Vuxola (2013)

[bandcamp width=450 height=450 album=1079681695 size=large bgcol=333333 linkcol=e99708 minimal=true]

Vuxola is Poor Lily's second full-length, released in August 2013. Recorded and mixed at Exeter Recording in Freehold, N.J. by Joe Dell'Aquila. Mastered by Bill Henderson at Azimuth Recording.

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    birdbomb
    go on light the fuse
    let’s fly away
    we had ourselves a little massacre
    hope the children don’t know
    billy’s chirping like a protester
    he’s dead. so it goes.
    we had ourselves a little massacre
    birds talking, they don’t know
    billy’s hiding in a meat locker
    in his mind, this is home

    the days are not piano keys
    a piano fell on my brother’s head
    but it’s alright i don’t have a brother
    besides it makes me feel better
    knowing that the bastard’s dead
    now we’re saving all our pennies
    so we can buy into that discount cemetery
    it’s what my brother always wanted
    and then my family can finally breathe easy
    breathe easy
    the days are not piano keys
    they’re black and white
    some are lovely
    others feel like doom

    railroad spike
    i’m a railroad spike, i’m one of 9 zillion, i’m sitting but i can’t sit still
    i shake to the left and i wiggle to the right, i'm unbreakable, baby i'm steel
    wow! i'm the new frontier
    the original, ultra-pragmatical, the metal dildo of wagoneers
    dancing
    armed to the teeth
    i’m a railroad tie, i can explode mountains, i’m grounded way up in the air
    i munch on lightning it’s my fine dining, i carry you, i carry you, from here to there
    wow! the new frontier
    the abstract miniscule, transcontinential, handcuff for yawners and squares
    dead screen fill the landfills
    frozen images of junk food
    junk culture remains
    fixed as paintings
    rats scrambling, humans surrender
    injecting the culture of
    evasion and confrontation
    no one needs to come out anymore
    drones watching
    missiles firing
    guns blazing
    but i, i’ve got a
    railroad spike

    ego killed the dinosaurs
    was not a meteor
    or some disease
    spewin’ volcanoes
    a big ole freeze
    didn’t turn to birds
    or suicide
    wasn’t methane gas
    or alien genocide
    ego killed the dinosaurs
    was not an asteroid
    it wasn’t their weight
    it wasn’t a vengeful god
    it wasn’t fate
    we’re next

    slurping sludge
    detox! after this beer!
    make mistakes! amend, amend
    it repealed prohibition
    drink back to your boring days
    reflux! fuck this year
    celebrate embezzlement!
    we don’t need your permission
    cus if we fail, we can always print money
    i don’t need a bailout
    gimme a straw
    and i’ll learn to love
    relax! you’re kidding me
    with this commie bullshit
    trampling is part of bowling
    but so is rolling banker heads
    detox! grab me a beer!
    sell their farm! repent! repent!
    we don’t need no indictments
    but we sure could use la guillotine
    and i’ll learn to love
    slurping sludge
    detox! after this beer!
    celebrate!

    justice kennedy has a cold
    justice kennedy has a cold
    watch out, he’s highly contagious
    justice kennedy has a cold
    probably cus he’s got no clothes on under those robes
    he lost his voice
    so i lost mine
    we’re sick and nobody seems to know it
    united moving back in time
    anthony hit the mute button
    justice kennedy has a cold
    there’s a rumor that he’s not even a man
    justice kennedy has a bad cold
    check for something slimy under those robes
    a jellyfish
    has no backbone
    a jellyfish
    has no backbone
    we’re fish and nobody seems to know it
    united swimming back in time
    no man
    does this
    alone
    do not give rise
    it’s contagious
    do not give rise
    to corruption

    crunchy skulls
    rip the socials
    off their alters
    dip ’em in sugar
    crunchy skulls
    i wanna know is it gummy inside

    microwave
    my mind is outta style. doc, do what you gotta do.
    i say things like remember 1999, disintegrate those times
    my mind is out of style. doc, do what you gotta do.
    little ripples ripping up my insides, lobes and cords, power that shit high
    roast me sane in a cold calculated way. it’s science! i won’t complain
    heat up my brain
    with yer microwave
    and now the tv turns me on
    the tv turns me on
    the tv turns me off
    this is my generation

    injun killer
    she’s native and she’s always restless
    she collects ears, reads greek mythologies
    first kill at 12, still with her virginity
    her hair is red, white and blue
    she’s me and she looks an awful lot like you
    she’s an injun
    she’s an injun killer
    she murders her history with a tomahawk
    she murders her history with a tommy gun
    i love her to death and that’s the way she wants it
    i love her to death, but that's exactly the way she wants it

    green & radioactive
    we’ll scream and we bleed and we die and we fly and we’ll all become green and radioactive
    can you tell me what in the minds
    of the of the congregations of the important guys
    who sit at the boardroom tables making decision for us all?
    i propose that it's a party, a celebration of the end times
    where they orgasmically believe that the day will come
    when they are unchallenged
    do they bathe with these bombs?
    keep em shiny on their front lawns?
    have we enabled this behavior by buying into fear?
    arms race
    race war
    arms war
    i propose a counter party where we destroy what could destroy us
    like burning disco records except we would be sledgehammering bombs
    destroy with intent to rebuild
    i repeat, destroy with intent to rebuild
    we should destroy with intent to rebuild

    hooliganism
    nice pussy
    putin
    inventor of
    hooliganism

    the drunken mapmaker
    the drunk mapmaker
    draws paper towns
    his legends are legendary
    his waterways, world renowned
    he always knows where he stands
    and where to walk
    stocked up with ink and whiskey
    he wanders off
    he draws by fire
    so when he passes out
    his countries burn
    he drinks em down
    the drunken mapmaker
    is never lost

    hack magic
    i ain’t no hack you hack motherfucker
    are you sure? the queen of clubs?
    i ain’t no hack you hack motherfucker
    sure i lost a thousand rabbits or so
    i ain’t no hack, i’m just getting going
    those pretty ladies don’t wanna be whole

    puritan nation, baby
    it’s a puritan nation, baby baby please
    take off your dirty socks and sit down with me
    relax, you’re guilty, now you’re so unclean
    know that in this moment there are no hands of history
    i feel it
    i feel good
    just give me one hour to madness and joy
    there’s nothing wrong with well-timed exploding
    curse me once softly in my ear
    curse me twice just lot lot lot lot louder
    i feel it
    i feel good
    i feel dirty
    i feel clean
    i feel dirty
    i feel the clean
    still a puritan nation, baby!
    help me tear that apart
    still a puritan nation, baby!
    let’s tear that apart
    it’s a puritan nation
    baby, i'll tear you apart
    still a puritan nation, baby!
    let’s tear you apart

    dept. of killing me
    my neighbors
    they don’t complain
    my neighbors
    dig in
    department of transportation
    department of killing me
    department of transvestation
    department of transmutation
    department of killing me
    department of killing you
    department of killing me
    department of blues

    vending machine
    i dunno why we say we wouldn't wish it upon our enemies
    put yer currency in to burn get a dollar in return
    become modernized, your culture bastardized
    we'll make you look good on tv, change yer color change yer teeth
    vend our state
    of being, of mind
    learn to fuck the way we do and don't forget to film it too!
    junk food, punk food, our passé' styles, ten years later fill your aisles
    never mind the sick and old, stuff em in your nursing homes
    enjoy the fear and guilt and sin, you can't opt out, so just buy in!

    send in the drones
    when i was a kid i wanted a remote controlled plane
    all i got was this rubber band and balsa wood thing
    we don’t need a pilot
    send in the drones
    drones send in drones
    kids who got em are now all willfully employed
    as chairmen in the airforce who play war with toys
    blood is not a bother
    it’s war without the matter
    war without the matter

    crank radio
    i'm getting burned out listening to this
    shake it like your mother used to do
    dance like a drunk on a bender
    crank radio
    ill tell you what’s in the goddamm air tonight
    a thousand suicides in earplugs
    crank radio
    you want me to buy
    you wanna molest young minds
    you want me to buy
    i want to dance
    the last alive transmission
    is on its deathbed
    the last alive transmission
    is deader than dead

    hawkin’ jesus
    you pray church man don’t go insane
    you gotta stay rich
    rich son of a bitch
    who knocks?
    some lady
    hawkin’ jesus