH through a brick abutment.
The road to nowhere is covered with shit, with drunks, with drugs, with fuck.
It sucks.

I see a 452-mile long forest fire that your plane crashes into at 2
in the morning.
I laugh at shopping mall murders, abortion clinics, earthquakes and the plague.
I'm living in a nuthouse on the outskirts of a pig farm.
I was lying when I said I was lying.
I'm not easing into anything
I don't want to ease in.
I see bombs bursting in air, rifles ricocheting off the bellies of pregnant women, handicapped children poisoned on a school bus, crumbling cities polluted beyond recognition.
Carcinogenic hallucinations, terminations.
Where all the killers are heroes, I'm the Queen of cripples; one armed bandits, one eyed jacks and dead cats.

The ambulance comes crashing into my daydreams...
reminding me of the way it used to be
how good it used to feel
hacksaws jimmying for position
the crack of bat against bone
the smell of burning rubber
broken glass, mud slicks, slagheaps
blistering fevers
delirium
slot machines, submachine guns
The Circle of Abuse
I'm forced into it
I'm forced into it
a Real Live Mind Fuck
I need it
I need it
I want it
I'm trap inside the perfect torture chamber
Thrown into a mental institution for famous movie stars
dead by the '60's...
wish you were here
wish you were here
wish I was somewhere else
wish I was somewhere else
stupid people overpopulate this place
and the steel walls come crashing in.

THE GARDEN OF UNEARTHLY DELIGHTS

Embrace...
Embrace the celebration of a lifestyle
as evidenced in the Encyclopedia of Disaster...
Panic, Trauma, Flesh and Bloodshed.
We are gathered together like the sacrifice
of small animals offering themselves up
to the Divine Savage by ways of
self-mutilation, body manipulation, psychic manifestations,
as if in Transference of the fiendish agonies
through psycho pathetic identification with something Greater...
With something Greater
which doesn't even exist except as a seductive novelty
for profoundly disturbed souls.

To reach that Mystic State
like a Plague or sacred gift
which unleashes the mechanism.
Punishment is Benediction.
Righteously putting an end to the infected mortals
parasitic existence.

Welcome to the Necropolis of Unearthly Delights...
where each new troublemaker desires a Mark of Identity
The Branding Iron, The Needle, The Noose, The Gun
All Victims declare themselves to be in Rebellion against
The Church, The State, False Virtue, Convention and Tradition
shall have placed upon their bodies,
shall have placed upon their bodies,
The Mark of the Beast, The Mark of Cain, The Designs of the Devil
Tattoos and Piercings and Brandings
Brandishing forth the confusion of insane movements
Hysterical screams, anxieties, the inevitable approach of danger
Uncontrollable gestures of terror
Fear magnetized by the violence of their own panic
Plunged into the Spiral, the Whirlpool, drawn in...
We are all falling
We are all falling
The clear sensation of Aspixia
The awareness of having struggled in vain
against the irresistible suction which swallows you up.
Sucked into the Vortex, the Vacuum.
Hanging by a thin thread.
Attacks of fever, inner devastation.
The overwhelmingly virulent clinging desperately
to the ideal of an unnamed leader
an unnamed leader
as if to suspend their Life Sentence
The Dilemma of their gradual extinction
by the logic of a Machine which devours
and forces into Quarantine.

Trussed up to trees, poles, scaffolds
beaten down by the wind in a dervish of panicked lust
commenced to steam in Flesh and Shadow
by the scornful Executioners
who've shorn every last vestige of humanity.

And with the Blood of a thousand Christs,
I wash my hands of Mercy.
Blindly hurling myself into the red hot lips of the Volcano
Thick white heat releases steam through the puncture wounds
Long, slow, hard suck
Ambushed by mouths trying to bite off more than enough too
chew on for awhile.
Being swept under
Drinking in the poison of others.

The only way out is through the Crematorium's door.
Escape is essential.
There is no seeking shelter in the empty house
of the uneasy souls
against the force of irresistible attack.

Sick victims litter the landscape.
Truth burns holes in the heads of the Undead.
The unending cries and whispers of those treated unjustly

All the lovers of forgetfulness
turn a blind eye
walk in single file
looking for a bridge
tall enough to tumble from.

LEFT WITH INCRIMINATIONS OF ALL THINGS LEFT UNDONE.

To rest in the belly of a pit where no sun will ever shine.
Stranded in an endless Valley of Unrest.
Bruised and battered in tatters, like beasts in a black bed
head bent back upon the cutting block.

In a final exorcism of Doomed Lust,
The feverish rhythms
of those who know they are condemned to die...
condemned to die, but not of old age
at the dirty hands of the immaculate whirlpool
embraced by a wicked stepsister
who cultivates the most vile and ominous attributes
of the illegal brotherhood
of the beatifically tortured bodies.

THE ART OF RITUAL

The Art of Ritual and Masquerade
line the skin like artificial nerves.
Sin is just a trick on niggers
broken on the wheel of fate.
Shackled to what never was...
what never will be.
Haunted again and again
by the ghosts of a murdered conscience.

Where sex is now an act of Murder.

The Noose looms...
I feel like I'm being crushed
under the immense gravity
of all the dead buried on top of me.

Punished again and again
for the crimes of my mother
my father, our brothers and lovers
those fuckers.
Crimes against Nature
Crimes against Reason
That fetish for Hate fucking...

The smell of a sick cunt
brings the sick fucks around every time...

And there I go again...
Delirious spasms
Toxic hallucinations
of all the beautiful young soldiers
who have come to soil my battlefield
with their heavy artillery
pumping into me like bullets
fired at point blank range
anointed with the hot molten lead
which would mingle
with the blood and cum

letting it flow
letting it flower into
small muddy puddles
at my bound feet
Whipped into ritual frenzy by blood sucking fuckers
who practice Sex as a Black Mass, Witchcraft, Wicca...
Seduced by mirrors, Tarot, Slight of Hand into the Harem
sucking in the poison of others.
That perfume of Death...of Blood.

The beauty of the Wounds perpetrated, perpetuated...
Not ever able to get far enough away from the inside of the body.
From the slow rot which takes root...sick in the center of every single cell.
Contagions multiplying in upon themselves. Muscles loosening. The Flesh withers.
The delicious languor of Disintegration. I can smell in coming.
Like fallout from some terrible explosion, scattered by the wind.
A Siren sings out calling me...recognize the song from the tombs...
It's calling you Ricocheting off the raw wounds.
Wounds, which will never, ever heal.

THE CITY AS VAMPIRE

THE CITY AS VAMPIRE A MASSIVE SUCKLING VORTEX
WHERE THE MAGNITUDE OF PERSONAL INSIGNIFIGANCE IS REPLACED
BY A FRAUDULENT OVER-IMPORTANCE...FOOLS YOU INTO THINKING YOU COUNT...TRICKS YOU INTO FEELING NECESSARY...URGENT...IMPORTANT...
WHEN IN ACTUALITY YOU WOULDN'T RATE A WHISPER ON A RADAR SCREEN...NOT EVEN A COG IN THE WHEEL...THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE...

NO CITY NEEDS YOU...YOU NEED IT/LIKE A DRUG...AN ARTIFICIAL STIMULANT WHICH ACCELERATES THE PULSE/JUST LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU TO FORGET HOW RAPED YOU ARE.... HAVE BEEN ...WILL BE....

ABANDONED BABY STROLLER IN THE MIDDLE OF HOUSTN ST NEAR 2ND AVE.TRIPS YOU...GRABS YOUR ANKLE & TWISTS...YOU STUMBLE...THROWN UP INTO SOMEONE ELSE'S NIGHTMARE...YOU PLAY OUT A SCENE/ MAKE IT FIT YOUR MOOD...LET THE MIND WANDER.... YOU LOSE YOURSELF IN SOME JUNKIES DEN ON CLINTON STREET.... SMELL THE STARVING INFANT...HUNGRY FOR FOOD/FORMULA/A FATHER....

THE MOTHER'S PASSED OUT IN A CORNER A TRICKLE OF PUKE ACCENTS HER DIRTY PINK T-SHIRT...SHE'S PISSED HERSEL AGAIN...GREASY HAIR SPLITS ACROSS ONE EYE, HEAD BOBS...
MOMMY'S LANDED ON ANOTHER PLANET
PETRIFIED OF THIS ONE & WHAT IT'S DONE TO HER...
WHAT SHE LET IT DO TO HER...WHAT SHE'S DONE TO HERSELF...
WHAT SHE DID TO THE BABY...

LIKE WHEN SHE FORGOT IT IN THE BACK OF SOME TRICKS CAR...
THE PASTY BLOB OF GREEDY FLESH WAS ONLY 1 OR 2 MONTHS OLD...
SHE'D BUNDLE IT UP IN AN OLD SWEATER SHE HAD.... STUFF IT IN HER BATTERED PATTEN LEATHER TOTE BAG...
AFTER THE 30$ BLOWJOB & BY THE TIME THE DOPE KICKED IN.
SHE WAS DRIFTING SOMEWHERE OVER THE DISTANT HORIZON...
ABSENT FROM THE HERE & NOW...THE HURT & HEARTACHE...THE RENT THE LOUSY SEX & HUMILIATION. ABSENT FROM THE BABY...

WHO GOT LEFT BEHIND IN A FIT OF PANIC WHEN A SQUAD CAR PULLED UP BEHIND...FALSE ALARM THOUGH...& IN THE CONFUSION & SCRAMBLE LEFT THE KID BEHIND IN THE BACKSEAT/WRAPPED IN WOOL.... IT SOMEHOW WIGGLED OUT OF HER BAG & DIDN'T WAKE UP WET & CRYING, HUNGRY & DEJECTED UNTIL THE JERSEY LISCENCE PLATES WERE SPEEDING UP TO THE WEST SIDE HIGHWAY.... & MOMMY WAS SPLATTERED ON THE CORNER OF 6TH & 3RD.PULLING AT HER HAIR BECAUSE SHE COULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT SHE JUST DID.

COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT AFTER 29 YEARS OF STRUGGLE & STRIFE
WAS STILL REDUCED TO BEGGING DIAPER MONEY OFF THE MEN
SHE'D RENT HER FUCKING MOUTH TOO...WHERE THEY'D JACK OFF INTO IT DEPOSITING THE REMNANTS OF THEIR OWN VILE FRUSTRATIONS & EMPTINESS & LEAVING IN IT'S LIQUID WAKE THE GHOSTLY FLAVOR OF BITTERNESS....

TWISTED

Stopped. Alone...
In the Night of Space.
He's twisting inside himself
He's twisting inside.
He takes the Night Walks with the Pain Gods
through the alley's mouth.
Unseeing, He's not
Unseeing, He's not.
Transient to the Arena of Space
He comes to inflict.
Cursing at the Sons & Mothers
who never knew any better
it's always bitterness
it's always bitterness
Bitterness replaces the Pain
which poses as Pleasure.
Pleasure
Treasures left buried in the mud
replace the dull thud
which cackles in the Sleep Chamber
Lost in Twilight's last gleaming
I fight myself
I fight myself
with swords and words.
Encased deep within this spoiled flesh
oh Night Sickness rushes in
Oh Night Sickness rushes in
Oh Night. Sick
Pumpfucked into Oblivion
bullets squirm around inside me
feet kick the inner gut
from below
Fire eats away
I'm burning baby, so slow
Busted up by bricks, stones, sticks
shit gets in the way.
Twisting inside
Time drops dead in the space of a minute
I found someplace in Limbo
I'm trying to crawl out of
I'm trying to crawl out of
I'm trying to crawl in.

Send mail to our Web Master with comments about this web site.
Copyright © 2004 - 2007 Widowspeak Productions
Website last updated: November 24th, 2007