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Roots in the Mud

by minimál Bogart

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1.
I tried to climb the mountains Of the distant sea To roll its trees and leaves, Under my restless feet Passing slowly, by Crystals of graves When the wilderness Shattered and raved With gold in my pocket, I was chasing the moon But found a way out too soon, Oh too soon Now thousand eyes are Yelling me my tale And the lost cities of my mind Are colourless and pale. Smoke rising Through the trees I turn my back to the Late night breeze Black rainbows shine In my eyes Sound of the earth Amplifies.
2.
Legends speak of a legendary blade so fucked up and crazy, it don't even have a name. It looks radical as shit, and its power's super tight: a single touch will turn a sucka right inside out. A super jacked homie whose name was Ugly Willie found a dungeon in the desert and crawled it willy-nilly. Ice dragons and androids were there to fuck him up, but he exploded their brains with a nasty uppercut. In the depths of the dungeon, he obtained the dark sword, and from that moment on, he never would be bored. He was turning suckas inside out left-and-right. Any fool to see that shit did lose their appetite. But another homie came, who was even more jacked. He was the most jacked of all, and his name was Jack. "Why you actin' like a fool?" he said to Ugly Willie, but Willie raised the sword and poked him right in the belly. Holy fucking shit, did Jack turn inside out. He was a fleshy mess of guts, a nasty-ass sight. But unlike all the rest, he never dropped dead; he put some goo on Willie's face with a soggy little slap. Willie's mind was crushed, he was so grossed out. His will had been broken, it was the end of the bout. A single gooey teardrop rolled down his cheek; he fell over in the sand, unable to speak. Thus has Willie learned his dank-nasty lesson: careful what you mess with, or gross shit will happen.
3.
The campfire's out; the moonlight turns black. Foxes are screaming the song of the dead. The tops of the trees bleed onto the sky. You enter the darkness without a goodbye. I lie on the ground and sleep with the ants; their antennae quiver and tiny feet dance. It itches when they bite me but I cannot wake; a dream rules my senses, no matter how fake. A vision of ashes that blanket and hide softly encradles my unconscious mind. Not even the sunrise can salvage my soul. Not even the foxes will pull me ashore.
4.
The Trip 02:58
Going home from the outer shell, It's too soon to meet this kind of hell I bowed down just to feel the pulse in my swinging head, Fire starting in my guts to remind me of skins I shed Tell me stories of the world of rain Fire Burns the ice-cold Cave, Trippin’ through your realm mute and blind Wings of the white widow And ancient windmills show, The old and dusty road. Giant trees that rise And touch the sky, Whisperin' through my skin, To close my eye, The mountains in my way, Seem to be far away, But I’ll get close one day, I’ll get close one day,
5.
From a rift in the sky the Soft Titan comes. He's taller than an ancient demon. He descends on the Earth and shrieks like a child. His luscious work has now begun. He's the Soft Titan. The Soft Titan. He finds the nearest city and stomps around. The people flee screaming, "The Titan has arrived." The beast punches a building with tremendous force, but nothing really happens, 'cause his skin is very soft. He's the Soft Titan. The Soft Titan. He moisturises and takes a bath in fat-rich milk. He never misses his appointment with his beautician. His beautician's also a huge fucking titan; she stomps on an orphanage, but her sole is way too soft They're the Soft Titans The Soft Titans.
6.
7.

credits

released May 17, 2019

minimál Bogart's "Roots in the Mud" LP is a live studio session recorded at Gribedli Sound Studio, Szeged.
Recording, mix and master: Dénes Török.

Released by BABY GORILLA RECORDS, Budapest.
www.babygorillarecords.com

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minimál Bogart Szeged, Hungary

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