Vuxola (2013)

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it repealed prohibition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