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Story behind the song
In search of someone to represent me or speak for me, I suddenly realise I must speak for myself. No more waiting for a figurehead - I will go to meet that person, who might just be waiting for me.
Lyrics
[Spoken... in a really rather revolting demonic voice...]
The men of grey proliferate
Slugs in a ditch are not so numerous,
Such cannibals!
On they slime,
Feeding on one another’s misfortune.
The rhythm of the gut
Is all they will dance to,
Realities of practicalities
All they will cleave to,
They taste and sniff,
They hardly see or hear,
Self-propelling garbage digesters,
No invention here.
Where is the man
Who can stand
In the spotlight,
Glittering,
The one whose mouth
Meets his mind,
Speaks poetry,
No weakly wittering!
Where is the one
Who speaks to me…?
Sure, everyone is an outpost,
Islanded, alone,
But don’t you burn to be known?
Don’t you yearn to get home?
Reveal yourself and wave to me
Across this crowded room
Where everyone belongs
Except for you and me!
God knows, I need a shaman
So that I can be a witch!
I have only half my power
Until you flick your switch.
Until your blade hits stone,
Until you shatter bone,
With your macabre moan,
How can I shriek?
If you don’t speak?
This game of ours, it’s
A battle of weak wits
The wiser soul admits
Stalemate, and calls it quits
So I’ll be the first to stand
Upright, and raise my hand;
I’ll build my bridge to land,
I’ll meet you there, friend, and…
God knows, you’ll be my shaman
And I shall be your witch!
Worlds trembling at our power,
Slugs shivering in their ditch.
Your ringing blade hits stone,
Your will, it shatters bone,
And your macabre moan
Blends with my shriek…
Power to the freak!
