1. |
Dead in the Calm
03:37
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Dead in the Calm (Descent into the Maelstrom)
Dead in the calm before the storm
Between the craggy black jagged shore
Caught in the slack swallowed the smack
Into the mouth of the Maelstrom
Somewhere between Vurrgh and Moskoe
Sleeps a bottomless well of souls
Dormant and still, ebb and tranquil
Lays a killer beneath the flow
We ventured out beyond the fjords
To bring a healthy catch aboard
Until lighting strikes and thunder claps
The devils vortex takes its form
Spinning down from the night sky
Descending slow into the eye
The screaming belch is deafening
Splinters the hull caught in the ring
Round and round, white knuckle fist
Circle the pit of the abyss
I close my eyes and beg for death
Before the plunge into the rift
Deliver me, a fisherman
To the shores of Lofoden
I have returned from the depths
With the horror of the descent
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2. |
The Final Jest
03:43
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The Final Jest (Hop-Frog)
This is a tale of vengeance by a dwarfed and crippled man
Stolen from his village in a far off conquered land
Forced into a jester’s life of cruel and practical jokes
For a fat disgusting king who would force poor wine his throat
Drink to absent friends! Come now, be merry! Brighten your wits
Tears of madness drip into the goblet with each sip
Give us something novel to endeavor a masquerade
But he has something much better, the eight-chained orangutan
Hear the sound of grinding teeth
It’s the rara avis in terris
Dance monkey dance, while the fat bastards laugh
Until they're hanging from the chains engulfed in flames
First we’ll need eight costumes made of flax your majesty
To disguise you and your council as ferocious wild beasts
Then line the halls with sconces and burning sweet flambeaus
Lure them all into the grand saloon and start the show
Come midnight they all entered banging chains, inflicting fear
But he hooked them all together, and hoisted up the chandelier
Where he set the apes ablaze swinging high above the guests
Then shouted “I am hop-frog and this is my final jest!”
He vanished into the night
With his tiny love Tripetta by his side
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3. |
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Catalogue of Human Misery (The Premature Burial)
I've become obsessed
Interest is all absorbing
Non-fictitious abhorrence
Impossible to eschew
The severity and majesty of truth
Woe is mortality and it's horrific extremes
Calamity of agony enduring vividly
If such misfortune did not occur so frequently
I would not possess this catalog of human misery
The divide from life and death is shadowy and vague
Who's to say where one does end and the other begins
Disease and ailment suspend vital cessation
Only to awake for claustrophobic death in isolation
Prematurely buried alive
If I die before I wake, please dig me up from my grave
Like the poor wife of a lawyer who lived in Baltimore
Who had fallen ill and pronounced dead by the coroner
Her funeral was hastened into the family vault they mourned
Discovered three years later, her struggled corpse slumped at the door
Another case of an officer of large stature his health robust
Was thrown from a hot horse, his body trampled under hoof
They drained the blood from his fractured skull by trepan for relief
But the pressure from the bleeding seemed to render him deceased
Shortly before the service he came crashing out his coffin
Slightly asphyxiated mumbling stories of post mortem
I've became obsessed
Interest is all absorbing
A non-fictitious experience
Impossible to eschew
My cataleptic tendencies
Have been foredoomed to truth
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4. |
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Clint Westwood San Diego, California
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