Single- "Poison! Poison! Poison​!​"

by the Deadfly Ensemble

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about

Songs from the limited (333 copies) vinyl single!

credits

released March 1, 2014

"Poison! Poison! Poison!" music by James Rupert Powell, lyrics by Lucas Lanthier
"A Thrilling Tale Of Childhood" music by Steven James, lyrics by Lucas Lanthier
Both songs arranged, orchestrated and performed by the Deadfly Ensemble
Recorded and mixed by James Rupert Powell and Steven James

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all rights reserved
Track Name: Poison! Poison! Poison!
Poison! Poison! Poison!
lyrics by Lucas Lanthier

Dad:
"You break my things! I'll clip your wings! I'll quite enjoy your suffering!"

Child:
"I really wasn't trying to destroy your hob chain! All I wanted was, in fact, to lasso the water main!
And it was an accident that all your model ships disintegrated from a single circus flip."

Dad:
"You crushed my hat! Tore my cravat! It smells like sewage upon my spats!
I bring a curse down on your head! Yes, you are banished to the shed!"

Child:
"If you think that, stuck out here I'll pine and waste away and suffer, stamp my feet and gouge my eyes, then here's me laughing! Hahahahahahahahaha..."

Dad:
"So quiet! What's he up to, then? Idle hands!
Still locked... let's just have a look! He's... asleep?
Wait, no... Why did he drink from that??? And THAT????
Clearly, his lack of formal instruction prevented him from reading the label!!!
Poison! Poison! Poison!"
Track Name: A Thrilling Tale Of Childhood
A Thrilling Tale Of Childhood
lyrics by Lucas Lanthier

Scrape against the wall, underthings askew and damp. Fire in its face ablaze with moist, glistening untruths.

Chorus
It wandered a low road and now everything's ruined!
It worried a ragged rent, now everything's raw!

Unlit floor boards, creaking, soft, rotten old man toe nails crush mouse dung whispers squeal, "Perhaps you'll die in your sleep."

2nd Part
In a pit it wilted, scratched out sums stiltingly, uncomfortably close, "We'll not let you live untrammeled!"

In a frost-frozen lot a melt of snow slid smiling inside its rubber boots. "You'll wither-wilt when we find your mittens!"

In harsh-lit kitchen wine and smoke anoint and glaze stark, half-cooked potato plates. "Dad's not come home with brown-bagged scallops!"

In a hot tongue of shade it wallows, small, abandoned, torn to tatters in a furnace of razors. "We laugh and play and you don't matter!"