A Song to Ruin
Album - 1 settembre 2003 - Debaser id 83897

Ladies and gentlemen,
Please take your seats
Put on your thinking caps
Now here's a poser for you:

You know sexism?
The social scourge of the sixties
Seen as singularly responsible for a plethora of ills
Well the reaction,
After starting well has moved from the sublime to the ridiculous
Through self-defensive actions of the string-vested interests

So please let's dispense with tired fixations with forms of address,
And with constant vilification of legitimate sexual attraction,
With weak accusations of inverted discrimination,
Because it's getting old

Come on girls, this is weak
Come on boys, gird up your loins

And yes,
I'm no qualified social theorist,
But I've got me a few ideas
I picked up while I was trying to be a human being

I'm amazed - no seriously, folks, I'm really fucking awestruck
Leafing through so called lifestyle magazines, I'm amazed
The beauty industry is just the tip of the fucking iceberg, I'm amazed
The prostitution of dignity for a sense of humor, I'm amazed
The smallest blows against ignorance seen as too much, I'm amazed

And you're afraid
You're cowering behind a bravado built on pornography for cowards!

it starts with a call, a call from his mother.
sophia says “come quick, MacGyver’s been hurt.
he was just on his way home from saving the world again,
he got jumped by some kids, he went down, now he’s dying.?
so i threw on my coat an ran out the door,
sped through the night to the old hospital,
where the doctors said to wait, so i camped in the ward,
watching the clock as it haemorrhages time so slow.
and i’ve lingered here so long.
the air in here so cold.
the shallow breath so quiet.
the shibboleth of MacGuiver laid bare,
flat on a table, blackened by bruises he couldn’t explain.
and there was nothing he could build
to save himself out of biros and blue-tack.
they opened up his cavities in the operating theatre,
but the doctors couldn’t find a heart,
his lymph glands running motor oil.
his calloused fingers lie inert,
their intricate ability punctured by
the god-shaped hole in adolescent consciousness.
he couldn’t build a bomb to mend the splinters of his broken heart.
his home-made radar couldn’t find a way to make his weapons art.
MacGyver bleeds out all of his rationalism.
isaac newton, your lever is not long enough.
the scottish enlightenment a sinking ship.
so i left the hospital with the bleep of life support machines a memory.