Q Songtext
von Jam Baxter

The end of the end blues ran deep in their trembling flesh and their fresh wounds
I slept in the queue extending in red plumes coiled round a rock restless
Lepers in lead shoes in single file silence
The slug trail marches
Craning necks stretch into rams horn branches arching round shoulders
Eyes on stalks snake round the stick figures on their white hot forks
Fog falling
Vendors in the distance, flogging sugar eyelids, peddling religions
Penny for a lost day, seven for a sixpence
A cavalcade of kings and their devilish afflictions, hold line
One whisper tore through the doors yet again And soared high above the rest for a second
Like a feathered friend shifting and burning in a simultaneous flash
Charred beak quivers as it hits the glacial mass
Old hag sobbing into wine glass
Dried bark smoulders in an old man′s pipe as the skies part
Lines start moving in their multi-coloured comet trails
Dogged pale ink blots choking on their patience
I tried to hold the vomit in my mouth I promise
And when my cheeks burst I felled a whole forest, honest
Push past them cut them and collide
'Cos I dreamt of a fuckable stack of stunners on the other side


Snakeskin paths in the dust
Following the cracks in the caramel crust
Please save my place
White lights whirling in the brain
That led a tiny clown through a dying giant′s veins
Please save my place
So calling all mugs mice masters and mules
Cloud chewing hogs huge mutants and ghouls
Please queue here
Either that's a glace cherry on his chest
Or the snipers had him locked in his crosshairs forever
Let me guess
Queue here
JAM BAXTER
"We will now serve civilian a trillion and four and snip the instrument for insolence positioned in his jaws"
Yelled a smug steward chewing on his tenth peppered steak
Cold hands rubbing at his wet lettuce face
Step forth, the doors dissolved just for him
Ushered into black clouds painting silver skulls on his supple skin
Muffling the wolf whistles streaming from beneath
That used to form an iron shell around his featureless physique
Now, his flesh slipped off him
To reveal his bones had grown mouths of their own to scream freedom for once
And each muscle slid into the sky dripping sweetened blood
Melting through the icy floor slipping on a sea of slush
Beating heart pukes a new gospel in a stubborn gut takes a bow and crumbles in a puff of dust
A short fat cripple caught his eyes in a rusty jug
Inflating them to twin suns burning brightly up above
Lips stretched into plush red carpets
Unfurling further, phlegm forms the varnish
Every brain cell swanning out into the carnage to pause for the cameras flashing
Every pattern matching
Mind splattering an intricate design on every grinning speck of space spread in infinite supply
Nothing left but a grain of salt shrinking in the sky
We will now serve civilian a trillion and five