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i stood before the glittery borders of new radius
in search of the fabled city of mud and crushed velvet,
what i found was a gutter where the love of entertainment
meets the lust for blood and demerits
cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherf**ker die, apache on the ship shape and bristol fashion snuck a jammy through the red tape and tip toe past him. worm teeth grinding feverishly below, as little organic hacksaws eager to feed and grow, so when it's blackhawk over the glass walk, they surface up through the cash crops with clippers for your belly-up mascots, and never dine alone, meanwhile back at sea level it was home by home zone for zone, bloom county's homeless riot for home ownership, i hope you put gas in the motor-home and know the roads, i studied with the finest combs stuck under my thumb as opposed to the loaded nose who pray armageddon is numb and that's unevenly rendered to those who grew up thinking faith was the surrender of reason but not a reason to surrender. catch the liberty fires catalog, 40 torched orchids and citronella for algernon, don and vagabond alike repent, this shit should have gone "beta burns babylon, the end".
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
nothing says charm like an armored car taking the clone-farm 'tards to the arms bizarre, we were the homemade marker makers born to pour the marsh ink into right guard parts and march through the gauntlet of car alarms, no harps, no delusions of losing with something prettier than ash around the metacarpal still clutching the teddy bears, we can run with scissors through the city fair or situate the nuzzle with the subtle art of splitting hairs, double park the shuttle, some will arc the funneled cutty sark where budding narcs target the gushing heart in the muddy clarks, these are the vices of the p-noid bastards who will chew whatever tablets blur the axioms fastest, crews lose lunches by the hundreds, lose electricity, lose gas, phone, plumbing, humming keep your mouth closed, keep your cows cloned, go, i am the pulse of this fucking town, homes, no. my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from, the too-far-gone kicks still in the box, fix still in the pill in his sock ,chilling, gill in the slop, and a million watch gideon scribes, but once the arc honor pussy and bribes, the animals will divide and that's a win for the garish who keep charity in the parish while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes.
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
the mobile infantry is so postal, coast into the quotient provoking the local pistol pete, choking his liberty and justice quotas and cloaking his folk in smithereens, smokey little pile of bloody pulp and co-dependencies. dopey no surrender bender in effect, sole defenders of the longest night new york had never slept, and there were jumping jacks and whistlers over christmas, like rockets from the crypt spilling the festive morning beverage of your preference, i step in hog heaven, stoney with no weapons, pissing on TelePrompTers, selling megaphones to hecklers, who broadcast 80 million versions of the sermon for that one indisputable masterpiece before the curtains, pale arcadian moon, high definition flat plasma, imax city-wide transfer, artificial einstein-rosen out the tenement, ease into the xanadu, let it hammer the tension out, i'm talking cool, calm, dominant phenomenal, monitor face to the wall opposite. u.f.o.'s and locusts sing the same old song while the weathermen get retarded as the day is long
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
in search of the fabled city of mud and crushed velvet,
what i found was a gutter where the love of entertainment
meets the lust for blood and demerits
cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherf**ker die, apache on the ship shape and bristol fashion snuck a jammy through the red tape and tip toe past him. worm teeth grinding feverishly below, as little organic hacksaws eager to feed and grow, so when it's blackhawk over the glass walk, they surface up through the cash crops with clippers for your belly-up mascots, and never dine alone, meanwhile back at sea level it was home by home zone for zone, bloom county's homeless riot for home ownership, i hope you put gas in the motor-home and know the roads, i studied with the finest combs stuck under my thumb as opposed to the loaded nose who pray armageddon is numb and that's unevenly rendered to those who grew up thinking faith was the surrender of reason but not a reason to surrender. catch the liberty fires catalog, 40 torched orchids and citronella for algernon, don and vagabond alike repent, this shit should have gone "beta burns babylon, the end".
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
nothing says charm like an armored car taking the clone-farm 'tards to the arms bizarre, we were the homemade marker makers born to pour the marsh ink into right guard parts and march through the gauntlet of car alarms, no harps, no delusions of losing with something prettier than ash around the metacarpal still clutching the teddy bears, we can run with scissors through the city fair or situate the nuzzle with the subtle art of splitting hairs, double park the shuttle, some will arc the funneled cutty sark where budding narcs target the gushing heart in the muddy clarks, these are the vices of the p-noid bastards who will chew whatever tablets blur the axioms fastest, crews lose lunches by the hundreds, lose electricity, lose gas, phone, plumbing, humming keep your mouth closed, keep your cows cloned, go, i am the pulse of this fucking town, homes, no. my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from, the too-far-gone kicks still in the box, fix still in the pill in his sock ,chilling, gill in the slop, and a million watch gideon scribes, but once the arc honor pussy and bribes, the animals will divide and that's a win for the garish who keep charity in the parish while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes.
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
the mobile infantry is so postal, coast into the quotient provoking the local pistol pete, choking his liberty and justice quotas and cloaking his folk in smithereens, smokey little pile of bloody pulp and co-dependencies. dopey no surrender bender in effect, sole defenders of the longest night new york had never slept, and there were jumping jacks and whistlers over christmas, like rockets from the crypt spilling the festive morning beverage of your preference, i step in hog heaven, stoney with no weapons, pissing on TelePrompTers, selling megaphones to hecklers, who broadcast 80 million versions of the sermon for that one indisputable masterpiece before the curtains, pale arcadian moon, high definition flat plasma, imax city-wide transfer, artificial einstein-rosen out the tenement, ease into the xanadu, let it hammer the tension out, i'm talking cool, calm, dominant phenomenal, monitor face to the wall opposite. u.f.o.'s and locusts sing the same old song while the weathermen get retarded as the day is long
and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...
Lyrics submitted by three74mhz
Track duration: 04:53
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I would say generally the first paragraph is loosely about America being involved in wars that its citizens are emotionally distant from. Also, I have heard people translate babylon=people other than ourselves. (In this case the Americans would be the babylon to the middle easterners?).
"i studied with the finest combs stuck under my thumb..."
I don't know what that's about
"...as opposed to the loaded nose who pray armageddon is numb and that's unevenly rendered to those who grew up thinking faith was the surrender of reason but not a reason to surrender. catch the liberty fires catalog, 40 torched orchids and citronella for algernon, don and vagabond alike repent."
seems to me to be talking about a war/apocalyptic situation, and peoples' various reactions because of their different religious believes. This section could apply to the Americans or the middle easterners
But of course it's a double metaphor with radio and television as well.
"my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from"
not sure if this is a reference to a particular situation?
"the garish who keep charity in the parish while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes."
garish means tastelessly showy and is a word often associated with wealth. Here he is sawing that the obscenely wealthy many give their tithe in church to support the church, or its charities, but they are not doing anything to change the fundamental distribution of wealth- (low minimum wages, taxes for the rich that, considering how much they make, are very small). The "lack of a marriage between the classes" keeps the masses from working on this issue as well. It is a bit long, but if you read Howard Zinn's People's History of the United States" (its available free on line, and to shorten things I might point you to the second to last chapter first, if you're into that sort of thing) he talks about (and I don't know where he got these statistics) the top 1% of Americans having 30% of its wealth. That leaves the middle class discontent with the poor because the former feel that they are paying more for their social services, ect than they should, and will not come together politically for their common gain.
Money is still on my mind when he transitions to "nothing says charm like an armored car..." bringing it back to how the war is not only for oil but also to allow the US government to spend enormous amounts of money on war equipment, contracts, ect.
"the same old song while the weathermen get retarded as the day is long"
To me this whole paragraph seems to be talking about how out of it on drugs (dopey, stoney, beverages) or just generally off in our own little worlds/TVs we are. The weathermen are a group of Americans who declared war on the U.S. government and blew up mostly government buildings. " the weathermen get retarded as the day is long" to me seems like he's saying that if there are/were "weatherman" types around these days, they would just be rotting their brains like everyone else.
The actual reason I wanted to post: On the kill the television line, I'm pretty sure it is supposed to be sarcastic. The point is that talk radio wants to "kill the television" news, but most of them are pulling the same nonsense that T.V. news is doing, just through a different medium.
On the terms of "Bristol fashion" I think you have it mostly right, but I think you are missing the double reference to Bristol Palin.
There is actually quite a bit less politics in most Aesop songs than most would think, but None Shall Pass is definitely his most political album.
first, the intro talks about how we came into there by creating the image of somebody surveying "the glittery borders [of a] new radius, in search of a city of mud (duh, middle east, baghdad, formerly babylon, on the floodplains of mesopotamia) and crushed velvet (meaning fancyness)" teh rest is self explanatory in this part.
(gotta warn:the lyrics posted on this site for now are kinda off, listen yourselves)
the song kicks in talking about "cutters of the pie" or, americans coming in with their collars-popped (being cocky), waving jolly rogers (the skull and crossbows pirates flew when doing piratey things). "snuck a jimmy (not a jammy, a jimmy is what pro car theives open your car with) through the red tape in Bristol fashion" ..bristol being a reference to a british medieval (and still existing) town, and red tape is an aphorism for "political barriers". The british reference may be calling us 1800s british colonizers or medieval christian crusaders coming illegally / for questionable reasons to Iraq.
the rest of this verse has similar themes, mentions citronella for algernon, which is a reference to the book "flowers for algernon" about a scientist playing god with a lab rat in a maze, and citronella is not only mosquito repellant but also rat poison, I figured I'd talk about this part since it's the title of the song, and it is a metaphor about how we poison the middle east, which is already a lab rat we've been putting in a political maze and playing God in a way since the Gulf War.
The rest of the song is similar, more on the side of making fun of americans / the army (the whole paragraph starting with coming in in an armored car to the arms bazzar (which lyrically is amazing, the buzzy words and the way he says them conjure up imagery of a big stupid hummer coming in). Clone-tards are soldiers, still clutching their teddy bears, etc. "Babylon burns beta till the end" is an amazing line, babylon as I said is one of the first cities in the world, if you remember history.. and while we're there it "burns beta" - beta is a stage of development in a project like rebuilding an online website that comes after the first stage (alpha), it is the stage where you implement the design and watch out for any kinks / things going wrong.. remember facebook beta? ok. In this context it is a reference to how we tried to implement our "democratic" system in "babylon" and its a project burning in its beta stage until the end.. how we dont really have a good exit plan, etc.
this song is one of aesop's ..if not the number one for me.. best uses of complicated lyrics and references, and awesome messages. It is not simply about Iraq, it is about the media, and here's where I explain, for those still with me, that..
"and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
(kill the television. kill the television. kill the television. typical, isn't it?)"
in this part he talks about talk radio hosts coming up to denounce the television, which killed the medium of talk radio, which is something that kinda happened when it became more clear pop news channels like fox were just that: news channels, not journalism... journalism being reporting of the truth, the news being an entertaining way to view the truth that can easily be shaped by biases and political ties with network leaders, etc.
this song is not too hard, and well worth looking up any referrences you don't understand. In general, you can check out that movie "farenheit 9/11" if you dont understand what Im talking about or think I sound like a conspiracy theorist / idiot who wants to tell you all about their political views.
that made total sense.
-Kimo
(though, I haven't started trying to figure this one out yet, lol)