SP03- Köszönöm


Flying Houses


burn on mighty burner
complacant satellite
turn on mighty reels
intermission to the night
through the leather galaxy
echoed clandestiny
satellites awaiting
armoured fatalities

this is sick love
I call it love
this is sick love
I call it crome
this is sick love
approach sublime
return to zero

spirally to rhythms
of tribal economy
dancing on an axis
stretching infinitely
jesus pumped full of watts
catatonic attic
white oise attraction
zero in the static


satellite I floating alone
an abundance of nothingness
not a single fish dish floating
gestures on the scom of my eyes
come on baby I don't mean maybe
alleviate the drone to bearable hums
return to zero
white magnet

I fell out of the sky
into a suit and into a car
I fell out of the sky
into a house, a flying house

goodnight to the night's suicides
space junked satellites
matter moving against self
goodnight interuban satellites
space junked satellites
inert shells fall to fatalism

this is sick love I call it love
yeah, love


she said I am in love with word and pager and I said I am in love with car crashes and implosions and things being moved down in a new light of meaning then these cars drove by from another world trumpeting death and she said I am ready to go now.


blinded by drunken lit wheels
keep turning
a montage links it's undoing
like burning
lovers scrampling through codes melting
desires yield to the welding
dealt it
sparks engage dramas tokens
invert deranged
the real in entirely faked
mythis conceal their transformation
but I'm still breathing

buring in ionic flux
burning in iconic flux
asleep in a field of pixies
asleep in a field of pixels

caught in s soft illusive reel
keepis turning
remote pools of labored flesh
like burning
snowbirds in a candy dish
passions occupied by time
dealt in
arguments opposed to living
invert deranged
starts ignite and burn thier disguise
constellations break creations lies
but I'm still breathing


metal strikes out percussive
calling white light ambulance
a circle gathers enveloping
diplomatic grief dancers
burning in a day room

a starving star fading
rides a low data base
parallel diatribes converge
to appropriate the space
burning in a day room

pixels cradle burn my eyes
memory racing
nothing can be kept forever in this sonic day room.
I am blasted by colors
escaping their sense
denigrated in my memory now bleaches to times shortest passage
white noise in a white hearse

All songs by Köszönöm, Copyright 1994
Recorded April 94 by Chip Jones
Drums: Brad Roberts
Bass: Mike Derks
Guitar: Tannon Penland
Vocals: Dwain Curd

P.O. Box 7289
Richmond, VA 23221


This tape doesn't come with any additional liner notes by BalSac, but it does come with a lyric sheet, so these lyrics are 100% correct. Again, thanks to McMikeyB who typed them up and first posted the to alt.music.gwar.