pornography, the last song, and in fact the last song i wrote for a
while, is fuelled by the same self-mockery, self-hate, that burned in
100 years, but it is, if only very slightly, a little more hopeful
than the others ... i am escaping (i escaped) by blaming someone
else. a murder or suicide? "i must fight this sickness ..."
R. Smith, from cure news Number 9, 1990
Note: The backwards message at the beginning of the song is BBC television
signing off for the night. There is a mans voice "counting" down, and a mention
of the radio station that is still available for entertainment...(Tony Pigo)
smith/gallup/tolhurst
A hand in my mouth
A life spills into the flowers
We all look so perfect
As we all fall down
In an electric glare
The old man cracks with age
She found his last picture
In the ashes of the fire
An image of the queen
Echoes round the sweating bed
Sour yellow sounds inside my head
In books
And films
And in life
And in heaven
The sound of slaughter
As your body turns
But it's too late
But it's too late
One more day like today and I'll kill you
A desire for flesh
And real blood
I'll watch you drown in the shower
Pushing my life through your open eyes
I must fight this sickness
Find a cure
I must fight this sickness
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