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