© Mankyboddle

© 1992 kip MUSIC
(all rights reserved except
for Australia& New Zealand)


I dig the music like my own little grave
the notes ring hollow in the bitter air
this tune of exile craves a page
away from the score, away from the masters hands

Futurissimo with crescendo
maestro strike the signs away
a burning cluster takes the page
away from the tune, away from the masters hands

F U T U R I S S I M O !

What is the aim of the multimoguls
Is it to build consumption-hives
where the master-race floats
with remote control inertia
in vibrating elixirs of youth
which massage the hearts of smokers
rinse the livers of alcoholics
and embalm the brains of fools
in delusions of grandeur ?...

A tenor in a wine-glass plays the rebel
the drowning voice betrays defeat
the haunted legend flees the tale
away from the stage, away from the masters hand

Accelerando non capisco
the rumour rumbles in the seats
the cheated crowd is taking leave
away from the lies, away from the masters hands

F U T U R I S S I M O 

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