One night on the beat of the streets of Mammon
Jesus Murphy saw a lady being beaten by the baron of hell
Like a manifestation of Satan, he tasted the dregs on his breath
As the baron began to amputate the lady’s left breast; the swelling,
exposed flesh like salmon as he unholstered his baton and the baron paused, and the lady saw
In the corner of her eye his hesitation, and snatched from the baron’s bedazzled fist,
All glittering gold, the scalpel and cut off one horn, one of two marks of the beast of old,
While all around them the helpless condemned continued to feast and to smoulder;
Bowls of sulphur sauce poured over their souvlakis, vendors grilling the prostitute’s in an insatiable hunger—
But the baron caught his amputated horn as it fell, and Jesus Murphy and the baron
Fought horn to baton over the lady, on the streets of mammon, in hell!
Then Jesus Murphy started to notice
Satan’s horn begin to grow back,
While in the background Isis
Strapped a suicide bomb to George bush
And it finally clicked in his head,
So he asked the devil am I dead?
And the devil nodded, then said
We’re in cyber hell, consumed by binary code
My name is John, because I dwell
In usury toads, don juans and all mankind;
Your fate is universal, but few notice it, the nihilists
Grow out of it at some stage, their youthful awareness
Dwindles, we all grow into our parents and kindle
The next generation ‘s bondage,
And we call this coming of age emancipation;
So Jesus Murphy asked, then am I child?
As he saw a furry begin to fuck a cosplayer in the next aisle
Of cyber hell, a shopping centre for dissenters and Southern Bells
Who forgot to emancipate their human stock,
And the devil replied, no you are not—
Some are lucky, or unlucky enough, to notice the shepherd leading the human flock,
That’s me, by the way, the one free man, or so the nihilists say
Let me put it to you another way, first you saw the horns
And like a newborn opened your eyes,
Then you saw the regrowth and awoke in a daze,
Your post-cyber gaze cast out all lies in 40 days,
And 40 nights, or 40 seconds of mortal combat with the devil in the pale moonlight;
Now you have a choice, as all woke do, from Jaydan Smith
To the atheists on YouTube, like the maidenhead myth
Your blood will pay your dues, you can wander awoken in hell
Or turn off your modem, and cease to exist, no more than a glitch
Your conception the shifting pitch of 56k,
Well when you put it like that, I suppose I’ll stay, look at the way I use my baton,
Put me to work, and I’ll beat this throbbing throng of human flesh
Into the one vessel off hobbling, mongolied men, if you’re the shepherd
I’ll be your dog and staff, I’ll flog the chaff into wheat,
I’ll lead the chattel into battle, from which will grow
The saplings of another age, I’ll raise the low, and raze the high
I’ll be glad to die at your side, take me in your hellfire fist
Satan, crush my body like earth into the womb of a new world’s birth, and make me your fiery bitch!
Recorded at home, Six Organs of Admittance's 21st album upholds Ben Chasny's reputation for experimental psych-folk excellence. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 25, 2024
