"Track 1" [a short story]

It was round about midnight when we rolled into Nebraska

How exactly we were going to hunt down our favoured Asian mystic in the light

- I was not sure

My thought train shattered by the crooning beside me -

Loretta was hungry and it dawned philosophical enlightenment would not be possible

with her a'caterwauling

Pulling into an all-night burger joint

A glint in the rearviewmirror reminds me of a spherical lampshade I used to own.

"Man of the moment" Steven Bunting serves up several super-sized and as the lukewarm meat ingests I reflect on my journey

Back in the Caddy' the sounds of "Devia Kokomo" from the radio blast

If intrauterine genocide punk were a style - these cats sure played it well

Her belly full of meat, Loretta drifts off beside me

The radio barely audible over her snoring

Pulling up at a red light I just make out the announcement "...war"

President Robert Buttons taking on China? O ladyboy-ladyboy!

Like my fifth time on acid suddenly this trip's taken a turn for the worse

And that's when it dawned -

I'd come all this way for an Asian mystic to predict my future?

My future had just fallen into place

- I needed to escape this country before the draft came in.

I'm heading for the coast - it's decided

First task, leave Loretta somewhere

Second task?

"Another Portrait of Society"

An untitled automatic writing piece from 2012 that I went on to recite in a Glenson Heart McBrute jam. Subsequently released on the "You Can Call Me Doctor Balls" album under the title "Another Portrait of Society" in reference to my 2006 prose.

---

Piece by piece
How the parts come together
Rise and take hold
What he knows she feels
Death and his maiden
The portrait looking on
Who leads the leader
Who writes the song?
Foot in hand
A clumsy dance
Struggles for resolve
Finds its way somehow -
With trepidation
A sweeping sound
And we're off
Imperfect cadence
To finish off

"Andante con moto"
Said the weathered face
What a shame I thought
Of course Schubert knew what to do
Electronic glitch:
Welcome to now
Gone the aspiration of old
Still, to experience
When all's said and done
A merry old barnacle
Who sweats out fun
"Anne Frank" he'd shout mocking
A somewhat beleaguered attempt
At humour - missing a vital
Point of contention:
She only had one leg.
Does humour belong in music?
Does humour belong in comedy?
Does humour belong in geometry?
Does subjectivity belong in life?

"Hot Space"

Hot Space
Red, green, blue, yellow
Cubes compressed to two dimensions
Chuck Berry sings -
Only on television
Where one day we'll all go to die
Yellow trousers, Saturday Night Live
I wonder if lemons will evolve
And if so, into what?
Perhaps a cure for cancer: aid for all!
A raucous guitar enters
The bongos play full speed
Will this cocaine groove ever calm?
I'm too high to care
And sex enters the mind
Once again, blame the tube
Effervescent signals
Keep us wired - sleep is for the weak?

Hot space, hot space
Please God no!
Don't make me listen to hot space.

Red, green, blue, yellow:
It's that woman from that film,
You know the one - with the mousse
Well how she went downhill
Not at all like me.
The drums always clash
And there's noise in the air
But when voices fill the landscape
We find some relief
Harmonies swell the frequencies
And finally some relief.

To be someone
Reject something
Then take it back
And start again

Red, green, blue, yellow
Hot space, hot space
Please God no! no! no!
Don't make me listen to that again...

"A Wicked Love Song"

Recorded on the spot with Steve Wicked (he would later in the year record his debut album in a similar fashion) during the finalising of the Valentine's Day Single, I scrawled down some lyrics inspired by Steve's life.

---

A Wicked Love Song
I see you in the morning
Can't believe no-one knows your name
I made love to your sister
Last summer on an aeroplane

But your love is the only one for me
And if i'm honest, why shouldn't it be
But your love is the only one for me
But nothing compares, to love of three

Call your sister in the morning
Tell her I'm sorry I didn't call back
It's been a year since our encounter
And it's time I got her back in the sack
In fact, fuck it, bring over the family
But don't go telling your dad
It's not that he's not a lovely lovely man
But I don't really want him like that

But your love is the only one for me
And if we're honest, why shouldn't it be
Only your love is the only one for me
Yours, your sisters plus the extended family (if needs be)
But your love is the one for me
And if we're honest, why shouldn't it be
Only your love is the one for me
Yours, your sisters plus the extended family

"Quentin Blake"

Written in August 2009 during the year's second Hope And Monet sessions. Intended for inclusion on my contribution "And" however the following year, on deciding to release a brand new single each in the buildup to the album, this was my choice. As so many of my greatest ideas, the concept for this tune came to me in the bathroom.

---

QUENTIN BLAKE

Take a look at my face – that’s right, I don’t have one!

You can stare all you like, it’s not as if I can see you

They call me Quentin Blake, the man with no face

An interesting specimen but I’d prefer the term gentleman

What happened to manners?

I may be lacking eyes but ears no sir-ree!

I could hear from here to there if ever the need may be

It’s how I got a job at the department named “Em-I-Five”

I investigate and interpretate listening in on tapped lines

It’s great fun!

My mother was ashamed I’m sad to have to admit

A son who can’t see, taste or smell is all but useless to an invalid

You see back in my day you couldn’t transplant a face

The only solution was to tattoo one on or be treated as an alien race.

Man it really sucked!

Come on Quentin (we’ve gotta lead for you)

Come on Quentin (you gotta pull us through)

Listening down the wire get a shiver down my spine

The crooks are talking cryptically, I jot down every line

Partly talking Arabic and sometimes speaking French

Puts my multi-linguistic skills right to the test

Hear them mention dates and times, location: an address

Write it down – I’m quite peckish – no time to digress

Seems they’re smuggling body parts but which? I cannot hear…

We nail them I’ll get sorted out with eyes, a nose and ears!!

The possibilities overwhelm me and I’ve got all I need

Shout the DA – we’re ready to make a bust…

Come on let’s go!

Haul in some crims’

Come on (Quentin)

Let’s go (I know)

It’s time to blag you a face!

Quentin Blake, the man who now has a face!

"The Chronicles of Shreve"

Maybe my most famous track, "...Shreve" was written in about 20 minutes using my 'automatic writing' method of improvisation. It took not much longer to write the music and the recording was done primarily through 2009, finished off Summer 2010. Distressed at Hope And Monet's late-running I rush-released the track on From the Wonderous Mind.

---

THE CHRONICLES OF SHREVE

            Part 1: “Memories Of Shreve”

“And what is there to do in that fateful land of Shreve

We dance and sing and covort with the banshees

For the wizards know that deep down within

An evil wind doth blow and in that air comes disease

Dance (mother mother) sing (brother brother)

In perfect harmony we wail

I jump through the trees into a new land

This isn't a wardrobe...”

            Part 2: “Seaman’s Mantra”

Forty days and forty nights

We sail these seas of fishy delights

And munch-munch-munch on a mackerel or two

For we are the pirates of the deep blue

            Part 3: “Upon The Heath” 

“It was a clouded day when they met upon the heath. The pirates in their salt-sprayed leggins, the creatures of the wood - dressed in purple and olive, the colours of the King. The clocks looked on as time stood still. A battle eminent, of this I was sure - but all of a sudden, something stirred to the West...”

            Part 4: “Cows Of War”

We are the bovines and we bring mutilation

Stamping on the face of every man

We are the bovines we want vengeance

Thoust are fine but we are thine -

and thou dost keep a' callin'

            Part 5: The Battle of Shreve

(9:55) “The battle was almighty. Oh yes it was! A slaughterhouse for all involved. It's impossible to tell who won or lost, it's not important though for this is the land of Shreve - the one place in space where no-one wins and no-one loses.”

            Part 6: Afterwords

“We continue our story with one of the few survivors of the epic battle just witnessed. Twelve decimonths have passed and young Turk O'Flanigan roams the moors, trying to remember the events of the not-so-or-maybe-so-recent-past...”

            Part 7: Wrath o’O’Flanigan  [10:44]

But a calf in this troublesome place

My family died, without a trace

They say a battle here ensued

The land is destroyed, bear and crued

Across the horizon, I see a shape

A wizard's hat and sleeve's that drape

Could this be the man that killed my father?

I better murder him, then I'll find out!

            Part 8: Journey’s End

Just a lonely cow

Living in this wiped out land

I've got wizard's hat too disguise my face

Just a short way home

Been searching for so many months

Can't wait to return to my family -

Bake them a cake, buy them some gifts -

Show them so love - the only way a bovine can!

But who's this running over to me?

Is it my son who's found me?

Could he have been searching for me?

Why such rage in his face?

Oh crap I'm wearing a wizard's costume...

NO WAIT, SON, IT'S...

            Part 9: Illustrious Conclusions

“He killed his own father!

This young bovine is really rough!!

The irony is not worth pointing out –

The consequences (however) will be tough!”

Woke up from this nightmare

Was it all but a dream?

Don’t look out of the window

There’s a cow, staring at me…

Jesus Christ, he’s wearing a fucking Wizard’s costume, oh God, I’m back in Shreve, help me, HELP ME…

 “But where is this place?

This land of bizarre

Where the mystical meets the farmyard

And instead of the Moon, there is Mars

You may not believe in this tale

Just as the bovines do not believe in you

But always remember this warning:

I know what I like

And I like what I see

Just don’t go trawling through wardrobes

If not in search for Shreve

            Part 10: Coda

Forty days and forty nights

Lost in Shreve we lose our minds

Munch-munch-munch on a berry or two

The moral of this tale is screaming at you

“The morale of this tale

If there be one at all... don't go”

"The Morning Saga"

Written as Steve and I were finishing off Hard Rock Hotel, The Garibaldis' by this point a two-man outfit. I was mightily depressed at my close friend David's departure and from this void came a burst of violent creativity. In one-sitting I wrote the music and words for "The Morning Saga", a seven-part suite; an acoustic demo version of which featured on my hastily compiled debut solo album, From the Wonderous Mind... in the summer of 2010. It is an early example of automatic writing, or more accurately, 'automatic song-writing.'

---

THE MORNING SAGA
Monday
Morning the start of the week can I face another seven days? Morning time to get up what lies ahead I don’t know and never shall unless I rise. It’s Monday my friend, it’s Monday my friend. Monday I feel so rough, recover, stains on the sheets; who did I do? Last night in a daze? The start of the week seven more days…

Tuesday
Tuesday morning I feel quite refreshed, the sun is shining to ease me out of rest. In several hours I’ll be back on my job, kind of depressing, I feel like eating hog: so I ate and I ate and I ate and I ate, I licked the last of the hog right off of my plate: a hearty meal at the start of the day help’s the brain, that’s what they say. Half an hour later and I’m on the train to work, the day seems so much brighter than yesterdays depressing murk; the train’s rather packed but I’m not claustrophobic which is a relief, cos’ if I was, chances are I’d have passed out by now. So I travelled and I travelled and then I got to work, the boss said I looked a mess which really did quite hurt! I ignored his comments and sat down at my desk, where after a lengthy burp I had a heart attack.

Wednesday
Wake up, smell of disinfectant in the air. I look up and guess who is standing there - the doctor! Says hello “You had a heart attack, now you’re in hospital, pal” Oh thank you, I tell him and get a strong urge to eat a cow - I say to him: Doctor is there any chance of you purchasing a cow for me to eat? He turns and laughs says “you are a silly idiot!” Excuse me? I say - he says “you don’t realise why you had a heart attack do you?” No, is my reply, he says it’s cos’ I consumed a hog all in at the same time I like my food I told him, needless to say, he wasn’t impressed: “Well you’re doing fine” he told me “just hold back on the hog’s and don’t get depressed or stressed” I packed a little suitcase with my bed gown, said “goodbye, nurses! Hope I’ll never see you around!”

Thursday
Thursday hits you a like a train but does not stop there only two more days to go then the weekend is here! Get up give the wife a kiss - wow forgot I even had a wife - where was she yesterday? While I was fighting for my life? Why do I like Thursdays so much? I just don’t know. It’s only past mid-week which this week’s been slow when did I get married? Christ, do I have kids? Why do I like Thursdays so much? I just don’t know? Time to take the kids to school - what happened on Monday? They must have taken themselves along, wow this is getting weird. Time to visit the doctor ask him if this is normal: to forget you’ve got a wife and kids, I think I’m going to faint…

Friday
Wake in a daze: I’ve been here before… Distinct smell, polished floors? Yep. It’s hospital. Twice in one week. Some record… What happened yesterday? Here’s the doc: excuse me! "Ah, yes, back again are we! I thought you said you were to avoid us? Not doing a very good job are we sir? Well I suppose you’re wondering what’s wrong? Well the reason you’re here is that your mind is playing tricks on you. No, you don’t have children. No, you don’t have a wife. You’re just a dirty old no-gooder, who dreamt of having a job and a real life. Ever woken up to stains on the bed? That’s because you’re a paedophile. You should be in prison but they let you out on the basis that you mind was all screwed up. Every day is different to you. You put yourself in new scenarios, you could say your life is one big saga – every day you’re someone new. Yesterday you fainted, hit your head after walking aimlessly around the streets shouting for your wife and children. On Tuesday, you had a heart attack because you ate a whole hog in under 17 minutes – thinking you had to be at work. You turned up in some office and no-one knew who you were. But look on the bright side, you have no life, but, it’s Friday morning!" I’ve woken up, it’s Friday! The end of the week what more can I say? Gonna go out get boozed up take home some girl let my anger out. I get my kicks from beating little girls it makes me feel big, I like it if their hair’s curled. People think I’m bad but it turns me on so look out Clapham cos’ I’m on the pull! Friday! Pack my bag again leave his damn ward maybe go on holiday? The Caribbean looks nice at this time of year, think I’ll do some robbing to fund my trip. I get my kicks from being a nasty man, I go through phases I just don’t understand; sometimes I forget myself - believe I’m someone that I’m not - but now my head’s clean I’m gonna party like its 1994!

Saturday
Aching head, what did I do last night? I’m lying cold on the floor feel like I’ve had a fight. Come to my senses, look all around a familiar sight greets me this morning: I’m in prison again. I'm in prison again. Policeman comes to call says I’ve done wrong, I beat to death a kid - a girl - who I impregnated. I swear that’s the fourth this month, I’m getting used to doing time; drugs and drink and stuff, memories of a past life. I'm in prison again. I'm in prison again. Time to get a move on, time to go to court - I know this is deja-vu of one particular sort. I think amongst my fantasies, in one life I lived a life - a butcher by the day a murderer by night; I'm in prison again...

Sunday
Up all night since yesterday all cos’ I’m on the run, no time to sleep no time to think just run-run run-run run! No looking back to see if the coppers are catchin’ up, if I get caught this time round they’ll throw away the key. I’ve lived a thousand lives and all in one week, I've been so many faces I forget which is me! No point talking my way outta this one if I did what they said: murderer? Paedophile? That sounds about right, I’d be better off dead. Hate, pain, all in one week, no refrain. On the run, no turning back, I could just stop running and have a laugh - but I won’t. Monday: start of the week, Tuesday: ate to much hog, Wednesday: hospital daze, Thursday: one of my turns, Friday: tripping out, Saturday: if only I could remember! Mornings pass here and there who knows what the next seven days will bring...

"Burn and Smoulder"

A song composed through my 'automatic writing' technique. Intended for a 2006 solo album, when this never came to pass the song was forgotten about. I don't feel it is my greatest work, written in a bipolar fog one November eve; mourning the loss of my dearest.

---

BURN & SMOULDER
We’re gonna burn and smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Now the work is done

We can have some fun

I’ll take care of

All your fears, we’re gonna

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Why won’t you let me go

With you back down under?

You know how I love it there

Riding my pony quite content

I’ve seen the light, I know it’s true

I want to have your children

But you think I’m not good enough

So you won’t give me your womb!

I’m lost, in this

Tomb!

I need your

Womb!

Now I’ve said goodbye

Forgive me if I die!

Listen to the ticking clock

Now accept my sperm!

Burn     and       smoulder

You     me       and a child!

Burn     and       smoulder

Love    my       family!

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

Burn     and       smoulder

"Bonfire Night"

Hastily yet effectively written, "Bonfire Night" would have been the lead single had my 2006 solo album ever come into fruition; definitely the catchiest of my early 'automatic writing' pieces.

---

BONFIRE NIGHT

Bonfire night,

Oh what a fright

Fireworks and such

Making lots of noise

Don’t try to fight

The deep-down inner fright

Otherwise it might bite

And cause an even bigger fright!

Another bang, another bang, a rush of blood to the head

Makes me laugh, makes me cry, a flow of blood through the veins

Should I look? Should I look? Oh! I just looked it really wasn’t nice

Then again, the fire and flames, running around the place…

…Makes me think

Bonfire night

Oh, what delight!

Bonfire night

To hear the children sing!

They sing about things

That me feel good

Like Guy Fawkes who tried to kill

All the British parliamentarians back in the day!

Bonfire night,

Catching the winter flight

Darkness from here

For it is the end of the year

Bonfire night,

Oh what a sight

Parkin’ and toffee up to your ears

Eat away your darkest fears

Months go by and months go by and then it turns into November

Makes me laugh, makes me cry, this year I can hardly remember

Sit by the window – look at the fireworks

Makes me think of China and the middle east where they were probably made!

…I’m guessing

Bonfire night

Oh, what delight!

Carting around my Guy

To get lots of money

Going up to my neighbours home

Makes me feel real good

Unless of course they have no spare change

But then I will just vandalise their house

Bonfire night

Oh, what delight!

Bonfire night

The air: what a sight!

Bonfire night

Oh, what delight!

Bonfire night

Get drunk and have a fight!

Bonfire night

Oh, what delight!

Bonfire night

Happiest day of the year

The Scot’s sing about things

That me feel real good

We laugh about old Guy

And all the British parliamentarians he nearly killed back in the day!

The Album of Wrath

Although I can't be sure of the date, it's likely the material I wrote for the eventually abandoned "Album Of Wrath" had been completed by late April 2006. The Ill-Fitting Garibaldis' gave rise to my passion for lyric writing and ultimately (if I may be so modest) nourishing my bold talent. The casual observer would never guess all ten tracks were written in a remarkably short period of time, concurrent with the likes of "Dark Church". I still have yet to get round to recording the album, having on multiple occasions considered using the odd-song with The Garibaldis. At the time of writing, Steve Wicked was eager to use them himself! I have no plans to record the tracks currently but who knows, one day perhaps - it would be a shame to let such fine prose go to waste.

---

WRATH’S INTRODUCTION

The following album

Is about a sin

The worst of all

Known as “Wrath”

Wrath’s a person

He’s in all of us

But mainly in evil

And this is his story

But there is a tale

To be told

And a message

To be sold

It’s important to know

Wrath is pure evil

And never mix with sinful doings

As it is the equivalent of:

Having intercourse with Wrath

DEVIL’S BIRTH WAS QUICK

Fighting for some respiration

Inside each of my peachy cells

Down there the Devil gives birth

I none of the many, many Hells!

Forgiveness is a very sick man

Whom doth not always flee

Try talking to him with your mouth full

He’ll expose you to the obscene!

The devil’s birth as quick

His mother made the doctors sick

They coughed up phlegm and said:

Christ, your son’s been born dead – little did they know…

The devil’s birth was quick

His life was disguised with tricks

He lead on many a man

And with his friend Wrath raped them

This ain’t the first we’ll hear of Wrath

For did you know he wasn’t partial to a bath

Which leads on to my next point

Wrath loved now and again a good old sneaky joint

The devil’s birth as quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Devil’s birth was quick

Vomit – vomit – sick-sick-sick!

I like to eat rabbits

While they’re still alive

I listen to trip-hop music

Whilst I fantasise

Courtney Love in dungarees

Smoking herbal trees

In the woods

Watch it burn!

RORY’S NEW GUITAR

Been strumming all my life

Never had a wife!

Turned down relationships

Just to strum my six-string beauty

I got a new guitar

I’m gonna call her Martha II

I gotta new guitar

Strumming her all day long!

Pickin’ here, scrapin’ there

Writing new songs – what a dare!

Strumming Martha’s heartstrings

She’s screaming out my name (Rory!)

Playing her till I drop

She lies in my sweaty hair

Martha lies in my bedroom

But never on the bed

That’s because she’s inanimate

And also quite dead

Yet she still gives me pleasure

Makes my hair stand on end

“Martha, Martha!” I cry out loud

While she makes my body bend

She still gives me pleasure

She still makes me whine

Her stamina’s amazing

To say I’m twiddling her all the time

Then one night however

A snap resounded down her neck

…So I got a new guitar

PLOUGH OF WOOD

You used to live in Texas right?

(Sure I did!)

You used to light the fire right?

(Sure I did!)

Went to summer camp every year?

(Sure I did!)

Encountered many a grisly bear?

(What’s your point?)

I once saw a plough!

That was made of wood!

Can you even believe it?

Plough of a wood!

You used to visit pensioners right?

(Sure I did!)

You used to own a yellow kite?

(Sure I did!)

You drank Ribena since the age of four?

(Sure I did!)

You’ve cut down a tree to make a door?

(Who hasn’t?)

I’m your mate

We’ll play games

Fun and laughter

Party people!

Loving animals

Pets and people

World peace

I love you

How can I express my love to you?

Other than in words

Or perhaps by using the metaphor:

Plough of wood!

I’VE ALWAYS SEEN THE WEST RUN IN THIS LAND

Why does the west always run?

While the east tries to hide

Forget about the north

Go south and jump inside

Feelings cough-up strange emotions

Cowboy films after dark

I’m feeling strongly

For your whole being, baby

I’ve always seen the west run in this land

Whilst the east just sits alone

You think a man will ever be born,

Who can unite the two in harmony?

Sensing, bridges

Falling, ridges

The cake burns in the oven

As I listen to this unfinished symphony

Why does the west always run?

While the east tries to hide

I’ve always seen the west run in this land

North, south, east, west – bow down!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

He is Rory!

I am he

That’s the end of this story…

WHEN THE MUSIC DON’T WORK (BLAME AN ELF)

You know the feeling you get

Whilst roaming the magic woods?

Magic mushrooms are your path

You feel an real-high rush

You know your feet are on the ground

But you can see for miles!

And then you try to sing, it comes out all wrong!

Time to blame an elf…

When the music don’t work – blame an elf!

When the music don’t work – blame an elf!

When the music don’t work – blame an elf!

Or, even, do it yourself

This is my song and I wanna sing it loud

I wanna tell everyone I’m Scottish and proud!

So what if I didn’t grow up there,

So what if I don’t have ginger hair,

I know where my roots are… and that is:

Scotland

This is my song and I wanna sing it loud

I wanna tell everyone I’m Scottish and proud!

So what if you don’t like this song

Blame an elf why don’t you, you silly cow

I know where my roots are… and that is:

Scotland

You know the feeling you get

Whilst roaming the magic woods?

Magic mushrooms are your path

You feel an real-high rush

You know your feet are on the ground

But you can see for miles!

And then you try to sing, it comes out all wrong!

Time to blame an elf…

THIS REALLY IS A WILD WORLD

I’m a cowboy, shovel the dung

Life is hard, ain’t always fun

Luckily I got Shelley

The biggest girl in Kentucky

Every night, go for a fight…

On the olde, olde fields of

Alabama! This is a wild, wild world, in

Alabama! Living on this farm

Alabama! Just me and my big breasted Shelley

Alabama! Rearing pigs for life!

Living in the wild- wild west

Kentucky to the east, Alabama to the west

I’m a cowboy from the south

My Shelley came from the west

The west is clearly the best

Best, best, west-west-west

CHRISTMAS WITH WRATH (THE WORST PARTY IN TINSELTOWN)

Once a year, on the twenty-fifth

Santa comes down, gives us gifts

But there’s one house, he’ll always miss

‘Cos in that house lives wrath!

Wrath, Wrath, evil personified

Even Christmas don’t save his soul

He’s the evilest thing alive!

Wrath, Wrath, Santa’s enemy

He gives gifts if you’re good

But every year, from Wrath he doth flee

In his house there ain’t no tree

No lights, gifts or tinsel

Wrath detests all that’s good

That’s why the police gave him a criminal record;

To keep him away from kids

If Wrath touches them they’ll be sinned

Imagine Wrath was Midas

Then all he touched would be black

Opposed to gold.

He lives in Tinseltown

He wins the “evil crown”

Wrath ain’t a fan of Slade

Buy him a monicle and be his slave

WRATH!

Yeah…

WRATH’S REPRISE

So, you think you know Wrath?

Several songs can’t just sum him up

One more thing has to be done…

One more song to make Wrath’s feelings clear

To help you understand what he’s all about

Don’t be surprised if what you learn now shocks,

You may feel the urge to scream and shout

As I foretold, Wrath’s story is not pretty

For all he touches turns to black,

This makes going to the toilet very inconvenient

So without further-a-do,

I introduce to you,

The Ten Commandments of Wrath!

You have been warned!

THE TENTH COMMANDMENT OF WRATH

Wrath! Wrath! Wrath! Wrath!

Singing about Wrath,

In and out of the bath

This ain’t no black mass

But we’re talking about Wrath!

Wrath is the thing that keeps children awake

Dreaming of sin that only they can make;

In the night Wrath touches them deep,

Gives them all his evil – to keep

Wrath has no remorse – he’ll eat up a horse

He’s personified by evil that we don’t endorse

Wrath’s commandments are simple:

To kill and mame!

Wrath will rape your children

They’ll never be the same!

One: death

Two: kill

Three: eat

Four: dare

Five: cry

Six: play guitar

Seven: die quickly

Eight: rape!

By the time you get to nine,

Wrath has committed the crime

Of the tenth commandment which is…

CANNABALISM!