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Wild Beasts
Wild Beasts


Background information
Origin Kendal, England
Genre(s) Indie Rock
Art Rock
Dream Pop
Post-punk Revival
Years active 2002—present
Label(s) Domino Records
Website Website
Members
Hayden Thorpe
Ben Little
Tom Fleming
Chris Talbot



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  W  →  Wild Beasts  →  Albums  →  Limbo, Panto

Wild Beasts Album


Limbo, Panto (06/16/2008)
06/16/2008
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Room a catacomb, this ghoul a balloon, with the breath
from beneath your breast, yes that is best.

Hug it to me, and the rubber raspberries
with wantingly wet mouth I suck..remind me of your gentle fuck.

Men to be men, must love and pity
so deeply and secretly

Flaccid, I asked for this
below spit rich belly pit moan and blush with hot hormone

Wash it from me, this stuff sad and sticky
blub into the soapsuds, trim my 'tache and pull the plug

Men to be men, must love and pity
so deeply and secretly

How you'd smother me, wetly whisper what you'd like
and we'd be clumsy as virgins in vigil light

. . .


Oh when I'm olden I'll hear this moment and I'l laugh hahaha...
I've rallied, rucked over and rabble roused have I not?
I've given lung, tongue and sung have I not?
I've meant what I've said and I've slept in soiled bed have I not?
With a heart as big as a dustbin lid have I not? HAVE I NOT?

But I'm not a soft touch and I won't been seen as such, so full with...
fierce fathomless love, I spit and have spats to be tough,
show I'm not soppy and stuff

Though as a boy I had bowl-cut brilliance that could carve up any conundrum
but now dunno how that could possibly have been

I've shorn and I've sheened and I've Brylcreemed have I not?
I've brawn and I've brain and of both I've shame have I not?
Though I've had them straddle me wantingly have I not?
And I've length of loinly manliness have I not? HAVE I NOT?

But I'm not a soft touch and I won't been seen as such, so full with...
fierce fathomless love, I spit and have spats to be tough,
show I'm not soppy and stuff

Though as a boy I had bowl-cut brilliance that could carve up any conundrum
but now dunno how that could possibly have been

With bodies rid of retarding midweek hardship
we bellow baritone to our favourites, like life depends on it!
I hold my brothers in breathtaking clinches
this is my heart's hub, the hot, wild, fug of the club of the fathomless love,
I spit and have spats to be tough, show I'm not soppy and stuff...

Though as a boy I had bowl-cut brilliance that could carve up any conundrum
but now dunno how that could possibly have been

. . .


This truly is
The Devil's crayon
tracing your shoulderblades
aglow like rayon

This truly is the Devil's crayon
that all his children can use to draw

and we are so many tiny pieces
We are so many tiny pieces

This truly is
The Devil's answer
carved from the tongue
of this romancer

This truly is the Devil's answer
that all his children use to kiss

and we are so many clambering hands
We are so many clambering hands

the way you say her name
I want mine said the same, devil
devildevildevil
the way you say her name I want mine said the same
devil

This truly is the Devil's shoulder
your arm draped around
ten times over

This truly is the Devil's shoulder
that all his children will use to throw their loads, their loads on you
to throw their loads on you

And we are so much moulded dough
We are so much moulded dough

Used to throw their loads on you
Used to throw their loads on you

. . .


Unstable stands afflush with fans
pilfered piles and pints in wobbly hands...
in the bowls of the bar two boys spar
don't flinch an inch and territories marked

Oh I'd swear by my own cock and balls
and the family home's four walls

There'll be no treason this season
The players they bask
the boss he basks
Just win the big match it's all I can ask

Darrell my son the bastards won
we've been lumbered with loosing life for far too long
the ground groans like the belly of a sleeping whale
don't flinch an inch you'll be released on bail

Oh I'd swear by my own cock and balls
and the family home's four walls

There'll be no treason this season
The players are slack
The boss has been sacked
Just win the big match it's all I can ask

Woebegone with weeping
that sets you down to sleeping...
please canary, please be wary
the pit of a man's heart is dark and scary

Oh are yer yellow with cowardice?
Oh are yer yellow with jaundice?

A slap on the arse from my baby
the hiss and the sting
and the mark of a ring
and the cold reality

Who are yer? Who are yer? Who are yer? Who are yer?

. . .


Casual sex with a hard up thug
shifting good time drugs and...

A human is hauled
from the wombs
wired jaw.

We are liberal
and
we are civil
and
Life is futile

Darling I regret there's life
in the old dog yet

. . .


Come to from slumber on bed's soft tundra
murky with mourn beside dead uniform
and I wish and I hope
and I wish and I hope
with long drag on me smoke
and I wish and I hope
that I'll stalk the corridors once more.

Please, Sir, let me return, if only for a term (how I yearn)
It's glee, Sir, with your hot breath upon me (gob gurning in a fury)

But...
I only winded that lad before he bolted
and...
I only fumbled that lass, besides, I was revolted

So for forgiveness,
with me boyz as witness,
take this chips with cheese
as an offering of peace
But...
I only winded that lad before he bolted
and...
I only fumbled that lass, besides, I was revolted

So for forgiveness,
with me boyz as witness,
take this chips with cheese
as an offering of peace

. . .


How can you pine anymore?
It is beautiful
and for all
unavoidable
so these are his bones
and his grinning skull
so now he is home
to the bluebottles
he who was your bull
and made the shadows run
and I understand
In all things he was quite the man
but now perched on his skull
he now wears cuckold's horns
and they're growing full
pushing through the soil
pools gathering round my knees
temptation leers at me from every door
so these are his bones
why won't you leave them alone?
worms crowding her feet
trying to pull me back to their holes
tap-tapping in the room below
nothing more than dead piles of bones
saying:
'I'll eat this young whelp's heart I will'
'I'll eat this young whelp's heart I will'
'I'll eat this young whelp's heart'
HEAVE-HO
HEAVE-HO
with fists for spades we raid his grave
with big black boots we stomp the roots
with fists for spades we raid his grave
with big black boots we stomp the roots
and HEAVE-HO
HEAVE-HO
HEAVE-HO
HEAVE-HO
HEAVE-HO
heave-ho

. . .


Her fruit was ripe, I bit
Her fruit was ripe, I bit
I'm nothing more than a humble mongrel
whipped cast, rash and unabashed

Her fruit was ripe, I bit
Her fruit was ripe, I bit
pungent juice wept from the bruise
where the skin was sluice and slobbered on

though the meat was fleshy and sweet
she purred while I grrred

I die every day, to live every night
under the industry of her want for me in our fusty foundry
please no ceremony, I want she, I want she, no matrimony

My fruit was ripe, she bit
My fruit was ripe, she bit
in her belly lay a pip
a'brooding in the oozing

My fruit was ripe, she bit
My fruit was ripe, she bit
huffing and puffing on the mattress stuffing
upon the bunk a fervent funk

in my butcher's hands her soft fruit tendered. She never pretended...
she purred while I grrred

I die every day, to live every night
under the industry of her want for me in our fusty foundry
please no ceremony, I want she for laundry, I want she so I'm not lonely
I want she, I want she, not matrimony

. . .


C’mon we’re young, we’re young
Yet we’ll be dead as soon
C’mon we came, we came
From our mother’s womb to swoon

Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants
Adopting this young spirit of sin
To make the most, before we turn to ghost
Before, old friend, life’s just a means to an end
To make the most, before we turn to ghost

Swig the bottle, bottle
Slap the face of Aristotle
Race me, Race me, Race me, Race me
In yer fourth hand jalopy

Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants
Adopting this young spirit of sin
To make the most, before we turn to ghost
Before, old friend, life’s just a means to an end
To make the most, before we turn to ghost

My mother, she said, “you don’t delve in taboo”.
But mother, my moribund will come
When I’m through with taboo

Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants
Adopting this young spirit of sin
To make the most, before we turn to ghost
Before, old friend, life’s just a means to an end
To make the most, before we turn to ghost

That sink and pull in the guts
That’s this foolhardy flux

. . .


Sour metal smells in a lonely barrel
don't render me the sorriest parody...

Potty gobbed fickle mob clamour for climax
don't render me the sorriest parody...

Be blasted or be lambasted instead
don't render me the sorriest parody...

Cheerio chaps, cheerio goodbye
Cheerio chaps, even cheer me if I die

For me snivellin', for me sufferin', for me constant cowerin'
I get this...
My pain played back, like crude happy slap, and for the laff
I get this...
Another cosmos, beneath the big top, when I belly flop
I get this...

no not hugged or hand shook
just left bereft, well walloped, wanting to have warwhoopfully have wept

So I gloat with, with gritted grin
To cheat my chin into keeping the womanly wibbling in

Cheerio chaps, cheerio goodbye
Cheerio chaps, even cheer me if I die

For me snivellin', for me sufferin', for me constant cowerin'
I get this...
My pain played back, like crude happy slap, and for the laff
I get this...
Another cosmos, beneath the big top, when I belly flop
I get this...

a requiem in a circus tent...

. . .


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