a further speed-written songsheet

NOT TO TOUCH ON BIRTH ( Response to The Door's 'Not to Touch the Earth')

Not to touch on birth, not to seize the guns,
nothing left to do but murder
as we run - let's run, let's run, let's run
Beneath the roman rill, womb is rotted still
meadows in red breeze, death beneath the leaves
let's murder as we run,
let's murder as we run; come on, babe, let's run
Run with men u do not
know, run with pirates,
thieves & crows
never cease till time let's go
run with pirates, thieves
& rogues.

The mercury man is one million moons
away: serried in the hand,
the graveward world decays:
serried under fire,
tombstones fry: let's run, run, run;
let's run against god's eyes
Run with
men u do not know, run, run, run;
never let love go - never cease till
death must flow - run, run, run;
never let love go?

Some routlaws pray
by a cell in the spine;
the pentecheuchal daughter is
a daughter doing time
- life schemes forever, life prays as living maims -
gone west as Hero's
slaughter, the ark of heaven stains.
Blood is a Bible, blood is aspen
rhythm; blood is the plectrum
that shends away the prism -
doubtlaws, men inside the mind -
the pentecheuchal daughter is a maiden
doin' crimes. No man knows the heaven's reason,
no man knows the heaven's
treason - No Man breathes beneath the mystic earth -
No Man is Man & Man
is smirf - I am on the schiz swing,
here to cure a gold ring;
I used this sullen wing?
Ahhh murder me with your flava
and your power
uhhh snap my city razor
la, cut a kissed

the patient of Adromeda is interfused with
dog deaths and canine statues
run with me, run with me:
let lobbed masses
swing for the pirates,
the thieves, the crows
hedons hear hearsed fallen ashes
dragging dolts from
fuel-tongued hashes
and the keen ghosts of sex-sundered veins
cum deeply for
chapped daughtered doctored
sex wards
cum, come with us:
claim life inside us as a
gaoled daddy
dreamed bus

u huh!! u huh!! u huh!!!
ha ha hahhh?!!!

run with pirates, thieves
and crows
never cease
till time lets go...


Copyright Jim Bellamy 1999.

81 lines (written in a frenzy?)