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lyrics

All songs copyright 2007, Carson Metzger and Permanent Records.

Carson Metzger’s Nova Anatomia of Gods and Bodies

We Goin’ Go Hungry (The Potato Song)

The Sound of the Crowd

The Most Stellar Cartographer (Space, Borges, Space)

The Mortician’s Daughter

Buttering Toast

Quality

Know Thy Mage: The Anatomy of a Virtual Bigot

A Writely Device or Fathers, Daughters, and the Physiology of Fate

Our Darkest Hour

WooHoo!

Snuff Film

Monsters! (My Origin Song?)

This Apocalypse

Our Lady of This Scab

My Sweet Irene

The Longest Eye

The Wrinkle in the Blueprint of the Plan of Her Life


We Goin’ Go Hungry (The Potato Song)
Ghosts! Ghosts! Ghosts!
It’s just like bein’ a-
lone lone lone
with the blight and the chill in your
bone bone bones
when the tubers a’int growin
the tone tone tone
in your face is fadin’ You know
We gone go hungry for sure
We gone go hungry for sure
Creep! Creep! Creep!
The sky came creeping
With fog and rain
and exports depleting
The Crown’s been haunting
the depots with soldiers
“The fairy wars
sewed the Blackest Potatoes!”
Run! Run! Run!
from the silence is louder than
Drums drums drums
in the bog dwellers hovel
The tone tone tone
of your sinews is aging
The cuticle of the future’s retreating
We know
We gone go hungry for sure
We gone go hungry for sure
Tom Tom Tom
he awoke in the soil
A hole hole hole
through a grave in the Abbey
His legs broke broke
under weight of the bodies
To seek some boots
from his country side travels
Plague! Plague! Plague!
on the archivists’ treatment
Of hungry grass
as peasants resisting when
Know know knowings to know with your body swallowed whole by the graves where you’re drowning
Joke! Joke! Joke!
and the jokes on the birthing
Of books, books, books
the interpolator
Of circuitry between real dead and nations
The white-white noise
of the ghost in your tummy
We know
We gone go hungry for sure
Run to your mamas now!
We know
We gone go hungry for sure
We gone go hungry for sure
Back to top
The Sound of the Crowd

This year, year when you fray
like the strings of the dummies you play
to the swing, the swing of the moon
through your abolitionists roof

Know the sound, the sound of the crowd
wound tight to see your puppets perform
you unwind all their dead limbs to life
and bring tears of laughter to their eyes

Rain on skin
the voices howlin’
White-washed crowd all with shotguns and
ooglin’ grins
A’int no puppet show
when your
people turn out for war

This year, year as your creak
to the warp of the boards on your workshop floor
Better hide all your dummies away
they tie strings into nooses for bodies on stage

Know the sound, the sound of the crowd
wound tight to see some body’s gaze put out
Applause as the dead limbs grow quiet
and bring tears to your eyes, to your eyes

Rain on skin
the voices howlin’
White-washed crowd all with whiskey and
gasoline
“Pass the camera Bob.
I gotta take a shot
for the family memory box.”

This year, year as rust
like the slaves chains been bust for this noose of justice
Please speak, speak through the veins
of the wood you carve out of your hands
This year, before you fray
like the rope that they’d tie round your traitorous neck
You’d best swing, swing like the moon

You look older these days
Back to top
The Most Stellar Cartographer (Space, Borges, Space)
I’m the most stellar car-
tographer the world has ever known
See me make it so,
do your bidding lord
Today I sign my name ethereal-
ly you see I’ve unified the
universe and all the-
history books will read “With
pixels he did ink the course of
dust beyond the farthest nebulas.”
The imperial pretensions of my
funding government are inconsequential
My topography’s the poetry
scribbled on celestial bodies-
Save my photos of the spiral cores
As they’re marching toward the blackest holes
See the soldiers hold their latitude. They’re all
armed with my Cartesian tools
Save my photos of the spiral cores
As they occupy red giant zones
See those halos ’round our soldier boys
Defending all the futures
We call home
I’m the greatest car-
tographer the world has ever known
Please appreciate
all my artistry
I’ve painted every constellation
big as they do dangle from the sky
Emergent within em-
issions from a
million white dwarf stars, orbit this
new frontier
that I have
engineered as to-
day we lay our claim to outer
space our red dwarf starry eyes are
manifest
on this spatial fate
My topography’s the poetry
scribbled on celestial bodies
Save my photos of the spiral cores
As they’re marching toward the blackest holes
See the soldiers hold their latitude. They’re all
armed with my Cartesian tools
Save my photos of the spiral cores
As they occupy red giant zones
See those halos ’round our soldier boys
Defending all the futures we call-
photos of the spiral cores
As they’re marching toward the blackest holes
See those halos ’round our soldier boys
Defending all the futures we call
Home
Home
Home
Home
I’m the most stellar car-
tographer the world has even known
I did your bidding Lord,
I have brought us home.
Back to top

The Mortician’s Daughter

she knocked over hourglasses
nerves all fraught by catastrophe
leave your best and leave your flowers
dead heads for the mor-
tician’s daughter I’ll plug these holes inside her head her
holes is all that’s close to real-
lizing where she failed herself all
soft as glass, she let me see her
laid out scientifically my
my autopsy through sandy sheets
she knocked over hourglasses
nerves all fraught by catastrophe when shaking out her dusty wings I’m
preserving the sleep in her eyes
in a jar her history formauldahyde and dentistry and
sewing empty cavities
stitching where her molars were ex-
tracted as her sutures over-
lapped and crushed her earthy palette.
blended with her skull and tracing
tattoos inked around her ankles
Hermes wings to fly her off the
ground and up into the sky where
her head would dream
but her will would flounder
embalming moonlight in a bottle
bury her inside of me or
bury her in the moistest soil
dig the dirt beneath my finger-
nails guarantee her family well
she’s too dirty for a grave goodbye
her entrails spilled upon the ground she knocked over hourglasses
nerves all fraught by catastrophe
leave your best and leave your flowers
dead heads for the mor-
tician’s daughter
she knocked over hourglasses
nerves all fraught by catastrophe
in silence I can hear her breathing
in silence I can hear her breathing
in my mouth she keeps repeating, “Hello.”
Back to top

Buttering Toast


I, I always boast
I don’t need anything
That you stand for
Still you
You love me
You’d love anything
That I’d stand for
As you knot
My body up
your best intent was
upset by words
I will prick
You under me
Share our syringe of
Intimacy
This one long day
We Disagree
On nature’s purity
And my technique for buttering toast
Back to top

Quality


Well you are you are you are you are you are hoo
My daughter.
Well you are you are you are you are you are
You’re shmmiering like a country star
a-wah-wa
a-wah-ha-ha-haw
aw-wah-wawr
You’re putting on a face of makeup
You put a face on alone
You’ve got a lot of pretty friends
Gotta face gotta song
a-wah-won
a-wah-wah-hah-ha
aw-wah-hoo yea
Cuz you are you are you are you are you are you are
Smiling with my Quality
Cuz you are you are you are you are you are you are
Curled so close to me
Now Daddy don’t you lay
Lay so dang close to me
Now Daddy don’t you lay
Lay so dang close to me
My best white cotton panties
Absorbed your Quality
Now Daddy don’t you lay
Lay so dang close to me
Your Quality, yay
Back to top

Know Thy Mage: The Anatomy of a Virtual Bigot
The other day,
at the auction I say,
“Don’t trust a gnome mage.”
They might have smooth and well-timed polymorphs but they’re fakes.
Like this chic who’s name is tulip, she’s specced arcane
and she’s a shifty ninja looter.
Know thy mage,
my daddy’d say
“They’re slight of frame, but they will play the dumbest git to get to their way”
The other day
we ran Uldaman’s front door,
my forty-three
level warrior I named “Vev”
she was main tanking
sure I’m a guy
but when online
Hell in real life I’d rather be inside a
woman’s body All my guildies were offline
so I advertised in Iron Forge
for a racially mixed party
to take out Archimades
I found a dwarvish priest,
a human lock,
a gnomish mage,
and a night elf talking smack about his
brand new Krol Blade
the mage, her name was tulip,
says her guild was short on warriors
so I say “Hey baby I’ll show you the way we do it
down in this here instance”
Know thy mage, my daddy’d say
They’re slight of frame, but they’ll play the dumbest git to get to their way
Know thy gnome mage my daddy’d say They’re erudite
but they’re a feisty race by nature and a
class of social climbers
We took out Ironaya,
gave her bracers to the warlock
and we aggroed all the scorp pits just for kicks
then tulip she backlash winks me, so I backslash flirt, and court her
backslash flexing all the fibers of my
virtual pectorals
making mincemeat out of Grimlock
I type “Don’t ninja his blue drop”
I could really use his pole arm for a change,
I’ve lost the roll three times today
the troggs are fallin’
got my eyes on tulip conjurin’
with mageweave tights that give her gnomish ass
a +4 sexual appeal
Know thy mage, my daddy’d say
They’re slight of frame, but they will play the dumbest git to get to their way
Know thy gnome mage my daddy’d say They’re erudite
but they’re a feisty race by nature and a
class of social climbers
When Grimlock dropped the spear, my tulip
rolled a 93,
high enough to win the pole arm
though her slight mage frame can’t wield one
she types “Oopps I didn’t mean to”
as she takes off with my sweet loot,
backslash shrugging leaving me to ruminate
on my obvious mistake
Know thy mage, my daddy’d say
They’re slight of frame, but they’ll play the dumbest git to get to their way
Know thy gnome mage my daddy’d say They’re erudite
but they’re a feisty race by nature and a
class of social climbers
Know thy mage, my daddy’d say
They’re erudite
But they will smite you with a fireball
With your back turned toward tomorrow
Know thy gnome mage
Back to top

A Writely Device or Fathers, Daughters, and the Physiology of Fate
She always beginning in media res Too many
Shoes for her fingers so she counts on her abacus
Lipstick smudgin “gimme sugar for my tongue”
She was made to bear a child like the sun was made to warm
Well blind Willie McTell he never saw no stop signs
But she always suspected how her Poppa schemed behind her see her
Dad he saw his death at her first borns’ hands in the
mothball cards that the tarot lady read
Her Pop had been a capitalist since ‘73
Lockin women in a building to increase their productivity
Surveil their every movement on his TV screen
My baby girl I will be watching her at
every social gatherin

He was a typical god all
bolts and thunder Liked to
womanize with the barely too young crowd
At home he’s hitched to Hera; out on town he plays the game
Good and bads just bells and whistles round the
Morbid leg/neck of fate
Freedom’s bells and whistles round the morbid leg of fate
He sat down at the bar when her hips walked in Felt a
mighty tingle when he laid eyes on her bared skin She all
Dressed to take the fun out of love makin’, a
stiletto feminist
poised deadly for the men
by the cable TV
hell the news loops endlessly
Posturin breeds posutrin
an’ we all know where that leads to I a’int
lookin’ your direction so you’d best not look at me but
somehow they came together through his timeless pick up line
“Have you heard the latest gossip about
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jo…line?”

They spoke the language of nerves with an iambic lilt
Lost beneath the rhythm of the frat boy noise
And who would put a singer with guitar here in the corner?
Mic up to his mouth so the whole damn city gotta hear his chatter?
So in haste our godly friend sought to change the situation
He say “I been known to save chaste damsels from fire and from Lucifer
I’ll get anything you want, see I co-authored this scene—with my
deus ex machina if you know what I mean”
To which she replied, “You underestimate me
I get everything I please with my smoking body” And I’ll
go home with you just to piss my poppa off
But Just cuz I dress like sex don’t mean my dress gonna put out
Her sass cracked a smile cross his bearded face
He gave her poppa’s eyes the slip with a snap of his fingers and they
curled up on the couch back at his 8th Street place
Where they talked all night and went to sleep watchin’ Dragnet
As the dawn cracked fast on the palates of the yawnin’

When our fearless God awoke in the sleepy afternoon He found no
trace of her body save her scent on his pillow Frus—
trated that he’d failed to make her earth quake with his love he
He set out to show her what a nice…
What a fair…
What a horny God does

When she returned she found her pop all stutterin
His eyes glued to the news and wonderin; where she had been lost
He say you gave my eyes the slip with that wanna be God that Pimp
I I can’t let you out grip my girl I gotta reel you in
Well The city stank like wet dogs and the alleys stank like dead ones and her
Pop was so afraid that his girl would go get knocked up
So he locked her in a downtown tower to keep her clean
Atop his textile operation where the lady slaves were weavin’ pinkies pricked and bleedin’ hearts over illegal immigration—
With a can all full a pennies, and a will to roll them nickels into jam upon the jelly ‘pon a jar of them magic American beans
Well our fair and horny God, he used his superhero sense, to trace her
pharimones down ‘round the bend and past Olympus Street And
all up the sweatshop stairs where she sat in bed all fussy, in a
Warm and golden shower he came all up inside her…

…keyhole

The shiver through her body as she bit her nails and hair
She resisted and she hated as his voice pitched low from nowhere
“Dig your highest heels sweet to bruise me deep as we conceive
I assure you this is real, I’ve bit your lips to make em bleed”
Intoxicated limbs sweat as the temperatures arisin’
any idiot would feel it like the sun’s been know to blind ya
She sees angels in the wood grain; in the smoke that grows up dense
Her Perseus becomes her tummy as the flames they carve and twist
And her poppa flips the channel to the 10 o’clock news cast
To live coverage of His business all burnt into a wreckage
Drove like hell into the fire but he could not save his life
see his daughter she got rescued by some writerly device
Well the baby sure was born and some folks was turned to stone, and the
Feminists will recover the agency of the girl well
like the mothball cards had told yea well the mothballs know for sure
that her Poppa died a slave to the prophecy,
His grandson knocked him dead with a discus to his leg
and the babes in ladies tummies that miraculously grow
like the beans that ferment dreams they’re rarer than a barrel of oil
that our God leaves things as knotted as they surely were before
As the news keeps on repeatin’ while the women keep a sweatin’ and toilin’
And our singers still up singing in the back there of the bar
Making a racket Lord a racket that the
whole goddamned city‘d rather just ignore
Back to top

Our Darkest Hour

Rachel you bleed,
upon our bed.
Your barren soil
fertile with our conception—
sons of pain:
our lineage—
this darkest hour; this darkest day.

Shechem to Bethel;
Bethel to Hebron.
My pleading heels
walk me back into you Lord.
Recovering
my wandering piety—
bury the idols beneath
the oak tree

My son Joseph,
our family
follows your visions
as our Caanan faces famine—
you will feed
our people’s needs:
The coming hunger
will make you king. Through

Seven years of plenty
Seven years of naught
Tending your house of grain
Leaven our starving tribes and
Sew our lineage
Into Egyptian soil
As Fertile shepherds we will prosper until
Enslaved by Pharaoh

“Lord I’ve returned to you.
In Bethel here.
I build the altar high, I
assume the name of Israel
But Lord my doubt
Cursing my blessed seed
The hour of my darkness is coming.”

“Rachel you bleed
You fill the soil
I lay you here
On the road to Bethlehem
This house of bread
You will lament
Our darkest hour; our darkest day”
Back to top

WooHoo!

Descend through the embers the heat is all
woohoo!
She’s sweat enough of her dreams to bleed woohoo
She say “Gimme relief from this slow burning—
Pleaser lend me your skin so we can forget where our differences be—gin

So as we
Burn burn burn
Burn burn burn burn burn
Burn burn burn burn
I will be in you”

“Down from the garden, the charring towers of industry
smoke toward the band and the bird headed man woohoo!
How we all fall, on the flesh pile, like the dead weight on the just wings of gravity
Exposed for the beasts with their bold snouts and bared suppertime teeth
The priest there in the corner he prays for some ice-cold rationality
Cursing the abomination he’s come to constitute woohoo-
To the hangman
and the branding the singe of which makes a dead sinew sing
For defiling our bodies we shall be swallowed and vomited eternally
On This playground for the rejects, and half-breds, and all them bawdy criminals
As The brass players perform through their ass ass ass holes, so repentantly
Every bodies prostrate for some judgment day sodomy woohoo!”

So as we
Burn burn burn burn
Burn burn burn burn
Burn burn burn burn
I will be in you”

She got a fever 103 and climbing
So I lend her my skin for her holiness to set fire to me woohoo!
Back to top

Snuff Film
Snuff Film

The camera shot through your eyes
Aperture deepening the moment when your hand starts
Haye-e-yi-yi-yi
To slide

Through the emulsion
The bodies came clear
Sexless where the walls was blown thin
Our liberation to know suffering
Your photographs mean anything

On that night when you shot at yourself
You lay naked with your hands upon your
Haye-e-yi-yi-yi
“My body’s one big goosebump,” you say
You framed the moment when the child smiled so big
Only to lose him in the melee
Now I’m staring at your photo of his remains

And all the warriors see the death of a son
And all the other warriors fearing retribution
Our liberation to know suffering
Your war torn photos’ gonna spin spin spin

Who’s embarrassed here? You or me?
You shot that child’s insides now you
Cling to your knees
Excuse your nudity with chuckles and pleas
Well flesh is flesh is—

I know your photograph of suffering
I know your photograph of suffering
I know your photograph of suffering
I know your photograph of suffering

We know a photograph of suffering
We know a photograph of suffering
We know a photograph of suffering
We know a photograph of suffering

We know a photograph of suffering
We know a photograph of suffer-ooh-ooh-ooh-ohh
We know a photograph of suffering
We know a photograph of suffering
Back to top

Monsters! (My Origin Song?)

All my real good friends are monsters
The kind that wasn’t never born
All my enemies claim innocence
Digging for some soily o-o-o-origin

We plant our daises pixilated
A’int got no Eden to restore
Thank god I never was born, I got no origin song
I’m just courting the now until I’m gone

All my real good chums quit free love
“It’s so analog,” they say
Voyeurisms in, don’t need no rubber for your skin
They’ll stream their sexy epidermis to your bed

We plant our daises pixilated
A’int got no Eden to restore
Thank god I never was born, I got no origin song
I’m just courting the now until I’m gone

So please accept this invitation
To our misfits monsters ball
A’int no tight white tie or hands to jive just
Ovaries to fertilize
We lubricate our test tube wombs with God
A little bit of God

We plant our daises pixilated
A’int got no Eden to restore
Thank god I never was born, I got no origin song
I’m just courting the now until I’m gone
Thank god I never was born, I’m a wish my momma some love
I’m just courting the now until I’m gone
Gone
Gone
Gone
Gone
Gone
Gone
Back to top

This Apocalypse

Above the vaulted Roman sky,
the Gods are tossing craps for kicks
Amidst bottle caps, the heat and sweating romance through their roots
Graffitied on the frescoed sky, “It’s time to put an end to this.”
Our flesh will flail and bathe in seas of Saints and golden leaves

This Apocalypse when you split apart the b-
ody that we used to share
This Apocalypse when you split apart the b-
ody that we used to share

Stars are falling and babies calling
for Mama’s milk to meet their needs
As the tallest cathedrals are weeping their steeples and
falling onto their knees
The bishops convene to seek a means to the end of
drowning all our lives
As the tides keep on rising
your eyes keep on crying,
faster than the Earth can dry

This Apocalypse when you split apart the b-
ody that we used to share
This Apocalypse when you split apart the b-
ody that we used to share

I Swear I
I Swear I
Swear they’re all laughing inside your heart

I Swear I
I Swear I
They’re all laughing inside your heart
Back to top

Our Lady of This Scab

Mow the lawn and
Pick the posies
No neighbors coming home for supper
Trim the children’s bangs and hope the
Anthractie won’t burn our toe-sies the
cellar floors are Hot! Hot! Hot! the
walls are scalding to the touch

I plead don’t run away my Colonel!
Please the blight through which she murmurs

Danger! Danger!
Keep Keep Out!
Our town is falling in upon it-
Self our wealth of coal for steel
Lies beneath her ashen sheets
Upon Odd Fellas cemetery and
In the ears of those who’ve stayed
Look there! Beyond the smoking church
Our Lady of this Scab Upon the Earth
She keep keeps the embers burning
Venting heat she seethes her bounty
Through the church bells metal ring
She chimes my songs of destiny so

Dance with me my steely Colonel
Please the blight through which she murmurs
I plead don’t run away my Colonel!
Dress our children in their Sunday best

One million feet below the ground our
Neighbors son he nearly fell
She seduced him
on a whispering wind
On Valentine’s day 1981
I watched him dingle-dangle
Toward her gaseous scab his fragile
Cousin played her tug-of-war
and skinned his hands to save the boy
his parents ran like all the folk
selling off their land with trembling signatures erasing us from
atlases but still she calls so

Dance with me my steely Colonel
Please the blight through which she murmurs
I plead don’t run away my Colonel!
The children eat but she, she hungers so
Dance with me my steely Colonel
Ease the blackened beating of her
Heart—don’t run away my Colonel:
Lay me on this bellowing coal bed
Back to top

My Sweet Irene

My Sweet Irene,
why’s that song your singing?
Always sad so sad so I can’t
pull my head
out of bed?

Now this Ol’ Paint
that your Daddy sang you
Is the horse you’re ridin’ to re-
pent your sins
But you fell asleep
on the Devil’s weeping arm
to wake up to the horror of forgetting

My Sweet Irene,
why’s that song your singing?
Always sad so sad so I can’t
pull my head
out of bed?

Now you’ve done well by your daddy’s teachin’
But lose your head and you’ll never sin
the same way that you used to do

Now the King,
see he don’t take crime so lightly
his guillotine was hand carved by a penitent
who knew the score
See a’int no good or bad now
There’s just sad sad sad when your eyes is cracked
from bawling

My Sweet Irene,
why’s that song your singing?
Always sad so sad so I can’t
pull my head
out of bed?

Now I stand
outside the cenotaph
My arms are awkward by my side and I can’t think to laugh
Meanwhile the rain,
it don’t mean anything—
Save the coldness of my clothing on my skin

My sweet Irene
Back to topname=”song16″>The Longest Eye

a colony of sunspots in his gaze
see the devil in the eyes he fabricates
inside our monastery where he constructs
telescopes from monkish detritus

in the sleepiest,
hamlets of the earth,
he cries “Step right up! To use the “longest eye””
As a crowd emerged,
beggars and laborers,
the butcher and the forgot girl
clamored for the mystery

With one eye squeezed
they sail past the Pleiades
the nascence of stars and streams
the grand pinwheel galaxy
He cries “Glory me!
We are vessels, we,
we are but vessels, we,
we are mere
vessels here”

from the clerestory where they organize
whispering fictions as they stare up at the skies
his nook and cranny tinkering obscures
his will to know exceeds his faith in God—but

in the busiest
markets of the earth,
he shares evidence
of a grand purpose
the scoffing scientists,
ridicule his faith,
he cries, “Visualize your distant origins,”
with one eye squeezed “Please” sail past the Pleiades
the nascence of stars and blood,
the grand pinwheel galaxy
he cries “Glory me!
We are vessels, we;
we are but vessels, we,
we are mere
vessels here”

the council votes to excommunicate
“His prosthetic sight will undermine our sway”
the divine coordinates shall only be known
by those of us who would denounce his scope
Back to top name=”song17″>The Wrinkle in the Blueprint of the Plan of Her Life
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