Good evening.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Splendid!

Sitting comfortably is not recommended.

This record was intended to be listened to while performing a headstand, on your back
lawn, on a sunny day - thus creating the illusion that you are about to fall up.

Viewers are advised that the following program contains measles, sub-zero temperatures,
submarines, giantesses, the complete extinction of humanity as individuals, fish, cats,
hedgehogs, horses, acrophobia, impossible angles, one abstract noun, character
assassination and zeppelins. Regrettably, no owls will appear in this broadcast.

There will be a short intermission later in the program, but until then, I'm Thomas
Bullock, and this is Awesome Meat Grenade with The Seventy-Foot Titanium Overture.
Thank you.

The wind has little spots today
They're red and paper-thin
They're landing on the motorway
And in the litter bins
And Mama, I want to catch the falling measles
and let them decorate my skin

And Mama pokes her head around the kitchen door
Says "Oh, be careful, dear, I've never heard of that before"
She's like a paper goddess, her pages disarranged and ruffled
as she questions me

(Chorus)
"Does it fall, or does it make you fall
Does it blister, does it stain
And will you be home from school
to tell me that your head feels terrible
or will you be too busy hanging on to life to remember to complain?"


The little spots might start to blow away
Just watch them dip and spin
They may not come another day
I've got to let them in
And Mama, why can't I lick the power sockets
or play with fire and parrafin?

And Mama says, an edge of panic in her voice
"Because it's dangerous, don't you have nicer toys?"
A frightened paper goddess
Even when I'm by myself
I still hear her asking me

(Chorus)

"I'm worried sick
Every single time you leave my sight to play
Will you come back at all
Or will you come back covered in bees again
like yesterday
I swear you'll keep this up until you're dead
or all my hair's completely grey"

The wind has little spots today
They're red and paper-thin
They could be a bio-weapon drop
Or petals in a hurricane
One day I guess I'll see it that way, Mama
One day I'll never ask again

Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Did her ballast tanks enfold you like a snare?
Will she let you out again, and when and where?
Tubes opened silently, like parasitic lungs
Without warning,
with subterfuge and loving care

Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Are you conflicted and uncertain how to feel?
Would you rather wrap yourself around a baby seal?
Lost in sombre steel and anechoic tiles
Do you miss the warmth
A little paradox of ice

Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
The valves and bulkheads leave no way to disembark
from the behemoth sinking sideways through the dark
The lights have all gone out, the shortest fuse has blown
And all you hear is sonar now
A bitter, sterile tone

Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
Hey there, Arctic Ocean
Are you trapped in a submarine?
The conning tower tolls the era's dismal peals
Twenty stars in boxes and two stars in hampster-wheels
Ocean, please forgive
Your new foul-weather friend
She'll let you out again
Soon as she's ordered to ascend

Now the Armed Offenders unit
are securing the perimeter
People scrambling through it
just to get a better look at her

A looming silhouette
Clothed in vapour and debris
Shadows on the harbour
Shockwaves flitting out to sea
Destroying buildings without malice
Clumsy, unfamiliar limbs

(Chorus)
Colossette, colossette, forgive us
Colossette, colossette, forgive us

The research lab they grew her in
exploded so dramatically
She's absorbing her surroundings now
augmenting her anatomy

A terrible scale mismatch
She came out at the wrong size
But still so beautiful
I'm lost in her eyes
They've already swallowed up the cricket pitch
and half the neighbours' porch

(Chorus)

A panicked artillery order was misheard
and she was stormed with shot and shell
But the bullets did no lasting harm
Each cost her a single cell

And when the firing ended
she succumbed to her own weight
Knelt down in the Industrial District
By a pile of super phosphate
Laid her head down on it
and went to sleep

(Chorus)

And there were searchlights, naval star shells
and fire sirens the whole god-damn night
And she was puzzled by it all
I heard her crying out in fright
And I fretted on my balcony
Praying that she wouldn't slip and fall
And break something irreparable
We were responsible for her plight

Next morning, they had cordoned off the damaged sites
The dust-choked air was deathly calm
The footprints were all covered up with canvas sheets
There were more troops than in Vietnam

And there's a tract of land about sixty Ks northwest of here
where the hillsides were too steep to farm

And there, along the wooded skyline
When the sun sets in the west
You may glimpse a towering outstretched hand
A vast and tattered gingham dress
Lying on her back between the ridges
Smiling sadly at the clouds

(Chorus)

Colossette, colossette, forgive us
Colossette, colossette, forgave us

Your soul is like a mighty wall of fookin' massive bricks
Though some folk build 'em out of straw, and some build out of sticks
We seldom let intruders through, unless for love or money
For if we lose our walls, we will be liquefied and runny

They've got a plan to open up the plughole in your mind
To break us down, and make us one, and get us all combined
There'll be no hate, no suffering, no-one to break the law
Yeah, when they instrumentalise your face and drink it through a straw!

(Chorus)
And they're gonna make some orange juice, gonna make some orange juice
Gonna make some orange juice from all humanity
Gonna make some orange juice, gonna make some orange juice
Gonna make some orange juice from all humanity
Gonna make some orange juice, gonna make some orange juice
Gonna make some orange juice from all humanity
Gonna make some orange juice, gonna make some orange juice
Gonna make some orange juice from all humanity

My screams leap from the waters' edge and echo on the breeze
"This formless waste of human paste is lapping at my knees!"
My individuality feels mortally at peril
The panic in my reddened eyes grows primitive and feral

(Chorus)

Wait!

If there's one thing that can stop Human Instrumentality...
It's the ego of an obnoxious guitarist. !Silencio por el Solo!

Aaargh! Owwww! There's a hole in my solo!

Gonna make some orange juice, orange juice, orange juice
Gonna make some orange juice from all humanity

The passing fish
They scratch me with their fins
They don't do it on purpose
But it kinda stings
At least an octopus would be gentle
when it's killing my metaphor

Shrink says I should dream about women
But they can still breathe in air
It's just not alien enough
For me to bear
Ambivalence is weird like that
Ambivalence is weird like that

And the cats are so disdainful
whether pedigree or stray
They don't let me pet them
they always slink away
To think their private thoughts and dream their dreams and wash their hair again
and perhaps to think ill of me

Shrink says I should dream about women
But they're bipedal and they don't have tails at all
They're just far too much like me
To be believeable
Ambivalence is weird like that
Ambivalence is weird like that

I'd like to be
a gentleman at least
but I'm a bitter devil
in a docile beast
in a field of lady leopards
with sexy teeth
and I'm scared of being eaten
piece by piece
if hostilities don't cease

So perhaps it's like a hedgehog
who silently exists
in the constant isolation
of having lots of pointy bits
No-one hugs a hedgehog
They're scared of getting close
A nervous wave is all they give
or a cautious pat at most

Shrink says I should shut up about hedgehogs
Why can't you ever have a sexy dream
And give me something juicy to analyze
Some days you just make me wanna scream
Ambivalence is weird like that
Ambivalence is weird like that
Ambivalence is weird like that
Ambivalence is weird like that

Below a cliff, the world's so small
The patchwork insignificance
cotton clouds, like lint left on a carpet
The distance held you there, enthralled
Struck by the horrific sense
of gravity, your volition departed

And now your flight is taking off
the runway concrete slips away below
and your mind asks, what would come to pass
if the engines gave a grating cough
and cut out? Would the plane begin to slow
and would we fall, and how long would it last?

And just outside the window,
the drop is sitting waiting for you,
smiling a thirty-five thousand foot smile

(Chorus)
Scream (you wanted this)
Your visceral panic
Don't let gravity's love for you go unrequited
Your fear (you wanted this) makes you so
aerodynamic
There's no harm in admitting you're excited

The goddamn window's double-glazed
You soon realise it's elbow-proof
Now where could that emergency exit be?
The stewardess's eyebrows raised
The breathing-masks start falling from the roof
The slipstream draws you into ecstasy

There is no waking up
before you hit the bottom of the well
But you're not dying in your sleep

(Chorus)

In this brief interlude from the featured program, you may wish to leave temporarily
and consume refreshments, plug your ears with kittens, or compose a letter of
complaint. In the meantime, we now feature a selection of uncomfortable noises
performed by the Ipswich Cathedral Huge Mechanical Ladies' Choir, who recorded
the backing vocals for much of this album.

(Hideous noises)

And thank you to the huge mechanical ladies of Ipswich Cathedral. We now return to
our featured program.

He's cruising 'cross the meadow at 500 miles an hour
He's Rocket Horse!
Rocking by so fast that he's kickin' up the flowers
He's Rocket Horse!
Look at him speed by with his super speed
Rocket Horse is one bitchin' steed
He's Rocket Horse!

He gets 9000 kilometers to the litre
He can outrun a hawk, he can ambush a cheetah
His perfect body knows no whip or spur
He can cross the world faster than a file transfer
He's Rocket Horse! Urgh!

He entered a contest to see who was fast
He circled the earth, so they though he came last
The video footage put the losers to shame
He'd been to Australia, Japan and then Spain
He's Rocket Horse!
Hell yes! He definitely is!

And now, for your listening pleasure: a British person!

The Soviets captured Rocket Horse in 1965
He had two Sukhoi turbojets implanted in his sides
And finally construction ended, and the work was done (Hurgh!)
They tested him in Kazakhstan in 1971
And as the tanks came thund'ring forth, in ugly shades of brown
A fateful shard of shrapnel disengaged his HypnoCrown (Twang!)
He looked upon the battlefield, with self-aware distaste
Through equine eyes he saw the truth
And with just one blow of his hoof
He blasted them all into space

He's like a raging fire that shall never die
He's Rocket Horse!
A thunderous whinney is his battle cry
He's Rocket Horse!
His turbo dad and his nitro mum
They sure made one bitching son
And his name is Rocket Horse! Yeah!

Non-Euclidean geometry
Things aren't where they're meant to be
What was convex is now concave
It's getting kind of hard to shave
And soon it might be getting hard to see

One day up in the mountains, roamin' free
I saw some non-Euclidian geometry
I dropped my sandwich off a cliff
and by a strange perspective shift
It looped around and flew right back to me

The global scientific community
all seized on this unique discovery
And they brightened dreary office teas
And proved some wild hypotheses
with non-Euclidian geometry

Magicians voiced their interest instantly
It would be quite impressive, they agree
To appear at once both thin and stout
Or turn white rabbits inside-out
With non-Euclidian geometry

But talk soon turned to matters military
And of international security
And as they watched the films of nameless things
the generals asked their underlings
"Could this be used against an enemy?"

But before anything really bad could happen -

In a most imposing new art gallery
that rose out of the sea quite recently
There's halls of fluctuatin' size
where we will all lie mesmerized
by non-Euclidian geometry
Hoi!

Oh, simplicity
Won't you come back to me
And I'll admit that I miss you
Never mind what they taught me
Who shall I describe all my bliss to
If not to your grave smile
Your phlegmatic handwriting
Stay with me for a while, simplicity
You don't kill me with style

Oh, simplicity
Won't you come back to me
And I'll tell you how much I need you
Never mind all they taught me
I still need something to breathe through
And I can't breathe this air
And you know that it's stifling
Just tell me you're there, simplicity
Just whisper a prayer

Oh, simplicity
Won't you come back to me
To the dry, jaded youth you once spoke to
And to hell with the details
I've waited too long just to stroke you
and to hear your heart beating
In four-four and three-four and lightning
And it makes me complete, simplicity
Let it beat on unceasing

You were half-way through your theme-song when your eyes went wide and vacuous
The hole in your lung made your next note way out of key
You stood standing, choking softly, and turned your back to us
Then you crumpled up and fell forward so clumsily

We rushed in with our dictaphones to record your final speech
But you fled your shell without a single memorable line
How we begged you for a comment, but you weren't there to beseech
And our popularity began to seriously decline

So farewell to all your scripted quirks, and your irritating charm
The dialogue our viewers either loved or couldn't stand
Farewell to merchandising, and something else we can't define
Your credits are rolling so much sooner than we planned

They grow
From little blimps
Into dirigibles
Their skeletons harden into chrome
I sew
their damaged fins
Make them eat their vegetables
My garden is their home

They nest
in tidy rows
under rocky overhangs
it looks like a cluster-bomb gone to seed
it's best
to see them when
I rattle the petrol-cans
and they come swarming out to feed

Now the lake
begins to freeze
the air is bright and cold 
and the youngest ones aren't thick-skinned
they make
their farewell pleasantries
and then in thousandfold
they rise into the wind

(Chorus)
And fly
South for the winter
A thousand formations
blot out the timid Arctic sun
And I
will go from my window
out to the garden
to see the zeppelin migration
My winter has begun

They swim through the troposphere 
Through vapour and ice to a fast-moving layer of air
Gas cells expanding at every thermocline
as they ascend the invisible stair
Dreaming of water that gleams in the sunlight
And petrol-fish wriggling in polished aluminum claws
And some will return to me when it gets warmer
and others, perhaps, will be caught up and lost in the wars

(Chorus)

Awesome Meat Grenade - Flies South
All music and lyrics (c) 2007-2008 Thomas Bullock, except Track 09 (c) 2008 Matthew Wills
and Thomas Bullock. All rights reserved.

Personnel
Thomas Bullock: All instruments, vocals, samples, programming, mixing, album art
Matthew Wills: Vocals on Track 09, album art design
Matthew Bentley: Production, engineering, procuring of gear, consultancy, CD duplication
and printing, generally knowing the ropes

This album was recorded in a freakin' bedroom, so many thanks to Julian Storer for making
Tracktion, the most bedroom-friendly audio interface I've ever worked with. Thanks also
to the folks at SimulAnalog for making a staggeringly brilliant set of free amp sims.

Special thanks to my flatmates for putting up with hearing the album over and over again
while I was mixing it, to my family for saying nice things about it when I played it at
them over and over again, and to Mike Becher for the zeppelin/duck idea.

The sages told, in days of old
All that glitters is not gold
But all that glitters is shiny

It's been here all along, my friend
It causes iron wills to bend
A force that no mere man can comprehend
We call it "shiny"
On days of work and ceaseless toil
No loss of appetite can spoil
a tasty kitten wrapped in aliminium foil
Mmm, shiny

Magpies and small children, I have found
will pick up bottlecaps off the ground
and treat it like a shilling or a pound,
if it's shiny
Perhaps wiser than us "grown-up" fools
who scrabble after more expensive jewels
They say that most of Satan's tools
are pretty shiny

You see the light of an approaching train
You will suffer enormous pain
But the light at the end of the tunnel is shiny

Of mortal dangers, there are a multitude
and shiny objects these include
For instance, angry robots in the nude
are shiny
A shrapnel mine concealed in a wall
A ninja star, a wrecking ball
These things aren't very nice at all
But they're shiny

The razor's glint, the needle's gleam
They brighten many a sparkly sadist's dream
I think, if you solidified a scream
it would be shiny
So when eating glass, or peacock plume
beware of how much you consume
Much joy, and yet much messy doom
is wrought by shiny

Your mum is shiny!
Oh yeah? Well, your face is shiny!

From bomb disposal work, hot babes and burning toast
They will distract us
They will distract us

Some things emit their own light when it's dark
On tales of them I could embark
A flame, a glow, a loom, even a spark
Pretty shiny
But these little ligths are soon surpassed
by phosphorus grenade and A-bomb blast
When Armaggeddon thunders down at last
I bet it will be shiny
I bet it will be shiny

I wish someone would buy me
a hurricane for Christmas
a natural malevolence
of freezing rain and hail
I don't care if it's gift-wrapped
or even if it's housetrained
I just want the proverbial one
with the waggly tail


I want to go outside and find
a scruffy second-hand typhoon
to batter at my cowering frame
and rend and soak my clothes
I could walk at forty-five degrees
if I had a wall of wind
to argue with each forward step
to force back and oppose

On the day that I was born
They placed a bomb inside my chest
And told me I'd never rest 'till it was blown
On the day that I was born
They bandaged me with cotton fear
And told me it would never come unsewn

I wish someone would buy me
a hurricane for Christmas
to shatter all my windows
so they can never be closed

I simply adore girls with no limbs
Supply me with a store of girls with no limbs
I'll lavish them with bandages and antiseptic cream
But their lack of appendages is my own dearest dream
That's why I'll never get bored of girls with no limbs

I've lied, cheated and stole for a girl with no limbs
I could hide my malnourished soul for a girl with no limbs
I'd feed her these destructive seeds, I'd hold, caress and pet her
A friend in need's a friend indeed, an amputee is better
Besides, you have so much control over girls with no limbs

Well, she's the kind of girl I could never abandon
She's mostly armless, and she hasn't a leg to stand on
But over every hill and every barrier
I will carry her

I pray that I will find a girl with no limbs
Please convey all my thoughts of this kind to a girl with no limbs
With love and care and mind control I will anaethsetize
The sweet bewildered grievances that ache beneath her eyes
And one day, perhaps she won't mind being a girl with no limbs

Awesome Meat Grenade - The Armaggeddon '07 EP
All music and lyrics (c) 2006-2007 Thomas Bullock, except Track 04 (c) 1996 Junichi Masuda.

Personnel
Thomas Bullock: All instruments, vocals, samples, programming, mixing, album art
Matthew Bentley: Production, engineering, procuring of gear, consultancy, reassuring hugs

Thanks to everyone who listened to it, whether you bought it or not.

Chester, the child molester
Must confess to you and me
That he's not really a child molester
'Cause he waits 'till they're eighteen

Chester, the mmmmmolester
Must confess to you and me
That he's not really a molester
He took her to dinner, and then he kissed her on the cheek

Chester, the frequent confessor
must confess to you and me
That he's really a Professor
with a biology PhD

Chester, the Professor
must profess to you and me
His name is Lester, not really Chester
How much of a liar can you be?

Lester, who wasn't really Chester
must express-a apology
He's not the best-a kind of jester
But he thought it was funny

Ah, Professore! Show us your PhD in squeaky noises!

Just your average fast-food guy, who barely ever shaved
Your rich uncle who fell down the stairs left you all he'd saved
You got yourself a million bucks, and hired on a crew
But all of them are crazy
And mostly trying to kill you

Six bullets to a cylinder, six shots from shining gun
You'd better run like cra-a-zy, unless you've taken one
Fighting crime or fighting grime, a blast will always do
Chandeliers and house supports
are raining down on you

Gun Butler!

The aging potential ripens a fruit
A provoking refund snatches the life
How can a meteor aim for the sun?
It already burns
Lens flare

A passionate mob, a silent graveyard
Superheroes jumping over cacti
The degenerate lies under plastic
While a snake looks for its wallet
Lens flare
Hexagon

Circling the sun with passionate silence
A spark of the heart which swallows the moon
A sheltered mouse finds no food
But a dead rat has had its fill
Lens flare
Pro-wrestling
A dollar you found in a cheesecake

And then as I climbed to the top of that snowy mountain
and looked out into that dark void
I asked the gods : "Give unto me the light! I must see!"
And there, from the parting clouds, came the Lens Flare
and it was pretty shiny

The raging boat-rental frightens a flute
A holy pelican scratches your wife
How can a handless mime aim with a gun?
Sit and learn the ways of
Lens flare

An intricate snob, a violent guitar
Ubervillians leaping backwards through time
The conglomerate dies, how fantastic
While his cake sits in your pocket
Lens flare
Estrogen

Smirking at fun with horrible distaste
I laugh at your art, which crushes your soul
The effeminate vampire rides a tricycle
He's peddling frantically
Lens flare
Lamington
Left-left-right-up-level-select

His ally starves inside a relationship
The president accidentally spits on the baby
The carbon coasts
The burnt toast
A youth group grope a panda

A nun groans near her accountant
The aggressive cousin busts an Irish lip
The soap mutters
Depressing pair of pants
Bubbles are assaulted by gravity

A syndicate thinks about smashing a pie
The fat kid indulges on the horrified tube
This lunchtime is over
The shareholder injures a cat
But it is already too late
for tofu

Collaborations with Murk
Lyrics, vocals: Matthew Wills
Music, minor lyrical interjections, vocals, guitars, synth programming: Thomas Bullock
Special thanks: to the internet for being stoopid.