The Pathway

by THE SPECTRAL PRiDE

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1.
03:39
2.
3.
05:03
4.
5.
05:16
6.
7.
8.
9.
03:37

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New versions of tracks from previous projects.

credits

released February 20, 2010

1 & 2 written by Jonny Deadpan, ©2010 Deep Coma.
3 & 9 written by THE SPECTRAL PRiDE and Jonny Deadpan, ©2010 Bollockbrain Productions and Deep Coma.
4-8 written by THE SPECTRAL PRiDE, ©2010 Bollockbrain Productions.
All tracks arranged and played by THE SPECTRAL PRiDE.
Recorded, engineered and mixed by The Knobster at the Bollockbrain Bunker.
Produced by Mr Reindeer.
Artwork: Frank Blunt.

A Genuine Bollockbrain Product

Complete artwork, including booklet, is included with the album download.

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THE SPECTRAL PRiDE Hornsea

A recording venture launched in the spring of 2004 to enable four friends to meet and indulge in a common favourite pastime: the laying down of sounds while making one another laugh.

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Track Name: Uncle Bunkum
There's something in the greenhouse straining at the roots
Snapping at the windows, harmless flies and passers-by
Old Uncle Bunkum in his yellow boots
Rolling up the barbed-wire, piling papers on the fire

Nobody knows what my uncle knows
Nobody knows what my uncle grows
Word is he's now on to something new
Nobody knows but arooba rooba rooba

There's something in the homestead turning on the lights
Snapping at the windows, formulating strategies
Old Uncle Bunkum grafting through the night
Giving out the orders to his new herbaceous borders

Nobody knows what my uncle knows
Nobody knows what my uncle grows
Word is he's now on to something new
Nobody knows but arooba rooba rooba

There's something by the roadside stamping on the flowers
Snapping at the windows - out to get the carburettor
Old Uncle Bunkum, yellow daisy-roots
Collar up, looking round, moving to another town

Nobody knows what my uncle knows
Nobody knows what my uncle grows
Word is he's now on to something new
Nobody knows but arooba rooba rooba
Track Name: Sex & Paranoia
Greet the new sophistication
Machines and random copulation
Jaded orchestrations shout
The age of sex and paranoia

Work the old manipulation
Stainless steel and stimulation
Mindless masturbation seeds
The age of sex and paranoia

Glassy-eyed and cryptic factions
Golden boys stripped for action
Stylized reactions meet
The age of sex and paranoia

Occult symbiotic functions
Extreme art or extreme unction
Choreographed destruction in
The age of sex and paranoia

Wedding dress or dress rehersal
Forward rolls or roll reversal
Roll the next commercial for
The age of sex and paranoia

Futuristic fins and stylings
Dead corpuscles, iron filings
Reject carnage clogs
The age of sex and paranoia

Piles of scraping scrapyard has-beens
Full clotheslines of hopeful blue jeans
Empty eyes unseeing in
The age of sex and paranoia

Powdered rust and spent emissions
Final thrust, first editions
Tender your submissions to
The age of sex and paranoia
Track Name: Countdown
Countdown to supernova, no time to explain
Steal what you can, share what you steal
Nemesis by numbers, hum the old song
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide

What is happening to my hair?
What is this burning on my skin?
My colour scheme is turning grey
Flaky pastry peels away
Rattle them bones

Countdown to supernova, no time to waste
Gob full of liquor, head full of pills
Roulette with automatics, sing the old song
Everyone's a winner, baby, that's for sure

What is happening to my hair?
What is this burning in my skin?
My spray-on tan is turning grey
Flaky pastry peels away
Rattle them bones

Countdown to supernova, one thing to do
Do you love me? I love you too
Last chance for romance, howl the old song
When I get that peeling I want sexual healing

What is happening to my hair?
What is this burning through my skin?
My DNA is crumbling grey
Flaky pastry peels away
Rattle them bones
Track Name: Ungawa Bongo!
Hey Big Bollocks, lookey here
The boa constrictor's got no beer
Clap hands

Someone's dropped a bomb somewhere
Exterminating the atmosphere
In Taiwan

All for the chance to fade away

Cougar Boo is feeling blue
Brained her dad with a snooker cue
Clap hands

All the girls have gone down town
Tiger Sue is sliding down
In Lap Land

All for the chance to fade away
Ungawa bongo!

Monkey Boy has just been paid
Better call the fire brigade
Clap hands

Punched a needle in a vein
Cracked his head on a windowpane
Crap bands

All for the chance to fade away
Ungawa bongo!
Track Name: Zyklon-B
Wakey-wakey - time for a shower
No crunchy Kellogs - the crystal's here
Stripey pyjamas are out of fashion
Bag-boney nuddy - now get in line

We're on the road to milk and honey
With bars of soaps and baldy heads
Tushy-pegless we face the future
Tattooed arm in tattooed arm

Who put the lie?

Screechy-scratchy - manna from heaven
Sprinkles like sugar through the grate
Deep inspiration - we breathe the future
Our heads are lampshades, but where's the light

Who put the lie?

But this is not a dream
With strawberries and cream
A shindig in the shade
With schnapps and lemonade
Our bellies are on fire
Our nerves are copper-wire
Our only wherewithal
A jackboot in the balls

They came and wrecked out homes
Put numbers on our arms
Then shipped us here in droves
Set fire to our clothes
They said we were profane
And had to be contained
The logic of the schwein
A non-production line

So nighty-night, my little treasures
This master race is a disgrace
Reduce the world to lines and numbers
You take the texture from the grain
Who put the lie
In Zyklon-B?
Track Name: Hysterical Tongues
Hysterical tongues - rapid and despicable
Hysterical tongues - loud and undesirable
Another hate affair - hurtful and having to play
A game of screw or scare - myself I have nothing to say

Hysterical tongues - nagging without dignity
Hysterical tongues - festering community
No thoughts in my mouth - a rank impossibility
Intention dissolves - an alien ability

They say: Son, be prepared for the failures you face
Violence, despair and disgrace
They say: Son, be prepared for the final plunge
Niggle niggle niggling hysterical tongues

Hysterical tongues - cold sensibilities
Hysterical tongues - desperate hostilities
These words in my mind - no longer have meaning at all
Isolate time - wild gesture, iniquitous call

They say: Son, be prepared for the failures you face
Violence, despair and disgrace
They say: Son, be prepared for the final plunge
Niggle niggle niggling hysterical tongues

Hysterical tongues!
Track Name: Standby [for Action]
Don't touch the bass - might just explode
Ninth wave's arriving tonight
Handful of wasps buzzing with anger
Could do with an Armalite
Diligent zombies, meathooks and crombies
The boys are out dealing the clout
Smack on the noggin, load up the wagon
This is what living's about

Stand by for action, something will happen
Keep looking out, keep looking out
Stand by for action, nothing will happen
That is what living is surely about
Don't stand about, stick to the groove
Don't stand about or you'll be removed
Don't stand about, stick to the groove
Don't stand about, this isn't the Louvre

Here they come now kicking the door down
So put that camera away
These boys mean business, no How you doing?
Such drivel won't delay the affray
They look so mean, they look so vicious
Look at the way they are dressed
And they speak you know they're so serious
Hold it, son, you're under arrest!

Stand by for action, something will happen
Keep looking out, keep looking out
Stand by for action, nothing will happen
That is what living is surely about
Don't stand about, stick to the groove
Don't stand about or you'll be removed
Don't stand about, stick to the groove
Don't stand about, this isn't the Louvre
Track Name: Handbags!
It happens everywhere we go
People falling from the sky
When we ask them where they're from
They say: Forgiveness

Just give me money
Is all you say
No going funny
Unless you pay

It happens everywhere we go
People rolling on the ground
When we ask them who they are
They say: Tomorrow

The slumber rumba
Is all you do
All thumbs and fingers
Wrapped up in blue

It happens everywhere we go
People staring at the sun
When we ask them what they want
They never answer

Tumbling over
Is all you are
Folded like paper
In Shangri-La