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Bauhaus
Bauhaus


Background information
Origin Northampton, England
Genre(s) Gothic Rock
Post-punk
Years active 1979—1983
Label(s) 4AD
Beggars Banquet Records
Associated acts Love and Rockets
Tones on Tail
Dalis Car
Website Website
Former members
Peter Murphy
Daniel Ash
Kevin Haskins
David J



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  B  →  Bauhaus  →  Albums  →  Press the Eject and Give Me the Tape

Bauhaus Album


Press the Eject and Give Me the Tape (1982)
1982
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
*
Terror Couple Kill Colonel (bonus track on CD reissue)
*
Double Dare (bonus track on CD reissue)
*
In The Flat Field (bonus track on CD reissue)
*
Hair Of The Dog (bonus track on CD reissue)
*
Of Lillies And Remains (bonus track on CD reissue)
*
Waiting For The Man (bonus track on CD reissue)
. . .



A gut pull drag on me
Into the chasm gaping we
Mirrors multy reflecting this
Between spunk stained sheet
And odourous whim
Calmer eye- flick- shudder- within
Assist me to walk away in sin
Where is the string that Theseus laid
Find me out this labyrinth place

I do get bored, I get bored
In the flat field
I get bored, I do get bored
In the flat field

Yin and Yang lumber punch
Go taste a tart then eat my lunch
And force my slender thin and lean
In this solemn place of fill wetting dreams
Of black matted lace of pregnant cows
As life maps out onto my brow
The card is lowered in index turn
Into my filing cabinet hemispheres spurn

I do get bored, I get bored
In the flat field
I get bored, I do get bored
In the flat field

Let me catch the slit of light
For a maiden's sake
On a maiden flight
In the flat field I do get bored
Replace with Picadilly whores
In my yearn for some cerebral fix
Transfer me to that solid plain
Moulding shapes no shame to waste
Moulding shapes no shame to waste
And drag me there with deafening haste


. . .


(john cale)
Virgin Mary was tired
So tired
Tired of listening to gossip
Gossip and complaints

They came from next door

And a bewildered stream of chatter
From all sorts of
All sorts of
Untidy whores

Came from next door
Came from next door

But some men are chosen from the rest
But their disappointment runs with their guests
Never would be invited to the funeral rosegarden

But their choice don't seem to matter
They got swollen breasts and lips that putter
And their choice of matter and their scream of chatter
Is just a little parasitic scream of whores
Screaming whores
In the rosegarden funeral of sores

Virgin Mary was tired
So tired of listening to gossip
Gossip and complaints

In the
In the
Rosegarden
Rosegarden funeral of sores

. . .



Dancing on hot tiles
Dancing on tender hooks
Dancing down church aisles
Dancing on holy books
Dancing on crocodiles
Dancing on hallowed ground
Dancing Nyjinsky style
Dancing with the lost and found

Dancing on rock 'n roll's grave
Dancing on burning coals
Dancing on "Jesus Saves"
Dancing with old scratch soul
Dancing on flick knives
Dancing a stiletto groove
Dancing our nine lives away
Dancing in the Louvre

Dancing in catacombs
Dancing in tuxedo drag
Dancing in dark rooms
Dancing on all your flags
Dancing in the Vatican
Dancing on the papal gown
Dancing on the taxman
Dancing on the crown

We're dancing to the dark side of this tune

We're dancing to the dark side of this tune


. . .



Shoes that no man would want to wear
Wipe away the night's last cold stare
Red fist curled 'round the house
Was away boy Shelly's shoes
wash

Chocolate power is so crisp
The atomic open house is really here
And we have gone so desperate
Your power knows no bounds
And heavier with time
Are our shoes
That no man would want to wear
New tread wipes a wet road so dry
it stings

Into the borrowed course
Under the dreadful birds
Under the singing soil
And all those guilty clouds

I have seen too much
Wipe away my eyes
Too much


. . .



White on white translucent black capes
Back on the rack
Bela Lugosi's dead
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
Red velvet lines the black box
Bela Lugosi's dead
Undead undead undead
The virginal brides file past his tomb
Strewn with time's dead flowers
Bereft in deathly bloom
Alone in a darkened room
The count
Bela Logosi's dead
Undead undead undead


. . .



Hidden in the dashboard
The unseen mechanized eye
Under surveillance
The road is full of cats eyes
It's sick function to pry
The spy in the cab

Coldly observing- callously reserving
A drivers time
Automated autonomy
Playing on his mind
The spy in the cab

The spy in the cab

An eye for an eye
A spy for an eye
An eye for an eye
A spy for a spy

A twenty-four hour unblinking watch
Installed to pry
Installed to cop
The spy in the cab
The spy in the cab
The spy in the cab

I spy with my little eye spy with my little I spy with my
Little eye spy with my little I spy... spy... spy


. . .



And he spoke of pastures green
I was never told why
Each journey lasts an age
And my throat feels dry
It must be the lesson
Hidden deep inside
It must be the lesson
So roll the tide

So I began the crossing
My throat burned dry
Searching for Satori
The kick in the eye
I am the end of reproduction
Given no direction
Every care is taken
In my rejection

Kick in the eye (x4)

Every care is taken
With my rejection
And my abduction
To my addiction
Every care is taken
With my protection
And my abduction
From my addiction

Kick in the eye (x4)


. . .



You fear the lesson
And fear to walk
And fear to pass on
Your fear to talk

The teacher was feared
Your parents too
Then you became
The fear of you

Fear

Look to yourself
Climb over the wall
And see behind
That you're not so small
Then you won't blame fear
When competing's too much
As you fall on your back
As you fail to touch

Fear

And I say to you
When your fear is strong
When you fear your life
Then your fear is wrong
Set free your past
So shredding the skin
Then you won't fear
The fear of sin

Fear


. . .



Ancient Earth work fort and barrow
Discreetly hide their secret abodes
The most fearful hide deep inside
And venture not there upon Yuletide

For invasion of their hollow hills
That music hold and Oberon fill
Is surely recommended not
For fear of death, in fear of rot

Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills

Baleful sounds and wild voices ignored
Ill luck disaster the one reward
Violated sanctity of supermen's hills
So sad, love lies there still
So sad
So sad
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Witches too and goblin too and speckled sills
Lament repent oh mortal you
So sad
So sad


. . .



In a crucifiction ecstasy
Lying cross chequed in agony
Stigmata bleed continuously
Holes in head, hands, feet, and weep for me

Stigmata oh you sordid sight
Stigmata in your splintered plight
Look into your crimson orifice
In holy remembrance
In scarlet bliss

In nomine patri et filii et spiriti sanctum
In nomine patri et filii et spiriti sanctum
In nomine patri et filii et spiriti sanctum
In nomine patri et filii et spiriti sanctum
Father, son, and holy ghost
Stigmata Martyr


. . .



Caressing bent up to the jug again
With sheaths and pills
Invading all those stills
In a hovel of a bed
I will scream in vain
Oh please miss Lane
Leave me with some pain
Went walking through this city's neon lights
In fear of disguising my warping seathing
Pressure lines and graceless heirs
Intangible of price
Trying so hard to find what? What was right
I came upon your room it stuck into my head
We leapt into the bed degrading even lice
You took delight in taking down
All my shielded pride
Until exposed became my darker side
Puckering up and down some avenue of sin
Too cheap to ride they're worth a try
If only for the old times cold times
Don't go waving your pretentious love
He's soliciting on his tan brown brogues
Girating through some lonesome devils row
Pinpointing well meaning upper class prey
Of walking money checks posessing holes
He often sleekly offers his services
Exploitation of his finer years
Work with loosely woven fabrics
Of lonely office clerks
Any lay suffices his dollar green eye


. . .



His eyes were heavy
He carried a card
One couple question
The other discharged
Terror couple kill colonel
in his West German home
Three shots from three feet
Dragged himself to the phone

Terror couple kill colonel
Terror couple kill colonel

And as he lay there
Playing games with his pain
He felt his choice of jobs
Was such a mistake
He could have been a doctor
In a soft easy chair
In stead he chose three stars
A territorial affair

Terror couple kill colonel
Terror couple kill colonel

In his West German home
In his West German home
In his West German home


. . .



I dare you, to be real
To touch a flickering flame
The pangs of dark delight
Don't cower in night fright

Don't back away just yet
From destinations set
I dare you to be proud
To dare to shout aloud
For convictions that you feel
Like sound from bells to peal
I dare you to speak of your despise
For bureaucracy, hypocracy- all liars

I dare
I dare
I dare- you- you


. . .



A gut pull drag on me
Into the chasm gaping we
Mirrors multy reflecting this
Between spunk stained sheet
And odourous whim
Calmer eye- flick- shudder- within
Assist me to walk away in sin
Where is the string that Theseus laid
Find me out this labyrinth place

I do get bored, I get bored
In the flat field
I get bored, I do get bored
In the flat field

Yin and Yang lumber punch
Go taste a tart then eat my lunch
And force my slender thin and lean
In this solemn place of fill wetting dreams
Of black matted lace of pregnant cows
As life maps out onto my brow
The card is lowered in index turn
Into my filing cabinet hemispheres spurn

I do get bored, I get bored
In the flat field
I get bored, I do get bored
In the flat field

Let me catch the slit of light
For a maiden's sake
On a maiden flight
In the flat field I do get bored
Replace with Picadilly whores
In my yearn for some cerebral fix
Transfer me to that solid plain
Moulding shapes no shame to waste
Moulding shapes no shame to waste
And drag me there with deafening haste


. . .



The man who was mortally wounded in war
Kept on fighting
The man who was cut to the quick by love
Kept on loving
The man who was merciless tortured by thoughts
Kept on thinking
The man who was crippled with concern
Kept on caring

Hair of the dog
Hair of the dog
Hair of the dog that turned
Hair of the dog

The man whose eyes were sore from obscenities
Kept on looking
The man whose heart bled, killed by compassion
Kept on feeling
The man whose legs buckled under exertion
Kept on running
The man whose ears burned to the sound of his own name
Kept on listening

Hair of the dog
Hair of the dog
Hair of the dog that turned
Hair of the dog


. . .



In the marbled reception hall I received a three band gold ring, from Mark. A token of esteem. Running through ghost closet locker rooms, to hide from Peter, who has fallen to the old cold stone floor, wheezing and emitting a seemingly endless flow of ectoplasmic white goo from ears and mouth. A wind rushes through the hall, whistles as it breezes through the narrow slits in the green locker doors. I hide in one of these, number thirteen.
Barely concealed but hopeful
Blackout
Blackout!

I will clinb this high wall
In rememberance of Clancy
To regain or re-earn my life
As I died just a flicker of an eyelid ago
The wall has many holes
And many foot pieces to fasten to
The wall is dangerous, and this is my penance
My penance and my task

I did it once and they wondered
Yet I need to go, once more around
Up breathtakingly
Across rigidly
Down easily - and foolishly
I endeavoured again
To climb the wall in vain
And capture back my chain
Of lillies and remains
Of lillies and remains
Of lillies and remains


. . .



I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey, white boy, what you doin' uptown?
Hey, white boy, you chasin' our women around?
Oh pardon me sir, it's the furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
Beat up shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is you always gotta wait I'm waiting for my man
Up to a brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Ah then you gotta split because you got no time to waste
I'm waiting for my man
Baby don't you holler, darlin' don't you bawl and shout
I'm feeling good, you know I'm gonna work it on out
I'm feeling good, I'm feeling oh so fine
Until tomorrow, but that's just some other time
I'm waiting for my man


. . .


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