Norbert Fragg: the Indefinitive Lyrics

Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2003 10:34:12 EST
From: Bknt at aol dot com
Subject: Norbert Fragg: the Indefinitive Lyrics

Dear ET'ers,

A ludicrous debate has erupted, if not erucKted, of late, regarding the actual lyrics of the new, perspicaciously post-modern Thing Dismal recording, the Power to Reweave. Some have asked, is this recording a backward glancing, dyspeptic reworking of previous Thing Dismal efforts, in which Dread meets Insulin, Shark Teeth in Plastic meets Quack-Attack, and Gizard refuses to meet, much less dine with, with Twee of a Speckled Hare? Others have further speculated on the motives of Norbert Fragg, the shirking, quirking but ever lurking guitarist, whose last attempt to stage a four hour interview with members of the European press who had been bound and gagged and roasted slowly over a mesquite flame, resulted in several "squirming questions" in whose answers failed to fool, if not fuel, the fire.

In an effort to further mix metaphors and thus, stomp upon the purple dye of mordant mendacity, I have petitioned Mr. Fragg's representatives at Dismal Seepage No longer Global Much Less Mobile, who informed me that, after gathering several scraps of "bathroom stationery" blowing about the sodden soil on a gloomy mountainside in Knishville, Tennessee, the "indefinitive" lyrics of have been dissembled for all to ponder.

The Power to Reweave

She parodies
My taste for pastries
She whistles awfully
She shaved my head
With a blunt instrument
When she gave my toupee
The power to reweave.

Chocolate Cheesecake Hoping

It's so dumb
It's so dumb, anyway
Another rowdy gig to play
I'm so numb
A pull-down menu of dismay
Don't take my picture
Just let me dribble away

Cheesecake hoping
I'm chocolate cheesecake hoping, all the time
Because, wherever you go, you can always eat...

Slacks of Life

Six million pants
Stuffed into a crate
Six million pants
To hang in Wal-Mart is their fate
None of them really fit,
But a bargain's a bargain, mate.

These are the slacks of life...

Crapping when you feel crappy about the crap you have to be happy with

When I have some turds...
This is the way I sit
Think I'll eat some prunes
They're so inspiring!

Then I'll read Horace
Yes, a poem by Horace
Old Latin poems by Horace
And then Ovid and Catullus and something snide by Cicero.

Crapping when you feel crappy...

Bill Kent

Mike Stok