1. |
Coup
03:33
|
|||
We form an army of waifs and strays
Caught somewhere between the minimum and living wage
Confidence and apathy + alcohol = ecstasy
Whereas a particularly stirring speech on the inner-workings of agricultural policy
From some sickly side-parting in Savile Row finery doesn’t really do it for me
To be honest, I’d rather play Call of Duty or something
Turn off the news and illegally stream
The latest blockbuster hit can’t-miss-this television series
I wish I’d paid more attention in History
Because I’ve got the distinct feeling everything seems to be repeating itself
And with this; the last back-breaking camel straw
A slackened jaw and dead eyed stare
We enter a new form of Huxleyean nightmare
|
||||
2. |
Let
04:05
|
|||
The decision has come through to reduce our flag to white
And replace the red and blue with a bulldog fucking a lion
The Sun will rise when the printers come back off strike
At which point I’ll race riots to the pub
And try to drown myself
In a £10 pint
I feel I’m beset on all sides
By old bigots who take pride
In peddling
Old racist lies
Then there are those
Too poor to afford rent
Unable to climb a mounting mountain of debt
Still living at home with their despairing parents
Yet too bored
Or lazy
To bother
And try
And even
Sit on the fence
What choice do I have left?
I’ll try my best to pen
Some sort of epithet
Britain; home of the ignorant, arrogant, and scared
|
||||
3. |
||||
Are we the swaddled bombs that marked the start of your war?
“It’s not your fault”
That line is ages old
So is disbelief and doubt
The children always blame themselves
Around half of the choir find no comfort in their hymns
And can’t help but feel like liars begging mercy for their sins
When their mothers and their fathers promised each other so many things
All of which were meant to last
As long as they both shall live
Lock up your sons and daughters if they’re from broken homes
They’ll only blame you for their faults but little do they know
They were supposed to be solutions
They were meant to rescue festered love
So let this be a lesson
Kids only fuck things up
|
||||
4. |
||||
Every tweed-clad soul I despise and hate
Crawled by in a procession of top-of-the-line Range Rovers with personalised number plates
As the crops grow tall all ambition decays
And is instead replaced by a rudderless rage
Expounded each week
Same time, same place
By white faced racists
Who crimson to pink
After seeing red
At the bottom of their tenth drink down The Kings
Then it’s on to B&T
That stands for ‘bitter and twisted’
I don’t think a better example of irony has ever existed
Or perhaps of atrophy
Time drags and sags off brittle bones in the country
There’s no cartoonishly chipper ‘very big house’ in Chippy
“You alright my duck?” says someone’s Nan to someone’s
Godson’s Mum’s sister
As the sound of the hunting horn – brought forth by some bloated, birth-defect, incest lips
Is heard reverberating in the distance
The pathetic sound stirs the withered genitalia of the pugnacious huntsmen
Proof once and for all that slaughter is the most miraculous cure for chronic erectile dysfunction
|
||||
5. |
You Turn On Utopia
04:25
|
|||
Unfiltered over-enthusiasm and frenzy
Leads to spasms and contractions of hatred and envy
Grimacing
Wincing
Alluding to pain or distaste
Or irritation
Or impatience
Clearing throat
Rattling larynx
Firing off shots of disapproval like a mucal Gatling gun
Looking haughtily down on the automated group performances
Distorted through small appendix Instagram lenses
And re-spewed as fun
U-turn on utopia
The old luxury
Of having no itches and rashes in pockets is gone
Sartorial affectations are airborne contagions
Debasing all nations to meaningless configurations of memes
Our culture is reaching
And touching
And groping
And stroking
Our offspring inappropriately
They’ve grown up too quickly
Let’s blame it on Nestle and Disney
U-turn on utopia
Darwin’s Law will be enforced once more;
Survival of the selfish
It’s no use
They know your code
They know your 1’s
They know your 0’s
|
||||
6. |
Sepia Good Times
04:03
|
|||
A living, breathing photograph of the best parts of my life
Her eyes are glazed and see a stranger
Mine are pained as I look at my wife
Our final hours are now broken up by weeks
Designated visits strictly limited to 60 minutes
Should leave things left unsaid
Should leave things incomplete
But without fail there is silence
As she searches for memories
I obsessively check the time
And try to bury thoughts of her decline beneath
Thoughts of the sepia good times
And there are occasional glimpses of recognition
But I’ve learnt to dismiss them
As the well-oiled pistons of a driverless train
Yeah her face occasionally flexes
Into shapes so well practiced
When her broken synapses
Spark in the right way
But it’s never quite the same…
|
||||
7. |
||||
A broken figment
Compound fracture
Smile it off
Laugh it off
Stitched up psyche
Sutured complex
Bandages on foreheads
All better now
Lollipops
Back to work
Sympathy
No
No
Wait
Reality
Awkward conversations over cups of tea
Tentative smiles
Potentially hostile animal let off leash
Be careful
Do nothing
Don’t rile him up
Don’t rile her up
Back in next day with Kalashnikov
Found under a train just outside Lowestoft
Who knows what they’re capable of
Who knows what they’re capable of
Lock them up
Reopen the asylums
Shut the doors
Padded walls
Best place for them
All the while the patient falls
Spirals
Declines
Just stop being so fucking miserable all the time
Cut
It
Out
Lighten
Up
Simple
As
That
|
||||
8. |
Motor Skills
02:32
|
|||
My incapabilities frustrate me
I don’t know how to think
At least not really properly
Fucking send me to a shrink
With a jet stare that burns through me
Well I begin to panic
At the thought of fucking up once more
Give up
And you’ve had it in for me anyway
Well at least that’s how I see it
Try to figure it out myself
And you tell me just to leave it
I’m a nuisance and a wreck
And the sooner that I see that I just can’t do anything
- I just can’t do a thing
The better
Just give up
Just give up
|
||||
9. |
Chewed Up Cheeks
05:41
|
|||
One of those days
When your face feels like a papier-mâché
Approximation of a face
One of those days
Where your head droops
Weighed down
Hanging off straining fibres and sinews
Now every stuttering sentence you speak
Seems to leave your chewed up cheeks
Incomplete and…
Thoughts are circuitous
Repeat on an endless loop
Thoughts are circuitous
Repeat on an endless loop
Thoughts
Are
Bleak
And these are the times when writing things down
Acts as some release for me
But I know for most of you the same may not apply
So while I’m usually suspicious of the pithy and crass
The cheesy and officious
I think it’s time for me to speak as plainly as I can
At those times when I’ve been at my lowest
Music and songs have kept me going
So by all means cry
There’s no need to be stoic
But in the darkest of times I want you to know this: this song is for you
This is the sound of my suspending my cynicism for just one second
This is the sound of me inverting my self-indulgent introspection
This song is for you
|
Cassels London, UK
A two piece band comprised of two brothers.
Music for misanthropes and malcontents.
Streaming and Download help
If you like Cassels, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp