Tom Hamill

Tom Hamill

gWBush Lunaire

Prairie Moon Moon of flat ambiance, Like a brain shined down. Mad critters in its beam: They love its fugitive glow ! To show my feeling, I fritter in ’n ’ out of its ward Moon of flat ambiance, Like a brain shined down. I will make plans with this satellite, Make it my point of demented relay. From my base station here in Flatbeam I will broadcast the burnt-up flora. Moon of flat ambiance ! Roman Conquest Potomac was a Rubicon, Chariots of Media took me there. In the suspect woods of the columns, A horse is a horse of course. I seen it I come on down I conquered. Not as Caesar, but in the manor of marionette. Potomac was a Rubicon, Chariots of Media took me there. We have brought order to Babelbrook Simple puppet pleasures like a moon dance. Trumpets and sandals and twang, Laurels of Lassos, Potomac was a Rubicon. BBQ Fry ’em Hang ’em Smoke ’em out, I gave the orders to the Moon. It relayed back beamcasts, I should obey its fiery requests. Immolate reason with white Orbs, Pepper Flambé ripe vocabularies. Fry ’em Hang ’em Smoke ’em out, I gave the orders to the Moon. Trucks fill with deserts, I play my incessant trampoline I aim Lunar Buddy in a snap, Light the long match of gypsy savannas. Fry ’em Hang ’em Smoke ’em out. Lunar Serenade Soft marks on th’ shiny surface, Mar Tranquilem, Mar Somniferum I would bathe in nuclear earth-glow, If only m’self could reach holy satellite. I stand as tall as y’all On the lonely crumple watchtower. Soft marks on th’ shiny surface, Mar Tranquilem, Mar Somniferum. Little doll, try to howl, Oh, the sunken depression. Madness squirts from bent frustration, M’self can’t land on its terra sancta. Soft marks on th’ shiny surface! Amerika Spitting m’self in charge, Evil-doers make me evil. Patterns of broadband banners, I shriek the fabric on news. Round up for Moon men, Moon rules apply in retrograde. Spiting m’self in charge, Evil-doers make me evil. Lined up in pagan trajectory, M’self charged it forth. Amerika, great lunar fashion, Sprang-up banners around the flats. Spitting m’self in charge ! Puppet Arisen Born-again to the golf god, Where he deals me well. Eyes on pyramids, Builders brokers, Sun Ra. Ra shines, but I want moon. I want moon links prairies. Born-again to the golf god, Where he deals me well. Moon, stammer beams. Drench the Ra beam with mystery. M’self want 36 holes under you, Water hazards glimmering in thy holiness. Born-again to the golf god ! Chnai Jhambi Chnai Jhambi, gravity beast. It shadows my moon-plays. In the sweaty silence of worship, An enigma juggernaut. Labyrinthine concerns sewn lips. Oily palms, fat polystyrene head. Chnai Jhambi, gravity beast. It shadows my moon-plays. When the festival parade instantiates, Big-Time head rises from blood celebrants. The Puppetmaster bobbles along smirking, recasting my private moon-scores. Chnai Jhambi, gravity beast ! Chanson Terrible I dream a Theatre of Beards, Masquerade demons with scratchy plots. Pointed accusations puff my temples, The color codes film provocations. Film Verité rattles from Media, Salt and Glass chokes my babbles. I dream a Theatre of Beards, Masquerade demons with scratchy plots. On my beloved Moon-Flats, I long for the shaved and upright. Moon men who see clearly moon, Good moon, clean moon, honest moon. I dream a Theatre of Beards ! Rhumba Loca Rhumba Loca, steam-engine king. Dance of alligator shoes and precipices. Charges and rockets come from his trousers, Media spurts with his moves. In back rooms, smiling jungle fauna Coo-coo and hiss to his shakes. Rhumba Loca, steam-engine king. Dance of alligator shoes and precipices. Caves rustle in his world. Every risen moon is harvested for grim. He terrifies mine own puppet, I feel moon-glow is upstaged. Rhumba Loca, steam engine king !