deep in the desert
no no no
those mad singing women
the congas
the bongoes
the rainsticks
the rippling electric piano
the real piano as if submerged
the sand slowly fills up the glass
dont try n understand me
oh you never will
let me wash over you like the shoalhaven river
let my words hold you up
let me drive for a hundred miles deeper
take me back in time oh i know you cant
i feel alone in the crowd
i dont know how they stand it
i walk along with my shadow in the mesa
i talk to myself as i drink from my canteen
i try to learn to play the bass again in my bedroom
i try to remember english and how it is spoken
i get stoned with ricky but hes lost in his loop
am i a musician
am i a tragedian
am i an olde insane childe
whispering my imaginary friends name through my beard
my fingers and my throat get sore
what do these words n notes mean
which kilbey chose em n why
i am disconnected
i am not at home
i grin like a fool but i’m empty as a shell can ever be
my friends at the pool
miha as good king wenceslas
cam as billy the fucking kid
mark as an alchemist or apothecary
eddie as amazonian shaman
mick as confucious
paul as one of the earps
everyone as someone else
everything out of place n dislocated
the wind blows down hard on eden
i type n type but i dont say much
i struggle to resume consciousness
i fathom the metric system
i just put anything down at all
its easy go on try
i hear thunder on a quiet day
sydney , goodbye, i cant go on anymore
cable schmabel
pick me up in the air waves to night
i am always here
i am never there
please
your response is un needed
go on
say something
evaporate
or go bust