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Информация
Откуда York, Pennsylvania
Жанры Alternative Rock
Post-Grunge
Hard Rock
Годы 1988—2009
Лейблы Epic Records
См. также Ed Kowalczyk
The Gracious Few
Сайт Website
Бывшие участники
Ed Kowalczyk
Chad Taylor
Patrick Dahlheimer
Chad Gracey



Music World  →  Тексты песен  →  L  →  Live  →  Дискография  →  Secret Samadhi

Альбом Live


Secret Samadhi (18.02.1997)
18.02.1997
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. . .



let's go hang out in a mall, or a morgue, 
a smorgasbord 
let's go hang out in a church 
we'll go find lurch 
then we'll haul ass down through the abbey 
is it money, is it fame
what's in a name, shame? 
is it money, is it fame
or were they always this lame?

it's a crazy, crazy mixed up town
but it's the rattlesnake I fear
in another place, in another time
I'd be drivin' trucks my dear 
I'd be skinnin' hunted deer 
deer

let's go hang out in a bar
it's not too far 
we'll take my car
we'll lay flowers at the grave of jesco white 
the sinner's saint 
the rack is full and so are we
of laughing gas and ennui

. . .



it was an evening I shared with the sun
to find out where we belong
from the earliest days
we were dancing in the shadows

more wine 
cuz I got to have it
more skin 
cuz I got to eat it

inside the outside
by the river
used to be so calm 
used to be so sane
I rushed the lady's room
took the water from the toilet 
washed her feet and blessed her name
more peace
is such a dirty habit

slow down, we're too afraid

let me ride 
let me ride 
burn my eyes
let me ride

. . .



people should not be afraid 
we came to the earth to graze
no shortcuts to the face, this means you 
a child gives you his shoes

people should not be afraid 
we came to the earth to graze 
if it slithers into the haze
it can't be true 
a child gives you his shoes

in the early morning, cut her down
the pill, she needs your love 
forget your mother and your father
they aren't important son

we came to the earth to graze
everyone's diggin' in 
now there's no time to live
live

people should not be afraid 
the artist does figure eights 
but will it stand the test of time 
or will it rot
like the mission that tried too hard

in the early morning, cut her down 
the pill, she needs your love
forget your mother and your father 
you'll fall apart inside

. . .



everybody's here
puke stinks like beer 
this could be a city
this could be a graveyard 
you stole my idea
you stole my idea

everybody's anxious 
for the coming of the crisis 
the collapse of the justice 
i can smell your armpits
you stole my idea 
you stole my idea 
you stole my idea! 
this puke stinks like beer and everybody's here

come on, come on, come on 
let's lay waste to this century 
come on, come on, come on 
return to nothing, and help me

everybody's anxious 
the crowd is all around us
the followers of Aldous
are spinning with their mescaline 
a man behind the altar screams 
you stole my idea
you stole my idea!

on the edge of a kiss, smack on the lips 
dangled with tongue 
on the edge of a peace that can't stand low
and won't stand tall

it's amazing what we can do with love 
with some matches and gasoline, do with love! 
it's amazing what we can do with love

. . .



everybody has a ghost 
everybody has a ghost who sings like you do
yours is not like mine 
but it's alright, keep it up

boy loses rib in New Orleans 
he can't help eyein' up the whores
under the bridge 
boy loses rib and lets a hellified cry into the dark
where did I go wrong?

where did I go wrong? 
I never needed this before
I need a woman to help me feel

everybody has the dream 
everybody has the dream 
like a world tattoo yours is not like mine, it's alright, keep it up

the scalped dives into the skin 
good doctors never leave a scar
no proof again 
I'll take the myth, you take the blood
it's all the same to the world dreamer
it's all the same in the end

boy loses rib in New Orleans
he trades some ether for a chance 
under the bridge

boy loses rib as he's summoned to the mud 
flat on his back
cryin' where did I go wrong?

. . .



the baby's not screaming enough
the singer's not singing enough
ramana's not breathing, to us
behold the unsheathing, it's love

the blade is not ready to cut
it's dull from our thinking, it's rough
Free love is a world i can't linger too long in
"free love" was just another party
for the hippies to ruin

behold the unsheathing, it's love
behold the unsheathing, it's love

Free love is a knife through the jugular vein son
Free love, i can't afford to add up what you fuckers are made of

. . .



Heard a lot of talk about the ocean
Heard a lot of talk about the sea
Heard a lot of talk about a lot of things
Never meant that much to me

Heard a lot of talk about my spirit
Heard a lot of talk about my soul
But I decided that anxiety and pain
Were better friends
So I let it go

Did you let it go?
Let's get it back
Let's get it back together

Heard a lot of talk about this Jesus
A man of love, and a man of strength
But what a man was two thousand years ago
means nothing at all to me today

He could have been telling me about my
higher self
But he only lives inside my prayer
So what he was may have been beautiful
But the pain is right now
And right here

Let it go!
Let it go!
Let it go, my friend
And let's get it back
Let's get it back together

. . .



my brother kicked his feet to sleep
my brother kicked his feet to sleep
my brother kicked his feet to sleep
and I sang the dirge song

my brother never missed a beat
my brother kicked his feet to sleep, sweet feet
my brother kicked his feet to sleep
and I sang the dirge song

Angel, don't you have some bagels in my oven?
Lady, don't you know a man when you see one?
Crazy lady with the shiny shoes, where are you?
Kick you feet and calm the space that makes
you hollow

little swami's got his bowl to eat
little swami always walks his beat, sweet feet
little swami's got his bowl to eat
and I sing the dirge song

it's amazing how they come to see
the little swami with his bowl to eat, sweet feet
the little swami only wears a sheet
and won't sing the dirge song

anal, tight-assed soldier with that dogged heart
put down your gun
we are ready to explode, we gotta take it smart
and take it slow

. . .



anyone, caught in you mystery
keep it angry
keep it whispy
I've fallen down
drunk on your juices

turn my head
turn my head
it's aimed at you

funky temple
your dress is torn to shreds
your eyes are crazy
I bowed to save my head and
I can't forget you
but I remember

turn my head
turn my head
it's aimed at you

oh no,
we came to love you all day
these bastards are leavin'
somebody's go to stay
whatever we called you
it's just a name
just a name

. . .



I'll kill you in my dreams
I turn the other cheek during the day
I'll kill you all

the subculture of my dreams
is waiting for me to fall asleep
I know you're scared, you should be
k know you're scared

hero
dreamer

this attic of my mind
these feelings I can't hide
I can't share
I feel alone, ah yeah
the subconscious keeps me here
I fell in love with a balladeer
I saw your tongue, it licked my heart
they called you queer

hero
dreamer
hero

they called you queer
they called you queer
they called you queer
they called you queer

. . .



if the mother goes to sleep with you
will you run and tell Geraldo
if the mother bears your children without tears
without the usual costs of labor

if the mother goes to bed with you
will you run and tell the neighbors
will you hide behind that get up that you wear
or will take the first ear that comes into contact with your blade
like peter did on the hill

will you call her a freak?
will you call them freaks?

if the mother goes to bed with you
will you run and tell the papers
how she picked you from a line up in downtown Philadelphia
with a cigarette hangin' out of your mouth and Henry Miller in your back pocket
you little fucker

if the mother goes to bed with you
in the bowels of the cathedral
will you render her asunder with what she really needs
or will you crash that beautiful silence with some talk about
finding yourself in your mother's arms

will you call her a freak
will you call them freaks
or will you call them gods
will you call them freaks

you know you sperm is weak
you never looked, so high
to ever find her so low
you did not have to go, that far
to show her you were holy

now you know they're gonna come for you
and drag your silly name into the mud
if the mother bears your children without tears
and without the usual costs of labor

. . .



looks like America's dropped her load
she was ready to explode
I could not see her from up here
cuz she was lyin' in the road

my head's in the ground
I can't make a sound
my head's in the ground

looks like America's dropped her load
she tried to call me on the telephone
"everything is fine, now the baby's here!"
she'll have to handle this one on her own

my head's in the ground
I can't make a sound
the priests were all stoned

California was in my mind
and love was a game that we played

my head's in the ground
I can't make a sound
the priests were all stoned
the fact that you moaned

my head's in the ground (repeat)

. . .



if i was half alive
then you were dead
subsistin' on that same old bread

it's the memory that hides
the whole wide world
it's the gas hed's love of america

it's the memory that hides
take your photographs back
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches on

he's a bonified man
a star amongst his clan
and the only one that let me ride

it's the memory that dies
our gas hed was right
when they lanced his skull
there was puss and light

it's the memory that dies
so take your photographs back
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches

it's the memory that dies
and make your photographs black
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches on

gas hed is on the radio, radio, radio

. . .


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