- album name
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The Summit Of Mount Everest Is Marine Limestone
- band name
by The Footage
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 13-track album in your choice of MP3 320, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now $5 USD
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1. |
The Blue Handshake
01:33
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2. |
Down To Lie
04:05
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3. |
Thing Is
03:50
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The Sky That Wasn't God
03:17
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7. |
Everest
04:28
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8. |
The Hampstead Blues
03:56
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9. |
Late Pastoral
03:49
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10. |
Night Seriously
03:24
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11. |
China & Africa Meet
03:59
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12. |
Shatterments
03:14
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13. |
Croc Sobs
03:26
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- credits
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released 15 April 2010
The Footage - tags
- tags: alternative rock indie rock
- license
- All rights reserved
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Feeds for this album, this artist
- Track Name: The Blue Handshake
-
Iwannawinawarwinaway.
Ifheelhautdown.
Sunsunantiwornher.
Oh, keep the net always unwinding!
Occipitalregdwighthandblue. - Track Name: Down To Lie
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It’s a ------
but you ain’t paid for that.
It’s a -------
but you don’t fancy that.
It’s a -------
but, no, you don’t get to have at that.
Let the sundown take us all.
Let the sundown take the -----.
Let us dress down flat
on the best we have at that.
Even good guys come to that.
Even bad boys kiss the tat.
They dress down,
fat on the best we have
at that.
Let the sundown take us all.
Let us just forget it.
Put the physics in the drawer
and kill it flat.
Let the sundown take us all
and, in fire, we’ll let it.
Let us go from town to town
and kill it flat.
And then you.
Let the sundown take us all.
Let the sundown take the ------.
Let us dress down flat
on the best we
have at that.
On the best we-
Let the sundown take us all.
Let us just forget it.
Put the physics in the drawer
and kill it flat.
Let the sundown take us all
and, in fire, we’ll let it.
Let us go from town to town
and kill it flat. - Track Name: Thing Is
-
Order received:
Holy Truth must be
Infra-violet and ultra-red,
And pantranslatably said.
Raffiniert aber boshaft nicht.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
Eye-donor warder Sodom Mao Zedong.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my song.
Tear the violence in half.
Chubbuck Chubbuck.
Made in China with the dollar rain down.
Gentle Ben Gentle Ben Gentle Ben.
The dream woke up
And it was all a person.
Yeah, it was all:
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my song.
Hide Ono water sate might hung.
I don’t know what to say to my song
Except:
Caro Maestro, we’ll get fucked up together!
Caro Maestro, we’ll fuck things up together!
All those unseen moons in the dark:
They stabbed and bobbed over my sleeping.
A dorsal fin’s not only frightening
When it’s attached to a shark.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
I don’t know what to say to my tongue.
High dough no war terse aid demise owe-all.
Accept:
Caro Maestro, we’ll get fucked up together!
Caro Maestro, we’ll fuck things up together! - Track Name: The Sky That Wasn't God
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The firemen on the barges place bets
On the sailors sliding down the minarets.
Anchorage for all, and claret!
We stumble over the morgue’s mosquito nets.
Don’t let this set to West.
Let us set our souls on it.
Don’t let the water rest.
We put the mosque on it.
Easy for the guy with no face.
I mean, easy
for the masked ID parade.
Don’t let this set to West.
Let us set our souls on it.
Don’t let the water rest.
We put the mosque on it. - Track Name: One Last Chance (To Really Fuck This Up)
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You tell me to “[kiss] the joy as it flies…”
Well what the fuck do you think I was trying to do?
I tried to “[kiss] the joy as it [flew]”.
But when you looked at…you looked at him,
And, baby, that’s when I did
All the ketamine in South London.
Stick a prick in this dream.
Baby, stick a prick in this dream.
All the ketamine in South London.
We’re e-
vent dust.
When something is happening,
we’re happened
upon.
We will learn to love with nothing
and all the heroin in South London.
You put a prick in this dream.
I am not the prick in this dream.
With all the heroin in South London.
“και που κατόπι με
αγωνίαν ήθελα.”
Whence I’m put, years away,
I’ll take raw those pains as they are.
I’ll take every pain.
Something borrowed,
new and old and blue,
and a wicked flame to
oublier old billets-doux.
And a pre-nup
banged up
safe
behind the crooked Constable.
With all the cellophane in South London
we will not keep them away.
We will not keep them away
with all the all the cellophane in South London. - Track Name: Reminiscence On Behalf Of The Species
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I
all the yawn-dark daylight hours rotted.
The traffic prattles; the planes haver.
At night the stars’ mad truths are plotted.
The blue sky is but a screensaver.
The Marx of weakness, the Marx of woe?
We were the ones
who made him so.
Friedman, beggar man, ‘Kill The Poor’;
weekly rations don’t cost much more
than a good crack whore.
Blow! Blow a hole in the blue-eyed sky.
Blow! You’re not the little world I once knew.
Blow! Blow a hole in the blue-eyed sky.
Rockthemousedontrockthemousebaby.
Absinthe-minded, absinthe-eyed,
earth is famous
as where
god went to die.
Armed with heaven, armed with death,
they took a breath
and they blew
it through
the screaming sky.
Blow! Blow a hole in the blue-faced sky.
Blow! You’re not the little world I once knew.
Blow! Blow a hole in the blue-faced sky.
Blow! You’re not the little world I once knew.
Blow! Blow a hole in the dead blue sky.
Blow! You’re not the little world I once knew.
No? - Track Name: Everest
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The fire curtain parts.
A stage on screen.
The headless Queen of Hearts
will kiss our feet.
We don’t have to touch.
We can’t be seen.
Is it minor? Is it major?
Is it meant to mean
anything at all?
Is that my head on the wall?
Is it minor? Is it major?
Is it meant to mean
our Adamwork is done
in the subsidising sun?
Ain’t no mountain high enough!
Ain’t no valley deep enough!
Ain’t no curtain iron enough to damn the flood!
Ain’t no crashed El Al!
Ain’t no Kapital!
Ain’t no Kenny Lay corrupt enough to stay.
The ice-nibbed summit
of Mountain Everest (in Tibet)
is (strange but so) composed
(as far as it is known)
of marine limestone.
Ain’t no mountain high enough!
Ain’t no valley deep enough!
Ain’t no curtain iron enough to kill the flood!
Ain’t no crashed El Al!
Ain’t no Kapital!
Ain’t no Kenny Lay corrupt enough to stay
the crash
of the petty-cash,
million-dollar bash,
audited in a calabash.
They’re gonna send it around!
They’re gonna send it around under the Balkans and ’Stans.
They’re gonna hold it all down!
They’re gonna hold it all down: Klondike on the Shatt al-Arab!
The mon-
ey’s un-
derground.
The mo-
ney’s o-
verground. - Track Name: The Hampstead Blues
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The tenth read of The Bell Jar was even better than the first –
I felt worse.
I felt well and deep,
and worse.
Freud and Marx were right:
there’s something wrong.
The starting blocks are cursed:
they’re cur-ur-ur-ur-
s’d.
Oh!
He looks so dead,
face down on his bed.
That’s because he’s dead.
What was it I read?
My psychiatrist
seems to have missed
the plain fact that I’m mad,
that I’m kill-my-mum-and-fuck-my-dad mad.
He’s going to fix my nose
and have me repose
upon some general default joy!
What a goy,
what a funny little goy.
He said,
“The spoiled little Jew with her Jimmy Choos and Hampstead Blues – when’s she due?”
The spoiled little Jew
with her Jimmy Choos
and her Hampstead Blues
has arrived for her half-past two
with a snooker cue.
Oh!
He looks so dead,
face down on his bed.
That’s because he’s dead.
What was it I read?
Sing it to the heart!
Sing it to the birdless dark! - Track Name: Late Pastoral
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“Come live with mee, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Vallies, groves, hills and fields,
Woods, or steepie mountaine yields…
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.”
“And wee will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Sheepheards feede theyr flocks…”
U kEp on lIk U do lIk yr LuvN me lIk I M d onlE 1 & I M d onlE 1.
“Come live with mee, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove…”
“And wee will sit upon the Rocks…”
Admit your a lonlE 3:o) & i M a lonlE boi.
U kEp on lIk U do lIk yr LuvN me lIk I M d onlE 1 & I M d onlE 1. - Track Name: Night Seriously
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I just took cocaine
and now I feel
OK.
I just heard Marvin Gaye
and now I feel
OK.
I just drank a crate
and now I feel
great.
If my blood crashes before I’m through,
mount a chemical coup.
If my blood crashes before I’m through,
reboot me up in the loo.
I just took cocaine
and now I feel
OK.
I just heard John Coltrane
and now I feel
OK.
I just smoked 21g
and now I should
exhale.
If my blood crashes before I’m through,
mount a chemical coup.
If my blood crashes before I’m through,
reboot me up in the loo.
If my blood
crashes before I’m through,
I just took cocaine. - Track Name: China & Africa Meet
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Above, a cistern’s filling up with rain.
I’m gonna drop in love with you again.
I sing of men
by mistresslessness slain.
I take my pen
and put it to the pain.
Stay downstairs, girl, count three score and ten.
I can’t take anymore medicine.
I wanna pil-
fer all I
have of her.
A pill
for my
azygophrenia.
Take this down!
Little girl, you broke my heart!
Take this down!
“Little girl, you’ll…”
“..love your crooked neighbour with your crooked heart.”
(Faber & Faber will surely let that pass.)
You gotta go
wrong to come right.
Truth is brilliant,
blind and impolite.
You’ve got scorpions coming in the post!
I’ll train worms to fasten down your ghost.
They took the king
and fed him to his crown.
They swore they’d bring
the carpetbaggers down.
Take this down!
Little girl, you broke my heart!
Take this down!
“Little girl…” Take it down. - Track Name: Shatterments
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I was just a little boy,
I was just a little boy,
I was just a little boy,
when they came to call.
I was just a little boy,
I was just a little boy,
I was just a little boy,
when they came to cull.
Keep on running,
baby – ride past the old stage.
Better keep on running,
baby – right past the past you made.
Keep on running,
baby – ride past the first stage.
Better keep on running,
baby – right past the past you made.
Keep on running,
baby – ride past the old stage.
Better keep on running,
baby – right past the past you made.
I mean to say:
don’t you want to run?
Run away? Run away? Run away?
It’s too late for your sake –
better keep on running,
baby, right past the past you make. - Track Name: Croc Sobs
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So, as I’m pouring this Plymouth gin,
I’ll tell you just how the roof fell in.
We left New York when it wept us back
into the nausea of its NASDAQ.
Easy for apples to get pie-eyed
and lie down for good on their supply side.
“May there be no moaning of the bar…”
“Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.”
Don’t lose your face among the facts:
we’re in the bagel’s empty eye.
So fix the fix and fax the fax –
we’re just ano-
ther bird
that’s un-
learned how
to fly.
So let us finish this Plymouth gin
and raise the last glass to Ho Chi Minh,
without entirely knowing why –
maybe that’s something to do with why…
We lose your face among the facts,
within the bagel’s empty eye.
The fix is in the Pentatax.
The violence happens
so fast
it’s past
before
it’s light.
About the terrible weather
the Geiger counters mutter
in delphinese.
