ELAND
Suppiluliuma
The Indri Cries In Mourning For His Brother Who Went Astray
Useless Blue
Buffalo Buffalo
Walking Eagle For The Win
Golden Arms
Tommy Kabu Cooperative Movement
Aesop I'm Not
So I carried my ashes up to the mountain
Led the bull out on to the plain
Sent him away with all of this hurt
Made for myself a better flame
I have heard of winds that flatten down the hillside
Dissolved away in seas too far to reach
Cities seen far off, the cunning work of giants
Where buildings crowd the plotted plain
They circle their wagons and they draw their long knives
The Grinning Man digs a pit
And a drunken howl comes from outside my window
With crimson teeth they set in on themselves
They were busy with strife, of weapons far and wide
Devised a more harmful sword
The tree on earth shall suffer for its leaves
Lament its branches and curse its roots
Sighing to itself, "Ain't Entropy a bitch."
As the flies depart in the heat of the day
And where all is found in the hands of the bold
I am now the dragon's son-in-law
I shall go find an open place
Let the stars stare down on me
If the King of Clouds comes to clip my wings
I'll go down to the shore and grow back my fins
And play with minor storms while they wear down the ocean
Hoping that the world won't turn
I thought that we would always stay golden
I thought that we had time to burn
So I’ll carry my ashes up to the mountain
Lead the bull out on to the plain
I'll send him away with all of my hurt
Make for myself a better flame
That I shall guard with all that I can
Taking care not to stare too long
At the brighter light that hides inside the fire
Clouds with smoke and casts shadows on the wall
It will blind you and it will betray you
Fill the fields with the firmness of faith
Weary shall be he who rows against the wind
But must press on else draw his oar on board
From the sun into the shadow and back into the sun
Let me not be a source of imposition
Let me not be too sure of myself
Still waters breed reptiles of the mind
And someone's been giving booze to these goddamn things
Now gleams the wandering moon beneath the evening clouds
Now comes the time for counting days
And whatever happens here, it is none of your concern
Whatever happens now, it's time to burn
So I carry my ashes up to the mountain
Lead the bull out on to the plain
Send him away with all of my hurt
Make for myself a newer flame
Suppiluliuma
Suppiluliuma
2. The Indri Cries In Mourning For His Brother Who Went Astray
Most legends establish a closer relationship between the Indri and humans. In some regions it is believed that there were two brothers who lived together in the forest until one of them decided to leave and cultivate the land. That brother became the first human, and the brother who stayed in the forest became the first Indri. The Indri cries in mourning for his brother who went astray.
They all call him the T-Bird
And when they call me, they call me Useless Blue
Back when the Turks were the unsung heroes of rock
And computers were made by the BBC
We made so many plans
With The Business clanging on his pots and pans
Now the plugged-in network man crows and preens online
Don’t you listen to him, Dan
He’s a devil not a man, I say
Just another muzzle flash in the pan
And here comes Rickey, calling on behalf of Rickey
Rickey wants to play some baseball
He’ll join our all-star team, while the T-Bird dreams
Of standing stones and Shepard tones
I’ll write lost tomes on how wasps raise their young
And the films that they inspire
I heard it from a friend
But what is a friend other than a stranger that you’ve happened to’ve met?
Someday I’ll get things going
And maybe someday I’ll make it rain
Dollar bills in the club
Where the lookers look and with luck look good
I tossed the passed-on meet-up
In the storeroom where I keep all my miscues
It’s a rather prominent part of the pile of things to file
And I tell myself, “Don’t let her get in your head”
But that fact I said, “Don’t let her get in your head”
Really means instead I let her get in my head
So I consult my notes
And deliver a series of prepared remarks
On other matters metaphysical
And all the known unknowns
Oh, you know that I would take for you the photograph of a Thunderbird
I saw one once; it was on TV
But I must have lost the tape
And memory can be a fickle git
There’s miles of piles of files
Someday I’ll get on down to sorting it
But it’s such a long meanwhile
Most of my dreams involve traveling through space
With magnetars and quasar cars and you
So let us gather all our papers
To roll and burn them down
I will field my all-star team when the lines lit up
Said, “This is Rickey, calling on behalf of Rickey,
Rickey wants to play some baseball.”
Yeah, Rickey wants to play some ball.
Well I tell you I’m sold on the green, red, and gold of a struggle
But for reasons untold the season’s on hold for a muddle
The hicks play tricks on the rich but they won’t pick up the sticks
And the Capital states that it never relates to the Labour
But it’s just a cattle call and they’ll rattle all of the Sabres
The lawyer smiles as he snakes one from the till
He’ll get the jocks to withhold their special skill
And like a trained seal they’ll show they’re for real when they’re able
If you want a free meal there’s a deal waiting under the table
And I’m so glad you came, made your name, got your foot through the door
But if you don’t mind my saying, it’s a shame if that’s all it’s for
The money phone makes an awfully awkward pose
So toss a bone with some carefully crafted prose
They come to blows with a close they suppose you don’t oppose
And I’m so glad you came, made your name, got your foot through the door
But if you don’t mind my saying, it’s a shame if that’s all it’s for
And the Capital states that it never relates to the Labour
But it’s just a cattle call and they’ll rattle all of the Sabres
Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo
Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo
Break the day with second sight
The papers say we own the broadcast rights
So snake some smokes, magnetic tape, and electric light
When these things combine, we can recline
I have been known in my time for such a long, long while
Walking Eagle for the win
And they shall sing songs of praise for their Tiki gods
Let’s grow fins and learn to swim
A voice from above kills the buzz with a warning fear
Shoulda labelled the box, “Ain’t nothing for you to see here”
But by the bay there sits a Brahma who says with a laugh
“All we know is that this is all we have”
And so they sing songs of praise for their Tiki gods
Walking Eagle for the win
Behind their walls they spend their days sipping daiquiris on the beach
Let’s grow fins and learn to swim
We can start a cargo cult
Build us a flock, o! great result
And camp out by the sea where the heads grow from the hills
To meekly tend the garden and other sundry thrills
And they shall sing songs of praise for their Tiki gods
Walking Eagle for the win
The last gasp of a dying sun
Cast in blue and made of stone
Heaves its way to a distant sky
Passed along by golden arms
Split the horns between time and space
Root in ground or go to flight
Tablets move at a glacial pace
Our best machines are made of light
Signals coast on a greeting wave
The coiled snake will wait to strike
And it will strike with sound and colour
It will strike with golden arms
Receivers lie with opened ears
Waiting for the stars to sing
So sing it bright now to light the way
Sing it loud now to wake the dead
7. Tommy Kabu Cooperative Movement
A skin of iron and stone
Magic planes from parts unknown
The lobby of our bank is the airstrip in the bush
We feel the push
The Marxian marchers must make do with sticks
Til better arms present themselves
And save the day
A sack of shillings pays the way for LBJ
The ship arrives on Good Friday
His messenger, the flying fox
His adversary, the priest
Whose heavy spire does dare the hills to quake
He’s on the make
With technical knowledge well applied
We grant the prospect of a better life
So work an evening shift
For a portrait of George V
And much tinned gold
From the Land of the Dutch
We don’t ask for much
But some public works
Every king must have his clerks
And you will see the government will be swallowed up
And all the big men drowned by the sea
Young shoots of taro
The Gates of Heaven can be found at the radio station ground
Make the machine, the money machine
Make that money machine make more money for me
It all comes from the ground
Faces turned around must always look towards the rear
Satan pierces those who interfere
And keep attendance lists
For the mission monopolists
Fill the form for full reform
And bring back our cargo
Plant the coins where we dug up the bones
From the shoots new roots appear
Cricket clubs are formed
It all comes from the ground
We speak Police
A document of Holy Writ
The utmost sacred Share Certificate
The vine becomes a wire
The boat begets a car
Trees grow into guns
It all comes from the ground
With John Frum shoes, John Frum soap, John Frum gum
Soon America will come
The ship arrives on Good Friday
And you will see the government will be swallowed up
And all the big men drowned by the sea
Young shoots of taro
The Gates of Heaven can be found at the radio station ground
Spare a thought now for the hapless hummingbird
As he goes about begetting, hey brother, what’s the word?
He’s working so so hard now to keep up off the ground
So he can hover in his place while the world keeps on spinning round
And pay no mind to the tiger in the wood
If she seems to be unkind, she’s just doing what she should
There are no laws but the snapping of her jaws in the night
It’ll be alright
Sing a song now for the mule down in the mine
Working in the dark all day, at night he dreams of the sweet sunshine
But as he labours on he’ll make no complaining sound
Cuts a groove down to the core and keeps that mountain rooted down
The last shall not be first, there’s nothing coming to the least
Though those lambs may do protest, the eagles swoop in for a feast
They say they love those little lambs as they snatch them off their feet
Saying, “Thanks, thanks for the meat”
If you come to the table, I can sell you a fable
You check on the label, you’ll see it says silver and sable
Send me a cable, if you’re able, I’m up the Tower of Babel
And it’s spinning round and round and round
Burn one down now for the star lost in the sky
The constellation’s broken now, who knows the reason why
She came unglued from her fixèd crystal sphere
Caught her out there in the field, asked “What the hell you doing down here?”
She told me, “Pay no mind to the tiger in the wood
If she seems to be unkind she’s just doing what she should
There are no laws but the snapping of her jaws in the night
It’ll be alright.”
If you come to the table, I can sell you a fable
You check on the label, you’ll see it says silver and sable
Send me a cable, if you’re able, I’m up the Tower of Babel
And it’s spinning round and round and round.