The Blood Brothers Album

They're fucking after us,
my bathroom mirror is cluttered with colonial faces.
it's a fright, it's a sight, powdered chalky white.
You've got to rescue me
they're stalking me, hiding in mirrors like flesh jack-o-lanterns.
It's a tease, it's a shock, they shriek,
"The Redcoats are coming!" like a choir of boiling lobsters.

She shacked up with the wrong surgeon
Doctor! Doctor!
What have you done?
She slept beneath a blanket of scalpels
and woke up with skin like fingernails.
Doctor! Doctor!
What pleasure do you crave when sex lacks passion?
When the hospital lights are dimmed low?
This knife cut fashion lacks compassion,
but who says being an abomination of human cartilage isn't a statement?
Now cover girl, your cover up drips like dairy.
When I see you, walking by yourself,
I wanna cut the corners off your lips,
I wanna shave the angles off your cheeks,
I wanna wash the geometry off your face.
Those cosmetics run, run, run like ivory blood burns.
You keep coming back to get fucked on the operating table.
You keep coming back a different shade of nauseating.
It's time to take that face back to the bank
and count the cash you really make.
Pennies, doctor, pennies!

I spent seventeen nights in the city,
watching the horizon beckon for a buck knife
to bludgeon it's belly, to end the pregnancy.
I've spent seventeen nights in the city,
watching the face in the embryo,
traced by fleshy twilight, pleading for cesarean.
You can see it all from the rooftops
a swollen vagina in the sky.
Threatening birth
three shades of blood to soak its bed.
One: fiery red for the shutdown of the science bled sun.
Two: viscous black for the sex lives of the science fed youth.
Three: milk white for the impossible vista of the skyline as it shorted out,
crackled with static and was replaced by a network of newsprint.
You can see it all from the rooftops
a swollen vagina in the sky.
So close you can smell the morphine in its veins.

Have you seen the man with the golden crotch?
Who oiled the souls of this town of teenage girls.
Have you seen the man with the flaxen wig?
Who brought this city to its knees, who left it lusting.
Have you seen the man who lathers his face featureless?
Because incognito blood won't need to clot,
and if your wearing a bullseye then your gonna get shot.

The last mariner alive on the ark of the Blood Brothers
hears the five howls of its haunting.
One in the sail when the scales of the oil ocean glow pink.
One in the cabin for the swollen navels of pregnant sirens,
the fins on the backs of dead pirates.
Three in the lookout tower for the temptation of cursed pineapples,
the deadly lure of Piano Island.
Oh oh oh oh oh you never know.
The hints of phantom revolt might never ever show
until you find yourself shaved,
poisoned and dismembered down the throat of the sea.
Raise the fucking flag.
The flag of mutiny.

Yesterday I shaved every inch of my body and mailed the hair to you.
Does this excite you?
Is this what you like, pen pal?
Today I mailed a brick through your window
and watched you shower
so clean.
I sucked your soap like a sugared apple,
I steamed your mirrors with nostrils flared.
Pen pal, I'm afraid that our meetings are no longer coincidental,
it's hard to be discrete when hooves hit concrete.
It's hard to fit in when you look like equestrian.

Hello, hello, hello, to the girl with eight inch fingers.
Codeine eyes swollen like hives and stingers.
This is our first caress
and I must confess you look slightly marionette-esque.
The way you walk out of order.
The way you talk out of tune.
Marooned on Piano Island.
Population of two, population me and you.
I met a girl with eight inch fingers.
She clothed herself in pineapple skin.
She tempted me with forbidden pleasure
now I'll live on Piano Island forever.
She's a tropical beauty.

Butter. Butter and babies... this shack's distinct aroma.
Sugar, I'd come over but it's very hard to hump in front of your children.
They're horrific.
Your husband should know your hex,
your sex complex that cursed the fruits of our passion.
It's not natural... these children with melted beaks.
Sugar, I'd come over but your coffee tastes like the clap.

When i awoke I lay tied to a foreign bed.
Inside a house sown out of human flesh.
A palace of skin graft architecture.

Oh desolation!

I can't stand to fuck these walls.
Desolation!
I can't stand to suck these halls.
But how do I sleep when the skin I stroke underneath the sheets is
mannequin platique?
And i wonder where the girl who slept beside me has gone.
When the faces in the photos stare with glass eyed mistique...

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tock
I watch the clock for tenderness

Her heart throb (heart throbs)
340 beats a minute
(x4)
1..2..3 GO
Those slit throat confessions licked by randy flames of persuasion,
The shaving of the bone, the lingering taste of signed enamel.

The negatives... Jennifer.
Such uncompromising positions...
The negatives... Jennifer.
Such uncompromising...

I said, "You don't need a doctor honey, you need a mortician.
Because(this aint no black mail) I don't want your money(this aint no blakmail), I don't want your favors. (This ain't
no blackmail...) This aint no blackmail well this is for amusement."
(you don't need a doctor honey, you need a mortician baby. You don't need a doctor honey, you need a mortician)

Don't shady pasts make interesting broadcasts?
And human error is never an acceptable answer
(x2)
... Jennifer.