- NO SMOKE WITHOUT IRE
- SHARPIE ARMS
- SPIKES BURSTING THROUGH GRID
- CROWNING MOVE
- PEACOCK
- FORCE MAJEURE
RELEASED APRIL 24TH, 2025
As the slimy facade of "neoliberal peacetime" necrotizes before us, and needle-struck billionaires plunder the vaults for the thrill of the kill, and every nation state pulls up its bootstraps and hangs the powerless from them, because they'd rather play with their dessert storms, we, all the people of the Earth are trapped on a flaming rollercoaster headed straight for the surface of the Sun, while all the social media psyops stun us into splinters, and they did a real number on us, we're a million cliques pitted in pure opposition, it's called we do a little trolling, a torrent of laughs, proper knee-slappers, for after all, you can't stick them with the bayonet if you're too busy laughing, not that any of that really matters anyway because the next century over, there will not be much in the way of habitable life on Earth let alone a civilization to fight for, it's all a fight for spoiled spoils, but those vested interests, how they will fight on, this is what they have decided will be normal after all, a muddy cloud of razorblade missiles and phosphorous slip'n'slides, and no-one talks about COVID anymore, God's all the rage these days, and brand-new futuristic cutting-edge child-incineration technologies, all slicked in shallows of Sunday columns, the industrialists and the capitalists and the carpetbaggers and the carpetbombers all gathered and marched through the gates of Hell, and they stubbornly took humanity with them.
ARTWORK
LYRICS
A laugh in the line
A window in decline
Another waste of time
Echoing the sentiment
Of silver-sprayed resistance art
And Googling spy cops
The grounding of the planes
Bearing times that were ever nice
The deadliest mistakes
Are borne of being wasted
At birthday parties
Or Hallowe’en dos
Well it’s all embers now
And you’re wishing you felt better
But the greenhouse is on fire
Oh hold on to your teeth
It was a shame to be benign
And neck the glass of hearts and brine
There will not be another time
That we’re not living to survive
We’re a ship brimming with rats
Under a feedback loop attack
And snapped Submarine pressings
Or that ultraviolet shine
It all happens in an attosecond
That meat market psychology
From all our rotting words
Regurgitated and served
In service of the lapdogs
Of the maddest of men
And eager Five Eyes advisors
Just wait ’till you can’t sweat
Mad Yorkshire rovers roam the wastes
Fresh coalfire for the veins
While bastards dine and sip 9th century wine
Sending orders out to army swine
Belly laughs at crunching spines
While the sky chokes on company time
And jackals guard black-site designs
Of the evergreen tale, you’re mine
And as their cages rattle high
You turn to me and smile sly
We dance on wires electrified
A plume of black smoke hits the sky
Gorgeous twisted metals intertwine
Ugly drooling of the petrol line
A greasy rainbow pool catches fire
On the soft shoulder
Years of backs and confidence
Tipped up for the jokes of blokes
And Warframe economic moves
Living in a mystery, incurious
Tripping on their own shoelaces
Crashing every single car
Locked into fucking what exactly?
Wasn’t me when I was in need
It’s just a micro-psycho-whiplash
So I salt the ground beneath
We’re not expected to survive
On concessionary choccies
The towers have all been toppled
And there’s no-one on the line
I’m not trying to roll your eyes
But I’m about done with ashy pints
No smoke without ire, I say
Seeing the forest for the trees
No smoke without ire, I say
The deepest tar pit consumes
No smoke without ire, I say
Sort codes cutting all the lines away
No smoke without ire, I say
In the limelight with nothing to say
A confusion of acceleration eats the floor
As a quick fuck & bones hits the bar with force
Scratch-the-holic, find-the-holic
Maybe that eating was disordered after all
When you’re slinging mud in this tar pit
Those wet wax wings won’t last you long
Yet not a single other chord had struck so close
When the rumbles didn’t register
On remote control, drone-patrolled
Nails stained like amber ashtrays
This tiny town do not feel mine
Smoke billows from cocktail gardens
A happy February maybe, I ain’t keeping score
I mean I got some old scars on these sharpie arms
I’m fucking off on holiday to the Bahahas
And chewing cotton candy clouds in the sky
Soaked in Long Island Iced Teas
‘Cause it’s only weeks or seconds
‘Till the camel’s wall falls down
Shot by executive functions
The green skies blue hills red blood
And every colour of revolution
Exhausted by all the surprises
Dripping will-to-power weaponizers
I walk into the time machine
Forgetting that’s only imagery
So their actions can’t be taken back
The end times they are-a comin’
With slow sweat ice cream supply chains
And long-regretted user seconds
Seems now is the time of monsters
With words as empty as Thom Yorke’s
Molko thinks a friend with weed is better
A Pure Morning in Last Chance Saloon
As rogue waves slash and bash the shores
Of the lives we know and ever knew
I fondly recall the petrichor
As Disarrono as it was
Beyond the shadows on the wall
They don’t make ’em like this anymore
The end is extremely fucking nigh
And we’re feeling steakhouse blue
Beyond the shadows on the wall
We’re feeling steakhouse blue
They don’t make ’em like this anymore
Just to set the scene
At eight one sunlit eve
Days came and went south
A walking scaling dream
Surrounded by words and grisly platitudes
All the light was seeping in and I saw my shadow spin
The cracking of the clouds came with a hi-hat clap
And a brilliant blinding light beamed down upon the Earth
I just knew it was an angel running errands from up above
But the moment just passed like it wasn’t all that
And the sky sealed back up and it left me behind
And I suddenly had a headache
My face began to melt like the opening of the Ark
It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw
I shed my skin and only roots remained
For why wait for the Sun to peel it off?
We’ll mostly die of dehydration anyway
Or as collaterals to their spec-ops romps
And it’s half-hearted petty revenge at best
To turn and close your world to the fact
Another world was possible once, y’know
If we’d won the battle before the Earth was lost
And no-one’s going to Mars, by the way
But I’m still in from five till close
Trailing double yellows
And my heart is bleeding out
Feeling tough as Quavers
Side effects without a cause
Destination to nowhere
Rattles shake down rows
And the posse comitatus
Our benefactors for sure
Second order concepts
But no concept of a plan
A massage gun to the temple
And in other places, too
Curbed enthusiasm
Burning up the lake
I mean it but don’t seem it
What a dreamy synth can hide
Because behind these hurried eyes
There’s only a parasite
In peacock colour patterns
Some kind of brain eating fungi
Ring nose, ring roads
Play dead, pay more
Shit poor, it’s no bore
We get by just fine on cans
Crashouts, burnouts, burning cobwebs
New spook, no badge, no smoke, no fire
Line in, it’s on air, but there’s no air, there’s nowhere
Stuck like molten sugar in fluffy fuzzy blankets
Stay on your toes
False flags fly high
Rabble rousers
And bunker busters
Mass psychosis
Weakest links cut
Stomped in like ants
In legal toe caps
We were too late
Where’s the birdsong?
It’s all fished to extinction
And screaming ultraviolet
The proof’s in the pudding
Funny lookin’ cloud on the horizon
We’re stuck like molten sugar
In crony despot arms
Stuck like molten sugar
To our burning rock
Stuck like molten sugar
In every place you look
Stuck like molten sugar
We ain’t here for that long
Stuck like molten sugar
Or I’d be dancing out the door
All in beauty, all in art
Lost in the palm of your hand
Lost in beauty, lost in art
In the eye of the tropical storm
On sky bar balconies
We feel a mild a breeze
In the wet-bulb April sun we smile wide
Who says we didn’t try?