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We went to the bottom of the ocean

by The Sound of The Ladies

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1.
What we did with our lives When every meal was a banquet I was woken by the sound of the ladies Riding into town, trying to be mysterious I'm trying to be mysterious but we both know I'll spend all day in the heat Rifle in lap Waiting for baby mouses to poke their heads out in the sun 'Till they return with the loot This is what we called fun when every meal was a banquet What we did with our lives When each mistake was a given I was woken by the sound of the ladies Rousing around me Fracture lines forming but hidden When each mistake was a given What we did with our lives Every opportunity missed I was woken by the sound of the ladies They threw their clothes to the ground And their hands in the air Summer dresses unnecessary, and I didn't care To open the blinds, no, my thoughts were elsewhere With the girls who'd withdrawn in contempt and despair And those scattered sweethearts still craving my kiss Every action was a misstep Every opportunity missed Should have gone to Cambridge and been recruited as a spy Should have hung around the Circus, telling tales of creatures the carnies described Like, "There was a man in antiquity With one million heads and one million hands And he weeps for all the things he will never be From his two million eyes, and his tears make the sea And they keep him around so that children will see him and say, 'This is what he did with his life. This is what he did with his life'" This is what we did with our lives
2.
We went to the bottom of the ocean To dredge the sand for the plankton Which is the cure for male erectile dysfunction And they gave me a tiny submarine With a plough on the front It looked just like Thunderbird 4 - only not as good And if I’m lucky then I’ll die inside this artificial mollusc With ten thousand pounds in the bank And if I’m lucky I won’t see the cracks that are snaking through the glass Like an underwater spider’s web, they’ll be covered by the peak of my recently acquired submarine captain’s hat And if I’m lucky then my widow will be twice as proud of me Than if my life had carried on the way it was panning out to be: Cabin-boy, Captain, Commodore, and finally the man Sending greedy sailors down in aluminium cans To be swallowed by a giant squid Swallowed by the dread abyss Swallowed up in deepest blue An insect in a child’s hands And eulogizing empty, once again my words would say: "He died at the bottom of the ocean Dredging the sand for the plankton Which is the cure for male erectile dysfunction"
3.
I woke up, one arm still asleep They found a body up on Arbroath beach Seaweed sash all around it Now it's all they can do not to shout about it They'll be a plaque A municipal award From the bowels of the institution For how close their storyboard Is to the final execution So I'll make a start if you get it out I've a few ideas; how does this sound: So let's say crooked militiamen Were paid by local fishermen To catch the poachers on their patch And shoot the pirates BANG! They said there were signs of fire, fire They said the beach was covered in shells From the guns from an army from the south sea isles Sighted from the docks Or jaws and tentacles dragged down A tourist in a lonely town Too close to hungry waters Chewing on the chalky rocks Got drunk, fell off an oil rig Major Mincemeat's damp but daring diversion A rambler turned their ankle on a clifftop path A mafia hit on an innocent person
4.
You came in my window You midnight accost You rattled and rumbled, roared “One day you’ll lose her” It shook from my lungs a bubble of purest sorrow And up! went my dreams, up and were lost! You filled up my ears with your molasses Paraffin, saltpeter and phoenix’s ashes And a match struck out one - One struck to my cost And up! went my dreams, up and were lost! At two I awoke Eyes wide as the river Everything jewelled in an icicle sliver And I saw you there, lying sleeping and still And I closed the window to take off the chill Our warmth turned to steam the last of the frost And up! went my fears, up and were lost!
5.
Hydra wash up on the beach A fire will rise on its demise Right before our slurping eyes This monster into morsels slice We let the flame invade Great gleaming gobs of fish-fat fell To coat our modish hairstyles well In a submarine pomade And like a wildcat geyser From the belly of the beast Burst an oily liquor Blotting out the summer sun The fiery pitch had burned us all It works its magic where it falls And turned us into demon's thralls Every single one Those who observed their neighbours Believed they were in hell And fought in terror to escape With brands, and rocks, and fishing knives Then we heard the gunshots coming from the town: Soldiers seeing evil's march and fighting for their lives And I fled madly to the sea And many fellows followed me And drowned amid the breakers Far beyond my reach The water closed above my head To smother back that evil scene Its mercy dragged me far away and left me on a distant beach It took me many hours to stumble to spot I'd started on Where the sea had washed away the dead Every single one Where the sea had washed away the dead Every corpse but one
6.
What do we do when the bank burns down All of our money carried up in a cloud? What do we do when the sterling smoke Covers all our babies’ clothes? When the air’s so thick and ashen We can’t see to stoke the fire We’ll take our many feet To the Grand Old City Bank And tramp around the embers And take our warmth from that What do we do when the sunrise comes In the middle of the afternoon And it starts raining cats and dogs And all the people that we knew? When waterfalls appear to fill the bowl where once the city stood Sweeping up the mothers and the children from the neighbourhood We’ll do what we have always done We’ll hold on by our nails Like poppies in fresh furrowed ground And then recount the tales What do we do when the tv stutters? What do we do when the candle gutters? What do we do when the premier utters words of looming fall? We’ll do what we have always done Take our comfort in the one Thing that gives us comfort In this carnival What do we do when the soil has settled? What do we do when it all gets better? Will we only have the weather in common to complain about? What will we do when we hear our voice? Will we recognise the noise, or clamp our hands in horror over our distended mouths?
7.
Dear Reader, If this letter's travelled unperturbed to reach your hands then my tentative footfalls strike the flooded lands - but if my hands punches the air, it's to break the seal of foam on this stormy world, and if I'm standing tall, it's to suck a final breath from a broken lightbulb. That's how I'll get sustenance for my journey forth to the islands of Snowdonia, far off to the north. In a land forgot and sodden I sat waiting for the other shoe to fall - behind the setting sun, it's truth is nothing but a fireball. What chance has filled these lungs with the clammy breath of life picked this pair from plenty more deserving, then deserted me - leaving me with bellows to fill up all the stars. But at the highest point I can bellow all I like - and maybe we can start (after the fashion of our time). But on the ocean floor, I can hear another call, and it isn't one of mine. It isn't one of man - and it isn't one of mine.
8.
I walk around between elation and privation And if I keep my station the mud would hold me down They're predicting rain, and fire And an army from the south But all I see's the clouds around my mouth And flecks of blood in endless mire Last night I thought I heard the sounds of violence drifting over on the taught and frozen air Then it left us to our loneliness, our hunger, our despair And the next day no-one spoke, no-one said a word We're expecting rain, and fire And an army from the south But all I see's the flecks of blood around my mouth And rolling clouds on endless mire I walk around between elation and privation And if I keep my station I could camp here on the ground
9.
It looks like a city, but it’s just the usual suspects Dragging everybody ‘round Running in a circle to look more like a crowd Cousins, aunts and uncles lining up by the parade ground We’re sat on the top step of the stoop At the start of the slums and the shanty towns The landlord is here shouting everybody down Bring your brothers and your sisters and we’ll pack this place out Jukebox joints and G.I. jive It’s a wonder anybody thinks the ‘40s ever died Here and now, I’ll say it: “There’s not a single competition not arbitrary or pointless” I’m the best at running twenty-seven metres with my left foot in a shoe one size too large I’m the best at loving I’m the best at guessing I’m the best at singing I’m the best at the guitar I grew a beard to protect myself From the unwanted attention of beautiful women So far it’s shown only adequate success But I’m hoping for improvement as I trim it less and less Hail to the pedestrians! Martyr to their feet! Ploughing their tedious furrow They’ll never face struggles such as these They’ll never know such sorrow It looks like a city, but it’s just the usual suspects Dragging everybody ‘round Running in a circle to look more like a crowd Cousins, aunts and uncles lining up by the parade ground Jukebox joints and G.I. jive It’s a wonder anybody thinks the ‘40s ever died (Well, it looks like a city, but it’s just the usual suspects) Jukebox joints and G.I. jive It’s a wonder anybody thinks the ‘40s ever died
10.
You don’t have to look very hard to find people Who’ll tell you how you should be living So I’ll add my voice to the dischordant chorus Like chimney-smoke proudly uprising: Life is a dream from which we’ll all one day awake In a manner most likely abrupt And profoundly surprising So wash the sleep from my eyes, for one day I’ll have to awake And I think of those people who cut their own throats accidentally Catching their razors on moles or recalcitrant stubble They missed the chance to die older and lonelier eventually And to think there are those who say life’s but a pitiless struggle So wash the sleep from my eyes, for one day I’ll have to awake This dream of a world wars, applauds mediocrity Lies and brutality Flight from reality Poets and people who speak rationality provide me a sliver of hope But you rain down your ribbons and furbelows On your dumbfounded progeny Who, if they wonder, lament the glacier holding them By their powder blue toes So wash the sleep from my eyes, for one day I’ll have to awake

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released August 11, 2010

Music by thesoundoftheladies (thesoundoftheladies.com) and art by Consumer Revolt (www.consumerrevolt.co.uk)

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The Sound of The Ladies London, UK

The Sound of The Ladies are the indie-schmindie alt. folk stylings of Martin Austwick, except live where it's him plus a bunch of cool musicians. He likes Tom Waits, Elliot Smith, and some other bands and solo musicians.

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