14th Street Ritual
from Ecce Beast by Kill the Vultures
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lyrics
Never for a breath of my invisible life
Have I held ‘sacred’
as a ritual through these criminal nights
7th Street February bleeds pitiful sights
Bar-hoppin’ clear over these continual fights
Anything might help a brother in/brother out
Cigarette hanging like a fish hook in my mouth
Brother can’t walk how he walk
when he’s walking down the block when it’s dark
‘Cause he look like a suspect
Give me everything you Got- to get over
I drink to the straight edge that can’t think sober
If yer guzzling gasoline/ pet the machine
Or spread-eagle out in some Arizona ravine
Fire painted on your eyelids instead of your dreams
Well it’s
Nothing that the Congress Hotel ain’t seen
Working-class-queen wears her hairnet crown
Full of rubies, gold lace, sapphires on down
Pennies in the tip jar make the same sound
As the mop and the dustpan that harmonize now with
Excuses from them useless two-bit clowns
Ain’t nobody laughing at a sad, sad joke
‘Cause a bent spoke ‘round here will keep us all broke
I’ve sat with a pole waitin’ for somethin’ ta bite
But never
for a breath
of my invisible life
Have I spoken with venom or ended a sentence with:
“I ain’t the replica that you’re used to doing business with!”
Shuffle the deck I'll give you 52 chances
To pull five aces from my hands quick I'm
Only good for a cheap thrill
cashing in refills or
killing my heat bills
Suckin’ on smoke
Runnin’ on free meals to
conquer these steep hills
Let’s see how between feels
Busted and broke
Rusted and old parts; antennas and bear hearts
Grease for the axel rod and keys to the cattle prod
Slangin’ fish bait on the corner like mix-tapes
With Bow-legged Eddie so faded, can’t piss straight
…Six days in car
Don’t know how many more or
where the fuck that we are
Got them stars in your eyes like a Hollywood doubtful
Dreamin’ ‘bout fame while they get paid by the mouth full
Household of patient’s
Household of living patient’s
Out go the vagrants
Out cold, you people waitin’ for what?
A pat on the back, a kick in the shins?
A trick or treat with no costume?
a Thanksgiving grin?
Drank rooftop gin while New York had no lights
Something ‘bout the red rain ain’t rubbing me right
Have I held ‘sacred’
as a ritual through these criminal nights
7th Street February bleeds pitiful sights
Bar-hoppin’ clear over these continual fights
Anything might help a brother in/brother out
Cigarette hanging like a fish hook in my mouth
Brother can’t walk how he walk
when he’s walking down the block when it’s dark
‘Cause he look like a suspect
Give me everything you Got- to get over
I drink to the straight edge that can’t think sober
If yer guzzling gasoline/ pet the machine
Or spread-eagle out in some Arizona ravine
Fire painted on your eyelids instead of your dreams
Well it’s
Nothing that the Congress Hotel ain’t seen
Working-class-queen wears her hairnet crown
Full of rubies, gold lace, sapphires on down
Pennies in the tip jar make the same sound
As the mop and the dustpan that harmonize now with
Excuses from them useless two-bit clowns
Ain’t nobody laughing at a sad, sad joke
‘Cause a bent spoke ‘round here will keep us all broke
I’ve sat with a pole waitin’ for somethin’ ta bite
But never
for a breath
of my invisible life
Have I spoken with venom or ended a sentence with:
“I ain’t the replica that you’re used to doing business with!”
Shuffle the deck I'll give you 52 chances
To pull five aces from my hands quick I'm
Only good for a cheap thrill
cashing in refills or
killing my heat bills
Suckin’ on smoke
Runnin’ on free meals to
conquer these steep hills
Let’s see how between feels
Busted and broke
Rusted and old parts; antennas and bear hearts
Grease for the axel rod and keys to the cattle prod
Slangin’ fish bait on the corner like mix-tapes
With Bow-legged Eddie so faded, can’t piss straight
…Six days in car
Don’t know how many more or
where the fuck that we are
Got them stars in your eyes like a Hollywood doubtful
Dreamin’ ‘bout fame while they get paid by the mouth full
Household of patient’s
Household of living patient’s
Out go the vagrants
Out cold, you people waitin’ for what?
A pat on the back, a kick in the shins?
A trick or treat with no costume?
a Thanksgiving grin?
Drank rooftop gin while New York had no lights
Something ‘bout the red rain ain’t rubbing me right
credits
from Ecce Beast,
track released April 9, 2009
license
all rights reserved
tags
discography
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Oct 2015 -
Apr 2009 -
Jan 2007 -
Oct 2006 -
Feb 2005
contact / help
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