1. |
Blood On The Moon
05:42
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Silent, silent, they wait for me,
I see them through the trees.
Closing, closing, closing on me, and I no longer see
the moon they wish would be much redder.
“I see you now, yes, that’s much better.”
Stones I’m finding inside the caves
with little pictures of Moon Queen, Moon Queen.
They left her there, I see it drawn above.
They say she’ll make the moon much redder.
These rivers of life bring us together.
I feel the pain of arrows piercing me,
I go insane when her light shines on me.
I bear the stain of this lunacy well.
I feel the pain of arrows piercing me,
I go insane when her light shines on me.
I bear the stain of this lunacy well.
One more arrow into my heart before she goes away.
Take this sorrow. Now is the start of all she had to say.
And down I go, I’ll be much redder.
Love with the moon is so much better.
I feel the pain of arrows piercing me,
I go insane when her light shines on me.
I bear the stain of this lunacy well.
I feel the pain of arrows piercing me,
I go insane when her light shines on me.
I bear the stain of this lunacy well.
Blood on the moon, blood on the moon,
Blood on the moon, blood on the moon...
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2. |
Io
06:02
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Io was the sky when she flew to me.
Purple was the shade of our ecstasy,
and white as Hell the ocean on the day I set her free.
Red as blood her words when she spoke the truth,
scraping up the dirt so that we could lose
the only remnant of our past in bitter shades of blue.
Io did not kill me, well at least not physically.
Io did not kill me,
Io did not kill me, and I’m searching for her still.
Water was her face at the break of dawn,
and I saw the horror of her siren song,
and white as light the bones on which we
made love for so long.
She suffocated infant love at its birth,
then went on to roam further around the earth,
and only left me stranded here, around my head a curse.
Io all I see now for all the rest is behind clouds.
Io all I see now,
Io all I see now and that moon won’t let me be.
I’m swimming yet I’m drowning.
Swimming yet I’m drowning.
Swimming yet I’m drowning.
Swimming yet I’m drowning.
Swimming yet I’m drowning.
Oh how frightening it feels!
Io did not kill me,
well at least not physically.
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3. |
King Of Fright
04:01
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The mask of fear is hanging in my garden.
I am its keeper, yeah, I am its warden.
And if you want to you can put it on,
and I’ll show you everything in my museum.
We’ll take a look in my catalog of demons.
Oh no, you’re wrong, you are not dreaming.
This Eerie Comics trip will turn you on,
so light another candle and we’ll start the fun.
I’ll be your bad boy, I’ll be your bad boy,
I’ll be your dirty boy.
I’ll be your bad boy, I’ll be your bad boy,
I’ll be your dirty boy.
The moment is now and the die is cast.
I’ll show you everything, everything in your past.
Balance of Hell and Heaven is our aim,
so come and join the dance of the sacred and profane.
*I’ll be your bad boy, I’ll be your bad boy,
I’ll be your dirty boy.
I’ll be your bad boy, I’ll be your bad boy,
I’ll be your dirty boy.
My horrors will chill you with delight.
My horrors will keep you up at night.
Surrender to me honey, I’m your king of fright.
Your king of fright.
And in this dervish don’t you feel it coming?
It’s so exquisite, all your body’s humming.
And just when you’re about to reach the edge,
I’ll pull you back from certain death,
oh yeah, this is my pledge.
Repeat*
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4. |
Father Whiskey
04:45
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From the ballad opera The Sacred & Profane.
The Narrator:
They say that some of us can still remember
the year in which Father Whiskey died.
Under the heel of one who was astounded
when he took a barmaid for his bride.
The consequence was one at which we shuddered.
A knife and cup are all our memories.
His giving up the blade for the other
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried,
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried.
Father Whiskey:
God the cracks are getting long. Just let me finish this song.
Then feel free to let my chest hold the knife for you.
When the liquid melts my veins, all I touch will then be stained.
Midas might have offered me his remedy, oh his remedy
and thrown the cup against the stained glass in my room.
The Narrator:
And when the news had spread to other counties,
the word was he had washed up to the shore.
And though his countenance was not alarming,
he wore the holy collar, nothing more.
And upon the cup he held, an inscription:
“It doesn’t pay to disregard the knife,
for the Church is quick to carve out your liver
when you take a barmaid for your wife.”
When you take a barmaid for your wife.
The Bar Maid:
I hear the tolling of the bells. I must get back now, angels fell.
I am the whore you paid so well
and now you send me back to Hell.
I see the sad things in your eyes in our age of sand and flies.
You grey ten years when lovers die.
How well you take it with your sighs.
I see your mourners gathered round.
They curse the dirt without a sound.
But they’re not willing to repent.
They feel the end of your torment.
The Mourners: My, my how we cry! Yes, well, but we try.
For you were the one who got us by.
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5. |
Final Sound
05:20
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Final sound you will hear
is the sound of the old church bell.
Know it well, I lived here.
Like old wives, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have I feel just like I used to.
Final sound you will hear,
is the sound of the air raid siren.
Know it well, watch T.V.
Like old movies, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have, I feel just like I used to.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well though you’ve never really been around.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well, oh final sound!
Final sound you will hear
is the sound of shadows approaching.
Know it well, I’ve seen Hell,
just like Heaven, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have, I feel just like I used to.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well though you’ve never really been around.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well, oh final sound.
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6. |
Hell Before Sunrise
05:36
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When morning comes, I’ll be gone on the last of the stars.
So don’t expect to find me here.
All I’ll leave on your sheets is the dust
that I brought from the streets.
And I’ll be in Hell before sunrise.
The flames were warm, we had fun,
but surely you had to know my harvest comes with the winter.
So you felt angel wings when in fact
they were serpentine things.
And I’ll be in Hell before sunrise.
And when you said “come hither,”
ooh I slithered across the floor, I slithered, just my nature.
And then you glanced at the meter, time grew longer
and so did your fever, cold, cold fever.
And shall I bring you down, bring you down,
bathe in the glory of the dark side?
Don’t run away, hey not today.
They’ll search for me through the streets,
but I’m not living there.
See I grew tired of the daylight.
When they come to your door, you can say
that I slipped through the floor.
And I’ll be in Hell before sunrise.
And when you said “come hither,”
ooh I slithered across the floor, I slithered, just my nature.
And then you glanced at the meter, time grew longer
and so did your fever, cold, cold fever.
And shall I bring you down, bring you down,
bathe in the glory of the dark side?
Don’t run away, hey not today.
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7. |
The Great Addiction
04:52
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The great addiction that you hooked me on
left my pain so numb, left me wanting none
of the love that this drug was meant to cure,
left my heart so pure, vacant of feelings.
The great addiction sat me by your bed,
took you to my head like a man possessed.
And the neon glow through your bedroom door
did so slowly pour up my hungry veins.
The great addiction,
the great addiction.
The great addiction cost more than it’s worth,
was a name you used, used to quench my thirst.
The great addiction was the hue for me,
all my eyes could see feeling vacantly.
The great addiction,
the great addiction.
The great addiction,
the great addiction.
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8. |
Flores Para Los Muertos
04:10
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Again she walks through the quarter of specters,
nights lit with neon that she’ll never see.
With a basket of flowers, she passes verandas
that echo a chorus she sings endlessly.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
She sings at the noises of lovers and drunkards,
she offers her flowers to those who will hear.
She winds her way through the streets of New Orleans,
the stinging of smoke, the stench of warm beer.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
The morning lights bodies entangled and sweating,
and broken glass clutters the doorways of drink.
A tiny apartment, a blind girl is sleeping
and dreaming of colors: bright yellow and pink.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
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9. |
When I'm Called Divine
04:07
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I have known the altar, I have bled the wine.
Frequently I falter when I’m called divine.
When the psalm is over, will they still know me?
Will they alter me?
I have slept on church pews when all doors were closed.
With my lips on columns, water trickled down.
When the heart lies open, it remains unhealed.
Will you alter me?
Well I might say that I care for tomorrow,
and I might say that all men are my brothers.
But if my lies are what’s giving you comfort,
then please refrain from calling me divine.
I have tread through gospels that only blocked my way.
Through the eyes of many, solemn was the day.
Service now is over, please give to the poor.
Will you alter them?
Wrong, this occupation that I’m living for.
Without hesitation I’d renounce my vows.
When the deal is over will I fall from grace?
Will you alter me?
Well I might say that I care for tomorrow,
and I might say that all men are my brothers.
But if my lies are what’s giving you comfort,
then please refrain from calling me divine.
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10. |
The Hunting Ground
05:06
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I have followed you for ages.
Pray my prey won’t find the cages.
When you hear the sound of loons,
you hide behind the blue moon.
Please take me.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
When you’re dancing like a shaman,
throw your dust across my homeland.
Hands, young savage take my hands,
you hide behind the black man.
Please take me.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
I have followed you for ages.
Pray my prey won’t find the hunters and the cages.
When you hear the sound of loons,
you hide behind the blue moon.
Please take me.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
Closer getting closer, I can feel the steaming flesh
of all your victims getting closer, the scent so very fresh.
And now you’re lying here in my arms like an animal that dies.
Why do you still course through my veins?
I see you carry the disease, it’s written on your face,
and now you’re pushing up the mercury, leaving but a trace
of bloody murder on the riverside, a curse you wear in vain.
Why do you still course through my veins?
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
I am lost forever, I am lost in the,
forever in the hunting ground.
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11. |
||||
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Final sound you will hear
is the sound of the old church bell.
Know it well, I lived here.
Like old wives, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have I feel just like I used to.
Final sound you will hear,
is the sound of the air raid siren.
Know it well, watch T.V.
Like old movies, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have, I feel just like I used to.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well though you’ve never really been around.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well, oh final sound!
Final sound you will hear
is the sound of shadows approaching.
Know it well, I’ve seen Hell,
just like Heaven, not much to tell.
It’s a sound that you will soon get used to.
I know I have, I feel just like I used to.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well though you’ve never really been around.
Final sound, final sound, final sound,
I know you well, oh final sound.
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12. |
||||
|
Again she walks through the quarter of specters,
nights lit with neon that she’ll never see.
With a basket of flowers, she passes verandas
that echo a chorus she sings endlessly.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
She sings at the noises of lovers and drunkards,
she offers her flowers to those who will hear.
She winds her way through the streets of New Orleans,
the stinging of smoke, the stench of warm beer.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
The morning lights bodies entangled and sweating,
and broken glass clutters the doorways of drink.
A tiny apartment, a blind girl is sleeping
and dreaming of colors: bright yellow and pink.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
Flores para los muertos.
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13. |
||||
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From the ballad opera The Sacred & Profane.
The Narrator:
They say that some of us can still remember
the year in which Father Whiskey died.
Under the heel of one who was astounded
when he took a barmaid for his bride.
The consequence was one at which we shuddered.
A knife and cup are all our memories.
His giving up the blade for the other
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried,
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried.
Father Whiskey:
God the cracks are getting long. Just let me finish this song.
Then feel free to let my chest hold the knife for you.
When the liquid melts my veins, all I touch will then be stained.
Midas might have offered me his remedy, oh his remedy
and thrown the cup against the stained glass in my room.
The Narrator:
And when the news had spread to other counties,
the word was he had washed up to the shore.
And though his countenance was not alarming,
he wore the holy collar, nothing more.
And upon the cup he held, an inscription:
“It doesn’t pay to disregard the knife,
for the Church is quick to carve out your liver
when you take a barmaid for your wife.”
When you take a barmaid for your wife.
The Bar Maid:
I hear the tolling of the bells. I must get back now, angels fell.
I am the whore you paid so well
and now you send me back to Hell.
I see the sad things in your eyes in our age of sand and flies.
You grey ten years when lovers die.
How well you take it with your sighs.
I see your mourners gathered round.
They curse the dirt without a sound.
But they’re not willing to repent.
They feel the end of your torment.
The Mourners: My, my how we cry! Yes, well, but we try.
For you were the one who got us by.
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14. |
||||
|
From the ballad opera The Sacred & Profane.
The Narrator:
They say that some of us can still remember
the year in which Father Whiskey died.
Under the heel of one who was astounded
when he took a barmaid for his bride.
The consequence was one at which we shuddered.
A knife and cup are all our memories.
His giving up the blade for the other
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried,
and it ran over ‘til the whiskey dried.
Father Whiskey:
God the cracks are getting long. Just let me finish this song.
Then feel free to let my chest hold the knife for you.
When the liquid melts my veins, all I touch will then be stained.
Midas might have offered me his remedy, oh his remedy
and thrown the cup against the stained glass in my room.
The Narrator:
And when the news had spread to other counties,
the word was he had washed up to the shore.
And though his countenance was not alarming,
he wore the holy collar, nothing more.
And upon the cup he held, an inscription:
“It doesn’t pay to disregard the knife,
for the Church is quick to carve out your liver
when you take a barmaid for your wife.”
When you take a barmaid for your wife.
The Bar Maid:
I hear the tolling of the bells. I must get back now, angels fell.
I am the whore you paid so well
and now you send me back to Hell.
I see the sad things in your eyes in our age of sand and flies.
You grey ten years when lovers die.
How well you take it with your sighs.
I see your mourners gathered round.
They curse the dirt without a sound.
But they’re not willing to repent.
They feel the end of your torment.
The Mourners: My, my how we cry! Yes, well, but we try.
For you were the one who got us by.
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Oscar Herrera Miami, Florida
Oscar Herrera is the former lead singer for The Sleep of Reason, Halo, El Duende and Black Tape For A Blue Girl.
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