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The Ex
Dizzy Spells
What is this town if, without care
It builds for years on piles of air
What is this town if, short of breath
It chokes itself to selfish death
What is this town if, full of cats
The place is packed with doggone rats
No chance to sit, when parks we pass
Leisurely on turd-free grass
No chance to skip the traffic lights
And cross the main roads without fright
No chance to see, in shopping streets
Glad non-consuming eyes to meet
No chance to go just anywhere
There's always streets up for repair
No chance to find a place to stay
Unless you pay all the goddamn way
A poor town this if, filled with stone
It leaves no place to call our own
What is this town if, what a joke
All of its pride goes up in smoke
What is this town if, full of cats
The place is packed with doggone rats
No chance to keep wide-open house
The city's brains are like mad cows
No chance to deal with businessmen
Who sell the shit, the hits, the fan
No chance to give this town a clue
It turns into a concrete zoo
No chance to wait for things to change
Unless buildings get hit by planes
No chance to stop this money vulture
From turning bullshit into culture
A poor town this if, filled with stone
It leaves no place to call our own
What is this town if, to unsound
It burns itself down to the ground
I'm sure there's grass that's greener, on the other side
There's something green in my eye, this I won't deny
We're told their grass is greener, and this is the other side
This must be dr. Jekyll's teeth, isn't it, mayor Hyde.
Nobodies' Dream (based on a text by Eduardo Galeano)
Flea's dream is to buy a dog
And the nobodies' dream is to escape
From destiny, from history
And the nobodies dream that one day, suddenly, miraculously
Fortune it will rain, fortune it will pour, but fortune doesn't rain
Not yesterday, tomorrow or today
And not even in a dizzle does fortune drop from the skies
However loud the nobodies' cry
Even when their left hand itches and they get out of bed on the right side or start the new year with a new broom
Fortune doesn't rain
The nobodie's dream is to escape
Cos they're nobody's children, owners of nothing
Who die their life, who miss their hold, the displaced, the denied, the doomed, the damned
Who don't actually exist
Who have no language, but dialect
No religion, but superstition
No art, but handiworks
No culture, but folklore
Who are not human being, but human ressources
Bodies who cost less than the bullet to kill them
Who have no face, but hands
Who have no name, but numbers
Who are no part of history, but miscellaneous news
In the local press
A flea's dream is to buy a dog
And the nobodies' dream is to escape
From destiny, from history
And the nobodies dream that one day, suddenly, miraculously
Fortune it will rain, fortune it will pour, but fortune doesn't rain
Not yesterday, tomorrow or today
Children of the world come gather round
Sit around the fire, let's talk like men
About quicksand Hollywood
Slow-match fast-food
That's the trash I found in the garbage can
Everyone be seated, tell you a little story
"Once upon a time" it starts, then it chews the facts
With Mickey, Walt & Donald
Goofy cousin Ronald
They wanna swallow all your souls, as if they've inked a pact
Are we fucked, are we nice, are we ducks, are we mice, are we men, are we mean, are we living
Living in the dream-machine
Fucked are we, nice are we, ducks are we, mice are we, men are we, mean are we, lilving, living, living
Living in the dream-machine
Seen the little mermaid surviving on the screen?
And look there's the dizzy Fad Four Story where no one dies
Maybe I forgot
Maybe Paul gets shot
All sad tales with dinosaurs will be cut to size
And then World War Two the Movie, with a grand finale
Smiling victims who all escape, and the Germans win
Children, got the picture?
Seen the past that's in the future?
Now, to be honest, to tell the truth, where to begin
Are we fucked, are we nice, are we ducks, are we mice, are we men, are we mean, are we living
Living in the dream-machine
Fucked are we, nice are we, ducks are we, mice are we, men are we, mean are we, lilving, living, living
Living in the dream-machine
You said: "I'll wait, I'll wait for you, for you I'll wait a thousand years"
You said: "I think, I think of you, of you I think from ear to ear"
Well, that was then and this is now
So here I am and what's the row
Well, that was then and this is, oh
You told me this a thousand, oh
A thousand, oh, a thousand, oh
You told me this a thousand, oh
You told me this a thousand and one years ago...
Time flies, and I'm still waiting
Time flies, keep me hesitating
Time flies, and I'm still standing
Time flies, I am not pretending
Time flies, keep me company
Time flies, watch all over me
Time flies, as far as I can see
Time flies, what's it gonna be
You said: "I'll wait
I'll wait for you
For you I'll wait a thousand years"
You said: "I think
I think of you
Of you I think from ear to ear"
Well, that was then and this is now
So here I am and what's the row
Well, that was then and this is, oh
You told me this a thousand and one years ago...
Time flies, getting hold of me
Time flies, trouble in 3-D
Time flies, as far as I can see
Time flies, they're all over me
To this day the only thing I know of you is your journey from Bremen to Stuttgart
And your trunk, made in Buenos Aires, your trunk travelled with you
And your trunk, made in Buenos Aires, your trunk travelled with you
Trunk no. 3 with (what can I say?) clothes, shoes, books maybe?
And old photos, to remind you of home? I don't know you, I don't know your way
And old photos, to remind you of home? I don't know you, I don't know your way
Was your journey by boat or was it by train, there were reasons to leave and begin again
We are, we live, we move, we stay and what's ahead is hard to say
We are, we live, we move, we stay and what's ahead is hard to say
And the trunk of Buenos Aires
Labelled no. 3
Carried his things, carries my things
And with it, history
And the trunk of Buenos Aires
Labelled no. 3
Carried his things, carries my things
Have you got something to hide
Something dirty to sell
Some damage to be done
Some poison to put in the well
World wide crisis management consultants
Do you wanna set the world aflame
To fire up a fight or two
Without warning, without shame
They're the perfect match for you
World wide crisis management consultants
Improve the image
Replace the image
Avoid a scrimmage
It's an itching image
Scratch off the logic
Don't be explicit
Just stick to symbols
Symbols that elicit
Hopel satisfaction! Caring! Self-esteem!
Don't discuss safety-risks
Don't discuss issues
Don't discuss the danger
Or your smoke-scren tissues
World wide crisis management consultants
Just play hide & seek
Kiss Judas on the cheek
Master disaster
They mask the pisshead's leak
Step right up your door
Will be back for more
Master disaster
They mask the burning stone
World wide crisis management consultants
World wide crisis management consultants
World wide crisis management consultants
Burson Marsteller represented a.o. Union Carbide after the Bhopal disaster, and Babcock & Wilcox during the Three Miles Island nuclear crisis, advised oppressive regimes, managed public relations during the mad cow disease, and helped to improve the image of the biotechnology industry.
The Chair Needs Paint (based on a text by Drs. P; a tribute)
The land is tired
And grey're the skies
The wind is cold
As cold as ice
My coat is thin, its colour where
The road is long, the tree is bare
My back is bent
And might is sore
The air is foul
The bread is poor
The floor is wrecked, the roof is bad
The pane is smashed, the child is mad
La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la
The wall is damp, the light is faint
The dog is mean, the chair needs paint
And money's tight, the bread is poor
Or did I say this once before
The eye is dim
The blood is red
The hair is grey
The horse is dead
The meat is tough, the work is hard
The beer is dear and there we are
La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la, la la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la
Bemused amusement, the viewers' must
Famine & famishement, objects of lust
A scent of shame meets merchandise
Well alright, charity! But at what price?
Handful of rice for a handful of dough
The dustman's cancelled for days or so
And the reaper reprieves he knows nothing is new
Just a fistful of feed and it's violence, too
Reaper reprieves, nothing is new
Fistful of feed and it's violence, too
How close to the camera the bellies seem
How empty the stars on a telly screen
Worse than the starved, like a ship of fools
Salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
Where to, what for? Hey that's a laugh
Artists for Artists, choke, choke! Bugger off!
Didn't I pay enough, enough attention!
I want more channels to sink their pretension
Didn't I pay enough, enough attention!
I want more channels to sink their pretension
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow harbours different rules
How close to the camera the bellies seem, how empty the stars on a telly screen
They're worse than the starved, like a ship of fools, salesmanship somehow
Haydays (based on a poem by Lucebert)
With a bread-crust as adornment
The cheerful rambler roams the land
He waves at cows at grasses wide
At blooming corncobs at his side
While skylarks eat out of his hand
Beaming at night the lasses stand
At village pumps and send their love
And then they kiss his sweated cheeks
Oh, even aged virgins do
So they lay down and nestle up
Their warm hearts at his tired feet
Cos their old mothers say they should
Beaming at night the lasses stand
At village pumps and send their love
And then they kiss his sweated cheeks
Oh, even aged virgins do
So they lay down and nestle up
Their warm hearts at his tired feet
Cos their old mothers say they should
Late in the hay the rambler prays
And then he reads in the old book
While all the city's streets are crossed by whores and pimps
Their nasty rats run aimlessly at their wits' end
He stratches so satisfied his tawny limbs
With a bread-crust as adornment
The cheerful rambler roams the land
He waves at cows at grasses wide
At blooming corncobs at his side
While skylarks eat out of his hand
Late in the hay the rambler prays
And then he reads in the old book
While all the city's streets are crossed by whores and pimps
Their nasty rats run aimlessly at their wits' end
He stratches so satisfied his tawny limbs
Like a river to the sea
This track of tears has haunted me
And in the swim I crawled for change
To drown the pain & rearrange
This flight of feelings
A brand new dive, with bounds to beat
Search for new ground to gain under your feet
Go in quest for this sea of space
On your mark, take the plunge & face
The next wave coming
Like a river to the sea
This track of tears has haunted me
And in the swim I crawled for change
To drown the pain & rearrange
This flight of feelings
A brand new dive, with bounds to beat
Search for new ground to gain under your feet
Go in quest for this sea of space
On your mark, take the plunge & face
The next wave coming
I gotta go cos I wanna grow
I gotta go cos I wanna grow
I gotta see cos I wanna be
I gotta see cos I wanna be
I wanna give for I wanna live
I wanna give for I wanna live
It must be real for I wanna feel
It must be real for I wanna feel
It must be real for I wanna feel
It must be real for I wanna feel
I wanna laugh and I want to love
I wanna laugh and I want to love
I wanna laugh and I want to love
But not just love, that's not enough
But not just love, that's not enough
But not just love, that's not enough
I gotta try, I gotta try, I gotta try, there's no need to cry
I gotta try, I gotta try, I gotta try, there's no need to cry
I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try
Spread your wings to a second wind, scoop the pool of waste-words off your mind
Go & swim against the tide of things you used to hide behind
Spread your wings to a second wind, scoop the pool of waste-words off your mind
Go & swim against the tide of things you used to hide behind
When I came to my senses
In this bed or something
I thought, for a moment
Why are we whispering?
Why are we whispering?
I thought for a moment
What's wrong with me
What's wrong with you
What's wrong with me
What's wrong with this view
Well, I thought for a moment
Do the walls have ears
Do we all have fears
Do the walls have eyes
Do they know the whys
Do the walls have voices
Do our thoughts make noises
Do the walls recall
Do they already know it all
Well, I thought for a moment
But only for a moment:
I should start thinking for myself
I should start thinking for myself
I should start thinking for myself
Waiting till it all comes out
Waiting till it all comes out
Waiting till it all comes out
Am I speaking their lines again
Thank you very bleeding much
Exactly the same lines again
Can't they see I've had enough
They put words in people's mouths
They put thoughts in people's minds
Got to stop 'em, got to save mine
Got to stop 'em, got to save mine
Do the walls have ears
Do we all have fears
Do the walls have eyes
Do they know the whys
Do the walls have voices
Do our thoughts make noises
Do the walls recall
Do they already know it all
Waiting till it all comes out
Waiting till it all comes out
Waiting till it all comes out
They should stop thinking for myself
They, they, they should stop thinking for myself
They should stop thinking for myself
They, they, they should stop thinking for myself
They should stop thinking for myself
They, they, they should stop thinking for myself
They should stop thinking for myself
They, they, they should stop thinking for myself
Sometimes I wake up with a headful of dust
Rust never sleeps, but sleep, does it rust
Every day I die from a different disease
I don't wanna smile the same old cheese
I don't wanna smell it, I don't wanna sell it
There's gotta be more that can put me at ease
Sometimes I get hired
Sometimes I get fired
And sometimes I crack
Well, sometimes I feel like
I'd wish to fire back
Hell no, I didn't know
I didn't hear the news
Well no, I didn't go
I didn't know what to choose
Hell no, I didn't know
I didn't hear the news
Well no, I didn't go
I didn't know what to choose
I had to save some whales
There's football on T.V.
This time I'll send a check, I couldn't find my keys
I guess I was too tired
My bike just had a flat
I didn't have the money, someone stole my hat
I had to see the doctor's
Not done yet with this mag
I thought you'd call me first, where did I leave my bag?
I got struck in traffic
I couldn't get time off
Wasn't it tomorrow? I was hungry for a laugh
Sometimes I get hired
Sometimes I get fired
And sometimes I crack
Well, sometimes I feel like
I'd wish to fire back
Hell no, I didn't know
I didn't hear the news
Well no, I didn't go
I didn't know what to choose
Hell no, I didn't know
I didn't hear the news
Well no, I didn't go
I didn't know what to choose
The Ex.
Terrie -- guitars.
Andy -- bass.
Luc -- drums.
Katrin -- percussion & vocals.
G.W. Sok -- vocals.
Recorded at Black Box Studio, Noyant La Gravoyère, France, from November 28 till December 4, 2000.
Engineered by Steve Albini.
All words & musics by The Ex, unless where indicated otherwise.