Skip to content

Read (Discography): Manscape

Patterns Of Behaviour

End part beginning
17 and counting
Erase then cut and paste
From here to another place

Demonstrations, indignations
Colour, colour, collar, nation

Empty and filling
Ready and willing
Abrase to cut a dash
It's another current fashion

If I could say these words quicker than you could think them
Someone else would probably steal them

Patterns of behaviour
I've been to Monrovia
Inflate to make a splash
Cut and diced, it always lacks passion

Goodbye Ploy

Leaning backwards, a memory
Staying on the periphery
To all the things that used to be
I'll say goodbye

To the smoky rooms, where they piss their time
To the all right boys, left with no rhyme
To all the ploys as dumb as mine
I'll say goodbye

Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Put it down to expenses, it's all the same
To all the players of the game
I'll say goodbye

To the wait in line and don't complain
To the fake pretending not to be sane
To the someone's loss is always my gain
I'll say goodbye

To the people cocktail that does not mix
To the have-it-all by dirty tricks
Of national airwaves jammed by pricks
I'll say goodbye

To the chilled and labelled haunted face
To the claustrophobic can't-do space
To every lace curtained place
I'll say goodbye

Through the thin and unsupported walls
To the talking big and acting small
To the last ordered home time call
I'll say goodbye

To the paying high and aiming low
To the heads-case places no-go slow
To the someone's dinner in the snow
I'll say goodbye

To the third-rate butcher's dance-hall mix
To the gain-attention finger clicks
To the try it on the wind-up slicks
I'll say goodbye

The Morning Bell

The weak beneath the beak
The creep beneath the deep
The meat beneath the beat
The shit behind the teeth

The Morning Bell
Proves the distance
To be another optical conclusion
That you can buy shares in

The cages are full again, boys!
The pages are full again, boys!
The strangers are friends again, boys!
The knives are blunt again, boys

Small Black Reptile

Sporting effects
In a small black reptile
Broadened at the shoulder
And swing at the hips

Room for a big fish
A crack of whips
Demander of service
And generous tips

Narrow in the eye
And puller of wool
The bow on the purse strings
Diaries full, arrangements fixed

A crossing of arms
The sucking of cheeks
The appetite rich
From scaling peaks

Badges of office
Extensive plates
Cultivating pets
Expensive dates

Torch It!

His father's smile
And the sparkle in his eye

In the house not home, behind closed doors
They hide their fakes, between the floors
In the house not home, under the bed
Stories are told, and lies are spread
The house not home is full of love
It's the hate which seeps in from above

I'm going to torch it
I'm going to torch it
With you on the top

In the house not home, they gild their flaws
Preen their feathers, and sheath their claws
In the house not home, eyes are closed
Blood runs hot, whilst hell hath froze
In the house not home, me-me prayers
The wailing wall of cheap despair

In the house not home, the long house turns
Shit to gold, the tall house burns
In the house not home, dreams are trained
Innocence, hope, lost mysteries explained

In the house not home
There are four blanks
Your ignorance was unusable
Your thoughtlessness was not

We sing our cheap despair as our secrets are sold
The spirit is broken, I'm gonna torch you down
The spirit is not broken, I'm gonna raise it up from the ground

Other Moments

Splinter of wood underneath a nail
Spiked on a tree where hope was pinned

Pining for a moment of even more
It just slipped out there

Harping on the old tune, playing the piping
Suspense on a bridgehead distorting and curving classical angles

Hanging in the slipstream
Is there any movement?
Swaying in the shadows
Could this be my moment?

Novel undertakings clear the place where it all feeds in
Promising tomorrows we shall see what we shall see

Forensic score the final test, borrowing blood the final brief
Quicken to the point express arrival, it's yours today

Sixth Sense

Who are the masked men?
Who are the cashed men?
Who are the flash men?

Where is the funman?
Where is the sunman?
Where is the gunman?

Where are the fast men?
Where are the past men?
Where are the last men?

On the table they're pawing the details
They wait for the meal to walk in the door
Edible hunter seeks credible victim
Sincerely rich seeks sceptical poor

In the corner they're shifting the ashes
Loyal traitor seeks empty womb
Oaken Tailor seeks viable impasse
Eternal youth seeks fatal bloom

What Do You See? (Welcome)

Look to the right
Fields on fire
Look to the left
What can you see?
A mint-green bathroom
On a wall-less house


Drive into the Mickey Mouse
The must place to be?
The place we never enter
If we are not with us


Look down the street?
A young boy hunting butterflies
Look down the street?
He swallows one
He swallows two
That is not enough


In the bed for two hundred crowns
I waited for you
Me and the dancing lamp
With a VIP card
I would have met the blue man
I hear his noise in the stairs


Can you hear the ocean?
Did you hear the thunder?
Did you see the signs left by the boy
Who fell through the frozen sea?
The world turned upside down


Where's The Deputation?

Hearts are tried
In the intermission
Rien a voir
Only indecision

A tried heart popcorn
In the intermission
A tightening corner where no one belongs

In the intermission
The silent ones
Waiting for decisions

The bomb has landed
On the deputation?
Where's the rack across your back?
Scratching a living

You Hung Your Lights In The Trees/A Craftsman's Touch

What crime is on your record?
When did you lose your wings?
Are your memories chequered?
Do you still dream of having all those things?
Having all of those things?

I want no part of the betrayal
If you should succeed or if you fail
It's you who worries me

Spring withers and summer smothers
My portrait casts its skin, mile after yellow mile
On the walls, thin layers, oily traces

Preserved and exhibited down the stairs
A medicine finish, a craftsman's touch

That's how many came to grief

What time is it on your planet?
What time is it in your heart?
In your past deeds did you plan it?
How far are we apart?

For those who could not flee
Belief in a promised release
You hung your lights in the trees
That's how many came to grief

Bonus tracks

Life In The Manscape

Fun in the manscape
It's coming apart
The soul is for hire
And they've sold the heart
Operate the radar
Hit the switches
Try to find a way to live
Please by the brochure

Life in the manscape
It's part of the deal
The pope of pop
Drives a church of steel
Deep pile acquaintances
Hollow after dinner
Accommodate inflation
Nervous fingers on the trigger

Love in the manscape
Guaranteed real
You feel what you pay
And you pay what you feel
Unfamiliar letters
Anagram situations
Silence please!
Poets at work

Free speech and more TV
Distribute liberally
I'd like mine to be
A true facsimile


In times of peril such as these
Pleased as punch, but not so nimble
Taking chances that you're given

Take the Trabant to Brabant
Find security
In Western arms, in Western arms
Find security

The non-believers can't agree
Hands are tied, we can't discuss it
Swapping pot-pourri for concrete

Take the glitter to Gorky
Find security
In Western arms, in Western arms
Find security

Insiders think they've cracked the nut
Punch to please and not to crumble
Faking answers you are living

Empty larder history
Find security
In Western arms, in Western arms
Find security

The double agent's single cell
Splits the endgame party symbol
Forked, endorsed, but not forgiven

Delegations with stones
Find security
Buy Western charms, buy Western charms
With security

Children Of Groceries

No one from a glass has landed
The beam is down
Colours in regiments
Out of body experiences

The alien kidnappers
They place our graves
Ride the highways
Buying smiles

Bite off your tongue
Swallow it whole
Before it wags
Betrays us all

Purvey sour dreams
Will drink enterprise
Off-white off-set
Children of groceries