1. |
Main Title
01:47
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I always wanted more, I always hoped there was more.
The closest I ever got was the lights of a city,
of a gas station,
the smell and dim lights of the cinema,
some purpose.
The city at night is a beautiful thing.
Take me away, I want out.
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2. |
Lucky (Oldest Grave)
04:05
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3. |
Rabbit Hole
03:23
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He never asked her to clean his bones
Thick with tar and caked in mould
She wont wait forever or wade through his oats and bones
He never asked to clean his bones
But they could have slept like rabbits
Wrapped up in warm tartan blankets
But she lives in a garden
And he’s trapped with wolves and giants
He couldn’t vanish all her fears
He’d been hiding in the woods
She wont wait forever
Just let his bones decay
Eaten up by his giants
He’ll sleep under flowers and trees
Wrapped up in soil
Now they can all just sleep.
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4. |
God Bless Your Gutters
01:10
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5. |
Theme For An Old Man
03:27
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6. |
Can't Sleep
01:16
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He’s standing on the corner, holding his life in an old pair of socks. All the while she’s sitting on his chest.
He never really knew kindness, his fat hands and swollen throat ignored by most.

People never did worry about his hands, they needn’t have, they were more suited to his pockets.
Empty dark spaces like their owner.
But now he wont sleep, you can't sleep with a full neck.
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7. |
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8. |
Young Ponies
02:49
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O’joy o joy, the rain bring the rats and the rats bring all the good old critters of the nights.
I don’t sleep, how do I find my peace,
I don’t want to find my peace, all new trousers and smiles.
Life never told him about despair or the gutters.
But there’s life in the sewers.
Loneliness is a thinking man’s vocation.
Happiness is for doers and triers.
I suppose love is the both the fortunate and the unfortunate
Depending on your perspective.
But all that her jaw was for
Was only the raising of two sparkly eye young ponies
And a provider, gifted with humour
And thoughts of a scratched woodland torso
Did not sail on her ocean
Thank the lord
Thank the lord.
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9. |
Street Clams
03:12
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10. |
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Diesel
Days, months and hours pass by
Steady progressing
Ethos
See whilst them days, months and hours pass by
I’m steady progressing, knowing that these plans could reap off
Ethos
Diesel
Smoked paprika on the Jordan cap
Diesel off the rails again
I’m moving like a force of nature
On and off the tops
I burn up like a tinder box
Your blindsided by the blaze provided
When I torch the page up
Focused solely on my core progression
I’m cutting ties in order to survive when other’s failing
Investing shrewd until them shares plus the funds quadruple
Stocking up on precious metals ‘til the cupboards cave in
It was written way before the snapbacks and the fitted
Vocabulary spills I’m illest, turning dust to ashes
I cut the fabric most bespoke, tailor made to order
Been looping lines from early 99’s and tape recorders
Your product flat without the baking powder
This shit is self-raising, prophesised and H2O proof
Me and this mic’s like Barksdale and Stringer Bell
Your second tier to this Champions League, NFL
Remaining in that 50th percentile
The vocals is never docile
Forget the low brows,
I’m too dope
Grinding while these emperors in their new cloaks
Is unconscious to the facts
Hid under their noses, that’s another dosage
Sick notes: them hard hitting flows
Carl Froch’s and Klitschko’s, Mayweather’s and Joshua’s
Ford Coppola’s lost in this translation
I’m Hans Christian Anderson
Grimms’ Tales when the ink spills
Cus when all else fails I’m back in this attic
Linking up accurate grammars
To trap chapters in track form
Constructing a poem like it’s a trap door
20 deep, this music is my passport
Ya already know
Whilst them days, months and hours pass by
I’m steady progressing, waiting for these plans to reap off
Time you spend that no one else sees
Behind them closed doors
It’s what you build up in your own time
That’s now the ethos
Ten thousand hours more we’re climbing
Ten thousand hours plus we keep locked
From the ground up, for the long haul is now the ethos
From the ground up, to the long haul
Vast majority’s, you’re hooked up on them formulaic’s
Tried and tested methods,
I’m looking to crack those moulds
Keep the templates, but work within a vaster frame
Redundant emulators of respect
I’m looking past those goals
Whatever’s put down on the page or on the boards is raw
Territory’s unexplored and I record the molten lava
Golden ingots, scorching chariots of fire
I run the gauntlets for the chosen, carrying this torch
I’m tryna see beyond this deepest yonder
Reaching for that leap of faith
To speak without the sweeping statements
Cut away the rotten roots, alleviate the latents
Retain the purest and concise and separate the waves
Split this shit up into parts and pieces for marginal gains
Until the page is gushing ink like an artery vein
Still remain my own worst enemy, staring my reflection
Chasing ghosts that’s hid within them overtaking lanes
Protect my intellect property using coded rhetoric
Grandiose hyperbole, fly burgundy Nike stripes on the curve peak
Pied Piper of words, breathe life back in this corpse culture
Grand Wizard Mucha
Cus when all else fails I’m back in this attic
Linking up accurate grammars
To trap chapters in track form
Constructing a poem like it’s a trap door 20 deep, this music is my passport
Ya already know
And whilst them days, months and hours pass by
I’m steady progressing, waiting for these plans to reap off
Time you spend that no one else sees
Behind them closed doors
It’s what you build up in your own time
That’s now the ethos
Ten thousand hours more we’re climbing
Ten thousand hours plus we keep locked
From the ground up, for the long haul is now the ethos From the ground up, to the long haul
And whilst them days, months and hours pass by
I’m steady progressing, waiting for these plans to reap off
Time you spend that no one else sees
Behind them closed doors
It’s what you build up in your own time
That’s now the ethos
Ten thousand hours more we’re climbing
Ten thousand hours plus we keep locked
From the ground up, for the long haul is now the ethos
From the ground up, to the long haul
Diesel.
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11. |
Israel Ate His Own Mind
00:46
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12. |
Bookie
01:41
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13. |
The Clerk
00:28
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14. |
Murmurs
00:17
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15. |
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The trains don’t keep me up now,
Nor the drunks or the creeps.
The volumes been turned down and now
All that keeps me up is the loneliness
As the world got quieter my thoughts got louder
I want to be left alone.
Burrow down under the snow like rabbits.
Too much chatter too much noise in my head
My fingers old lumps of meat, crooked and pink
But I wont die, the resilience of a old man
Thinking I could’ve been something
Left hanging on by gristle and spit.
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16. |
Lucky (Reprise)
02:13
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And by the way did you learn that at book club
I thought you played a very elegant game
Here lies Helen Ruth Francis

After 20 mins of oldest grave
Gave me a winner
1856 to 1962
Now who’s buying the chicken ducky
Lucky,
Yeah lucky
1856 to 1962
Look who’s lying down here lucky,
And look how long they have been lying here.
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17. |
Alligator
05:31
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(Chorus)
There’s alligators in the water
And the boat has all but sunk
Now your clothes are not your own
Clothes are not your own
There’s alligators in the water
And the boat has all but sunk
Now your clothes are not your own
Clothes are not your own
(Verse 1)
Young man you must do want your mother says
Don’t tear another good woman apart
Hang your coat on the hook on the back of the door
Don’t hid in the corner, Poets are dead
(Chorus)
(Verse 2)
You heard that song she’s loves about the young girl and the gun
But it don’t sound the same anymore
You were on your own
Now it reads just like a book
Nowhere feels like home
(Chorus)
(Outro)
Hang your coat on the hook on the back of the door
Don’t hide in the corner,
Poets are dead
Hang your coat on the hook on the back of the door
Don’t hide in the corner,
Poets are dead
Hang your coat on the hook on the back of the door
Don’t hide in the corner,
Poets are dead
Fade away
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18. |
The World Creaks
01:57
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The world creaks at night, there’s a longing, an aching.
Millions of people all within reach of another, but lonely, forgotten, unwanted.
A discarded shoe stuck in a storm drain,
the last Christmas tree on the lot,
a Coralla wanting for the compactor.
Maybe I’m wrong maybe it’s just me.
God knows, God doesn’t wanna hear my woes.
There’ll be better times ahead,
I hear hell’s nice this time of year.
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Bastien Keb Royal Leamington Spa, UK
Psychedelic, soulful, eerie, experimental, ambient and avant garde - experimental hip hop and soul music, all played live never any samples!
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