Pips

by Floppy God

/
  • Immediate download of 10-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

     

1.
2.
02:05
3.
4.
02:05
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.

credits

released 17 June 2011
Music: Joe De-Vine, David Fenn & Layton Padley
Lyrics: Joe De-Vine

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist

contact / help

Contact Floppy God

Download help

Track Name: Sistine Chapel Apple
And all these pips are kneeling
And praying to the ceiling
That this confused illusion
Will come without conclusion
They have been living in an apple
They have been living in a Sistine Chapel

They learn by clowning around
Fumbling to find the profound
But when this pips are planted
They take the light forgranted
They are inside of the infinite
They are inside of what is indefinite

There's this person out of sight
Who is working with the light
And he splits our every action
Into smaller cell fractions
And he puts them in a reel
So that we can touch and feel
And he rolls it round the sun
With his projectionist thumb
And he changes to the moon
When the sun is setting soon
And he has had to work forever
or they'll never be an ever

It isn't pretty, but what is?
Track Name: Floppy God
The room is a ribcage
The beds a dia-diaphragm
The curtains are heaving breaths
We're just hot air

I was floppy when I fell out
Now I'm floppier still
I'll be floppy when I go back
And then I'll floppy-stop

Floppy God, Oh my god.
Track Name: Wastes of White
Tethered, ageing, silent friend we're never-ending
There's no incentive in anything we've said and meant
Our ambition is finite and afraid of heights
And our wing-span is as meagre as a non-believer
We've got routines and machines, we've got everything
These are amazing days and we have got it made
You can be certain that the curtains are drawn
And we are in the glow of something comfortable

We've got it made, don't you know we've got it made

And we'll throw away the daylight
In discreet and private delight
As pasty wastes

My tethered, ageing, silent friend, it's just that time again
The world our oyster, let's rejoice with cynicism
We'll have to arrange around our raging social lives
And our full-time jobs as teenage heartthrobs
We've got routines and machines, we've got everything
These are amazing days and we have got it made
You can be certain that the curtains are drawn
And we are in the glow of something comfortable

We've got it made, don't you know we've got it made

And we'll throw away the daylight
In discreet and private delight
As pasty wastes of white
Track Name: Grimaces
The capsizing weight of too much hate
Culminated into a burst of flailing limbs
They're just grimaces wincing their way
Through this display of how not to behave
And all of the slaves to this wave
Bid their farewells to their remaining braincells

Filled to the brim with grimaces
This darkness forgets what a glimmer is
And it's only no-good that makes them grin like this

Those angry sheep that grit their teeth
As tortioned meat hits the concrete
Those angry sheep that grit their teeth
As tortioned meat hits the concrete piece by piece

Everything your mother said was true
Track Name: An Adult Brought Me Here
An adult brought me down to my knees
When I still believed in pleading
I wept for breadth of comprehension
Some insight and expanding my understanding
Imploring on the floor for some more
Enlightenment and fulfilment from it's filament

Why oh why would anyone come to be just to be conceited
Why oh why would anyone dream of being seen exactly only as they seem
When did having the qualities of oddity become a bad commodity

An adult brought me down from a height of happiness that they couldn't handle
Attention-starved and bereft of charm
Visibly weak for hearing themselves speak
Reiterating, titillating their vanity enough for all humanity

An excusably bed-ridden recluse,
Profusely bruised and seldom put to good use
Profoundly versed in how the world turns,
Deeply concern with burdening absurdity
Is giving up to live inactive in self-enacted captivity
Track Name: Another Day in the Sun
God-damn, it's another day in the sun
God-damn, I've surely got to hate on my plate
Why should I have to appreciate all this sun?

I had quite enough of this yesterday
How am I supposed to go about my day when it's this way?
I had quite enough of this yesterday
God-damn all this good weather!
Track Name: Characterless
You're not a character if you're a caricature
You are burnt food in the buffet of living
And you can be generous if you're taking what you're giving away
As good as it seems, it's just impossible to dream under someone else's steam
You'll never realise or ever grow to life-size
You'll stay in social nothingness wallowing in your own mess
Track Name: Dirty Surface
What's a bit of debt to a gentlemen when we're built from the same milk?
We're all built from the same milk here
And you're safe and you'll never be alone
You're as safe as you'll ever be
What a bit of time spent below the breadline when we're cut from the same cloth?
We're all cut from the same cloth here
And you're safe and you'll never be alone
You're as safe as you'll ever be

You dirty surfers surfing on your surface
You take the brunt of it, I'll take the runt of the litter

What's an empt paper cup rolling back and forth when it can still rock itself to sleep?
We can all rock ourselves to sleep here
What's so amazing about everyday when torn asunder from the wonderment?
Hold on tightly to the wonderment
At least you're safe and you'll never be alone
At least as safe as you'll ever be
Track Name: FK in the Coffee
Did you see that, Zach?
FK in the coffee
Clear as a crisp spring morning

Pardon?
(Sound like the sinner's sandwich)

Mr. Stewart is ready for his lunch
If you've got it ready I will thank you a bunch
It is more than just a delicious crunch
So says Mr. Stewart
Track Name: I Left a Child There
Some sharp, unlabelled-plastic-bottled concoction of his own making kept an amber-tearful eye watching his every this way and that
As he in turn watch another of his own making breaking forsaken to an aborted existence amongst the refuse of the day

An idea-non-grata, a false start in the pursuit of the true art
An idea-non-grata, a false start in the pursuit of the true artefact

He left a child there

He jettisoned the notion, and muttered "Perish the thought"
He left it muttering to itself about it's willed away and squandered hours