captain beefheart electricity

the lyrics





the past sure is tense
they're heading up for the main event
all those people seem to be hell-bent
see those people up on top of the fence
and the man down there
selling knotholes through the fence
oh the little shoe generation man
i found your print on a dollar bill
i found your print on an indian mound
i found your print on the statue at the sound
i found your print on the elephant ground
i found your print in the beautiful mountains
the grass no longer grew around
i found your print in my mind
[2x repeat of first sentence]
no you got the wrong idea
no you got the wrong intent
the carpenter carpenterized my vent
the only peephole
where is my dent?
[2x repeat of first sentence]
well oh oh ooh
the past sure is now, i don't see how
see those people that used to throw those tents
you can't see them now: they're in past tense
[repeating of parts]



ink mathematics
grey mass ecstatics
noggin elastics
cerebral tactics
cranium classics
brainium domics
denizen omics
grey massmatistics
quantum puree
it's plain to feel
hard to see
fission antics
death antiques
wrong deductions
poor instructions
mass destructions
peace antiques
singing ink mathematics
hop along with me
ink mathematics
moon to a flea
ink mathematics
i breathe black and white
day and night
grey gymnastics
ink matheratics
ink mathematics
moon to a flea
ink mathmatistics
hop along with me
ink mathematics
moon to a flea



when the witch doctor life throws his silent bones
some are crowned kings while others lose their thrones
when the witch doctor life throws his silent bones
small 'o' mouths scream and run to mama kangaroo
insecure pouches wherein hide beggars and drones
and babies and bums and buzzards
mama crouches and smiles her old useful smile
and ego roars, laughs yesterday's gasses
while children and angels gasp
and follow a shepherd on crutches

when the witch doctor life throws his silent bones
some flee the dream, some turn to stone
and the children sing and the heavens ring
worn by the shepherd with the folded wings
and the bones that sing of silence
[repeating of parts]



my eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar... big poop hatch with a cotton hatch, hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows out... and the little red fence... and the wire and the wood... and the barbs and the berries... the tires and the bottles and the car-upon-rims... and the heat swims on its fenders, and the dust collects, and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold... trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts, its bell was blocking an ant's vision... and the mice played in its airholes and valves... a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red andblacked its wings and blew off to a flower... its hum heard just above the ground... black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window... birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper... 'my sun is free from my window,' said the god the green dabbers... rice wires mouse tins and milk muffins... cereal and stone... matches and masks and mace and clubs... and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet... cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines... a silver wing - a cloud - a rumbling of a cloud... a crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear obviously artificial... neighbors laugh through sandwiches... harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars... their eyes shiny with starvation... spreckled hula dance on my phonograph... my door rattles windy... sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass i cannot hear... a typical musician's nest of thoughts filtered through dust speakers... 'why don't you go home? oh blobby, are you great,' exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock and roll tune and wears a spot i cannot scratch... the surface of a friend... this high bookafriend laid on me... on the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought... strain on the spoon like a wheat check - check bif - cotton popping out of his sleeve... poop hatch open, big poop hatch with a cotton hatch - hatch holes - got to pick up the horns... but the head won't move until it walks

originally a track from the unreleased album bat chain puller (1976)



the thousandth and tenth day of the human totem pole
the morning was distemper grey
of the thousandth and tenth day of the human totem pole
the man at the bottom was smiling
he had just finished his breakfast smiling
it hadn't rained or manured for over two hours
the man at the top was starving
the pole was a horrible looking thing
with all of those eyes and ears
and waving hands for balance
there was no way to get a [heli]copter in close
so everybody was starving together
the man at the top had long ago given up
but didn't have nerve enough to climb down
at night the pole would talk to itself
and the chatter wasn't too good
obviously the pole didn't like itself
it wanted to walk
it was the summer and it was hot
and balance wouldn't permit
a skinning to undergarments
it was an integrated pole
it was taking on a reddish brown cast
exercise on the pole was isometric
kind of a flex and then balance
then the eyes would roll together
the ears wiggle, hands balance
there was a gurgling and googling heard
a tenth of the way up the pole
approaching was a small child
with a statue of liberty doll

originally a track from the unreleased album bat chain puller (1976)



there's so many things to feel and see while you're awake
they're just out of reach, out of grasp, yeah out of reach
and just as many, maybe more, the minute that you sleep
so i got to throw my preach
skeleton breath, scorpion blush
i have a crush on your skeleton
watch out, unsuspecting stranger
you'll fall off the log, headfirst into dreams, end up screaming
this will comb the wolf and that will comb the fog
what will peen the rain what will preen the hog
oh you mean earth and hell over you
and laugh at your tire tracks if you get up
skeleton makes good



click clack to the power station, the news or the other LYRICS

captain beefheart electricity
as felt by teejo