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lyrics
Speak ill then you'll be ill, and it ends up just the same
Sunbathing in traffic, but somehow you're not the one to blame
Racing to the red like this is all some little game
Portions of misfortune lead someone to end up lame
A wall of salt
A lump of dead
A grab of land
A pile of heads
No courage of conviction, but you know you're not the first
Prostrating in public, kowtowing to the worst
A spattering of stammering, you wear it on your sleeve
Said aloud, these airborne shrouds leave no-one to deceive
Are we dead yet?
Everyone calling "shotgun"
Looking for the wrong 'un
Are we dead yet?
Dancing on the knife edge
Clambering for the death pledge
A group that I know only too well, I’ve been with them for nearly 30 years; from their Glaswegian basement origins to their current status as Arena band. My enthusiasm for their later output may have tempered somewhat as the mighty ‘Gwai evolved their sound to avoid pigeonholing, but there is nothing better than when they lay waste to a venue via the sheer euphoria of ‘Helicon 1’. They’re still devastating live and, after all those years, THE authority in Instrumental Rock music. Logen Ninefingers