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“Cynical Questioner” and “Allbeingmasterof timespaceanddimention”

You were always the favorite of all of my servants
Tall as an oak when your forehead broke
Revealing a head full of serpents

Oh the silence where the smoke has blown
Ah Goliath, lets get stoned
Were on our own

You were only saying yesterday that theyll never bring you down
But you fell like a bird when the little cat purred
Crashing on the holy ground

Without violence you were overthrown
Ah Goliath, lets get stoned
Were on our own

You were almost too heavy to carry or to drag away
You lost your head like they always said you would
I hope you’re feeling better today

Ah the silence when the bird has flown
Ah Goliath, lets get stoned

Something That Means Something

The oceans are drying, the children stop crying
We’re trying, we’re dying to leave this island to you
No recovery, each day’s a terrible discovery
Under the wound they cover me, is this true

What do you want me to want
Something that means something
What do you want me to want
You don’t have a clue, do you

The cities are stinking, now keep quiet I’m thinking
I’m linking this unthinking ritual to you
No recovery, and all these sins don’t bother me
Under the skin another me, which is you

A cry from Venus, I know she’s above and between us
She’s been with us, seen with us, dreamed of us too

No recovery, I wish this earth could mother me
I hope these skies don’t smother me, just like you do


See history fade, it’s crystal clear
Aurora what you doing here
Buttering the mouths of thieves
Shutter speed it bleeding leaves

In gardens in the orient
Likelihood is good and spent
Herod nods beneath the palms
Holds poor baby in his arms

Tunis and Sardinia
The ocean growing hungrier
Beneath these walls we’ll sleep tonight
Beneath this sky we’ll glide so bright

And kings will come, years will pass
Stars burn cold beneath the glass
And days will glow in distant times
In distorted haze the zebras graze

In deserts where the dust storm blows
And lush black swamps where mandrake grows
We’re marching laughing to the drum
Waiting for those kings to come

An infant with the voice of a crone
In Nebuchanezzar’s parking zone
Calls out my lord your end is nigh
I didn’t mean to make you cry

The circus sun in Nero eyes
The lions and the Christians rise
Software sings and hardware hears
We’re destined babe to live these years

Steve Kilbey is a brilliant imagologist.