Dear diary Diamonte shirt Diamonte Clift Dear Monty Clift You broke my heart when you bust your head and tore your shirt She ripped hers just the same Them cowboys out in Hollywood Wood injuns stood in the nothing rain And horses in the hills Wild horses riding money in the hills We will always Twist the truth to suit the need Afraid to learn the lesson and lose the youth She'll lose the lesson and break her teeth and we can't see so straight no more no the range don't look so straight And silver dollars they grow on trees On the open land, under larger skies But them gold teeth grow in our hearts on iron jaws with steel springs we're bursting stitches all the time with open wounds and fix-me-quik Them cowboys out in Hollywood Wood injuns stood in the nothing rain And horses in the hills Wild horses riding money in the hills

Who sings poems of joy with a hangover cracking their skull? Who sings odes to the light when nightmares cream the edges of every sunbeam? Beer shit churn and ache out of arsehole, eyes tremble and tremor on your childhood picture. How’s that smile possible? Skin of summer sun, fresh sweat, your cunt’s deep scent. Smoke cuts the air and between a more essential breath. Nausea starry like the edge of hysteria, like I found that too funny...

His eyes so wide they absorbed all the light this witness denied what he saw with eyes so wide and darkness behind a road to nowhere Is not hard to find With eyes so wide he finished the sun Death come stalking In dazzling light with eyes so wide and darkness behind our road to nowhere Is not hard to find His eyes so wide they absorbed all the light this witness denied everything

Come freshen your wound, come freshen your wound. We are spit and lemon juice. Come freshen your wound, come renew the trammels of lostness. Become only the choice of what you see. Become only the choice of what you see. A Japanese knotweed, a shadow crawling, a pair of eyes sodden with need. Come shiver with me now… Two parties: The celebrated Work Horse And the brass banded Mass. The song being at once the attempted seduction of the Horse but also it’s inescapable prison. The prison defines the Horse but beyond definition the Horse is completely divorced from the prison. The Horse works. The Horse in prison works. The Horse in prison works because of the prison. The Horse works before the prison. The Horse works. The Horse works before the reason of the prison. The prison is the reason why the Horse works. Before reason the Horse works. Beyond reason towards the Heart the Horse works. Come quicken your fall, come quicken your fall, your heart’s sunk flourish a blemish, a gall. Come quicken your fall…

I was born into these holy robes, orange and purple on an iron soul. Lost of and searching for a home so old. We come to bring fire on your blood and gold I spent a long time earning these fine scars, slipping neath the bumpers of speeding cars. When the world bucks me over my handlebars, flying, I remember how Midas starved. I've got that voice like rock, boy, It's sweet and hard. We're lighting up our touches for our missing parts. When you know you're everything you can't look too far before seeing yourself flash across the dark.

I’m walking and dreaming but mostly walking. Through this city so far away from where I was born. Walking to a school, a place that might give me a reason for being here. It’s busy and it’s hot but I don’t mind. My nostrils full of exhaust and the smell of chewing tobacco. It’s dusty and the dust thickens my sweat. I squint at the sun that diffuses in the smog and I keep walking. And I notice things. But they’re nothings. Or nothing I can make much of. Pavements interrupted by strips of rubble. The skeleton of a new building. The clatter of somebody pushing a trolley full of linen. Some flies drinking a puddle that wasn’t made by the rain. I walk past some soldiers smoking in the shade of a tree that I don’t know the name of. I look away because soldiers, like cops, make me feel nervous. I walk past some children standing in line. A young girl steps out of line and in front of me, impudent, imperious. She sticks her hand out. I shake her hand. I’ve been accosted on the street a lot here but never by a girl before and I guess it’s because she’s young enough so that she’s not obliged to care. And I’m walking. And it’s hot. My forehead’s reddening, sweat pouring. But I don’t mind. And I come to where the school should be but there’s nothing to be found there. My guidebook map is only approximating. So I walk and I walk and I ask shopkeepers and loafers but nobody knows what I’m talking about. I but a Coca Cola and marvel at its unhallowed tangs. I walk down the same road ten times. And I’m tiring and my forehead’s reddening and my sweat stings my eyes but I don’t mind, I just keep shuffling forward. I walk and I walk and I squint at the horizon and wonder how I’ll ever find it and for seconds at a time forget that there was a reason for this walking. But then I remember the existence of taxis. I hail one and it takes me straight there! And I wait and I wait in the cool of the reception, watching the students file past relaxed and laughing. And finally somebody comes out to see me. And they say that I’m too late, that I’ve got the wrong date, that I’ve missed my chance. So I go back into the heat and I’m walking. And this song comes into my head. (there's petrol in the engine hundred million years old today falling petals brush our faces hundred million years old today flaming petals burn our faces and everything is ok) And I’m walking. The sun is pounding on my forehead, my forehead reddening. And the heat and the fumes and the voices on the street full of distorted verve and the chaos and the commerce and the rubble and the dust and the yellow sky and the dinge and the clatter and something and something and something and something and (there's petrol in the engine hundred million years old today falling petals brush our faces hundred million years old today flaming petals burn our faces and everything is ok) The accumulations, the waste, the centuries, the history, the degeneration, the generation, the sprawl and the increase, the fat of the land, the marrow of the land, the collapse, the failure and triumph and death and persistence and falling, and I’m walking and walking and I’m just a speck, a mote in the spillage, a red forehead with a vein bulging in it, a febrile link to the sun. (there's petrol in the engine hundred million years old today the glory days are over and everything is ok)

these roads lead no where since we burnt rome down steal some matches and bury the crown start a fire and get the fuck out of town these roads lead no where since we burnt rome down these ruins were made to be danced upon breaking punk heart rushes for it to all be gone and a craft mans hands threw the bombs these ruins were made to be danced upon these pictures are the same as before the storm a half hidden smile, mysterious and warm though my left eyes been twisted and my right pupil torn these pictures are the same as before the storm nows the time to raise a child a babe so tender, and meek and mild born on dirty streets with devils running wild nows the time to raise a child bring yr armor out tonight the moon is full and the stars are bright it shines just perfect in the silvery light bring yr armor out tonight