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  • Writer's pictureDominic Francis

Proposed Lyrics/Chords for Next Album

“Will you always love free?” the FatCat sighs. “For as long as I am me,” the Diplomat lies. His lit cigar is perched between her plump lips. But her eyes trump Evolution’s ancient script. “To being free,” the FatCat forcefully cries, unscrewing a bottle of red wine and chugging down half of it quick. “To being me,” the Diplomat replies, wondering why her lover’s breath smells of another’s laughter and shit. Now the FatCat and Diplomat jump asleep and dream they’re dreaming a nightmare no real God would allow. The gore of their innermost wars are no closer to omens of paradise than the pair’s premature vow. Now The Lollipop Lady distributes ice cream to her friends. She knows she’ll be repaid with salvation in the end. She exclusively speaks monosyllabic words such as ‘mend’. The Lollipop Lady is single and on that you can always depend. Inside the kitchen, the Chef swears in fluent French and it's easy to understand his preferred slurred phrase. The chef relishes isolated conditions and the way he seasons dead birds with curd is still absurd these days. Yes, God will be sole witness to the end like God was to the start, as Neptune's screams break the moon’s heart. Let epiphanies the force of a hundred horses divorce Art from such omens of paradise that the government farts. A broody guest has a proposition the manager won’t resist. The hot concierge knows that the manager don’t exist. “Where is the manager of this hotel?” asks the broody guest. “He’s in hell,” says the hot concierge, looking her metrosexual best. Inside the Great Hall, Brian The Actor finishes his cleaning shift and smiles a beguiling alcoholic grin. Brian’s manager spread a rumour that he slept with Britney Spears to catalyse a career that’s yet to begin. Now the Owner patronizes his home-grown mosquito factory and contemplates other machines of spiritual slaughter. Feel the heat of a virgin eternity & see my Father become me as these omens of paradise emerge like wine out of water. People often come up to me on the street & say, “Hey, how does Walking Doctor Tonnan sing so sweet?” I tell them it’s because he sings even when he speaks and he was born on February 13th, the same day and month that Jimi Hendrix entered this world. 13 is Walking Doctor Tonnan’s lucky number. 13 is also my friend Madeleine’s lucky number, because she’s kissed that many boys. Because I am straight, I’ve only kissed three, but one of the boys I’ve kissed is Jacob Epstein. I live with a tall bearded Scottish man who is also named Jacob. He knocked on my door yesterday and asked me if I could play guitar quieter. I agreed and asked if he liked my music. You’re a fucking virtuoso, he said without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I replied that my music sounds especially good when you haven’t heard any other music for a while. Of course it does, he replied, you’re a fucking virtuoso. When he left I looked up the definition of ‘virtuoso’. I didn’t think I was a virtuoso, but I can play guitar better than most people. I recounted this anecdote to my Aunt and she said that I should be smart enough to determine whether Jacob was joking or not. Of course I am, I replied, I’m a fucking virtuoso. Without any further shenanigans, here is the real Walking Doctor Tonnan singing a coquettish tune named after his favourite snack, Oreos, in his exclusive private home studio which doubles as a bathroom.


We were sitting desolate and confused I was your friend, you were my muse We were young and easily amused You offered me a cigarette but I refused We talked so long even the yellow nightingales hit the sack I was thrilled to learn that you were a fellow pyromaniac I told you about the mind of reality that I kind of seemed to lack If my soul was blind, yours was a dream or a Jonestown track Like a brave coward I expected my defeat But maybe I wasn't looking to compete I knew that the past couldn't ever repeat Yet I needed something to feel complete You introduced me to her for the first time On the bridge that links North and South I immediately thought that she was sublime She immediately wanted to meet my mouth... And so I couldn't help thinking of her as our lips met- What exactly she was doing at this point; Yet I felt something in my jeans and it wasn't regret- After all she was just rolling a joint. Together we watched the moon wake the stars in the sky. I fell so far into the moment I soon forgot that I was shy. “I don’t need you and you don’t need me,” you accidentally lied. “I guess that makes us both almost free,” I sentimentally replied. In my eyes your spirit was swinging as a happening jazz band. The adder was your tight, the laddered night yet unmanned. Your truth was as beautiful as love yet solipsistic as the sand. I held our stalemate in my hands, then you exploded wonderland. The drives outlining my love for you will forever rest in peace online. You’re just like everyone I ever knew, so animated and ‘not mine’. Though much time is past, cheers for buying me Scottish wine. I'm not sure that you like rhyme, but here lies my heart in every line. She comes back to me one morning, And the years fall down our cheeks. She shows me what it means to love And no one needs to speak... The man and woman are the mystery, Yet my night is light as day at last. I may kneel before your god of war, But I won’t thank him for the past.


G Em Am D x 2

F C G F x 2 D Am Em G

With the undead diary of your times at the Priory unread by another,

With an imperfect lover in one hole and your soul stashed in the other, With our deceased mothers released into a domain we’ve yet to discover, With your yeast and mini feasts and dreams I never seemed to uncover…

Isabel, you put a spell on my heart below.

Well, I fell for you at the start, at ‘hello’.

With Time as a tailor or grumpy sailor or as a mint made of McFlurry, With your impossible Presidential hope which you abandoned in a hurry,

With your random multitude of moods and professional baking worries, With your accidental rude and secret rain and tasty vegetable curries,

Well, Isabel, I hope you will be my friend until we die. I fell for you again at the end when we said ‘goodbye’.

Though I know how much Nothing kicks now as Everything quickly plateaus,

You forgave the way I stayed in yesterday so I could touch the Grave of Shadows; They shaved my hair there, where I said a prayer for the dead in mad clothes,

And you gave me a blue rose to save me from a new doze of sad lows…

Well, Isabel, you put a spell on my heart below. I fell for you again when we parted, you know.

But without God as a witness, and “it wasn’t me!” & “it’s not your fault!”,

I cried for the Rainbow’s End as you penned a war against what I exalt; It’s almost as if you forgot that clothes are but the ghost of society’s default, As our hearts’ seams wake to make love to the dreams which slowly halt. Well, Isabel, I hope you will be my friend until we die. I fell for you again at the end when we said ‘goodbye’.


D Am Em G

C Am

I saw a zoo full of naked horseshoes. I saw a statue so sacred I snoozed. I saw an inflated cow moo the news. I wanted absolutely anything but the now. Yet the now is all I’ve got to lose somehow. It was all alright when I had your vow.

Well, Isabel, you put a spell on my art below. I fell for your heart at the start before ‘hello’.

I see girls and boys and women and men.

I see an old world become young again.

I see a human bomb count back from ten.

I feel a screaming soul drum upon my dream.

I become the condom deep inside infinity’s stream.

Everything seems to ride upon Nothing’s moonbeam.

Well, Isabel, I hope you will be my friend after we two die. If there’s no hell below us, is there laughter in the blue sky?

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