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Stabbed in the mind
Shot through a thought
Words fall from the cliff
To plummet to their death
Driving your passion
Into the fiery abyss
A smoke screen of fear
Defeats your joie de vive
Tongue lashed
Eyes batted
Brow beaten
Death by a glance
A glare shooting knives
To get the one you want
But they slip away
Fingers grab water
Kissing the air
Bombs blow
Out your heart
As the spectre fades away
The danger that you crave
Looks the other way
Tongue lashed
Eyes batted
Brow beaten
Death by a glance
A glare shooting knives
Before the first word is said
A subtle move and I’m dead
Yet my love is a shield
From this life a minefield
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I spent five hundred million dollars
On this super secret base
Where I could plot the world’s destruction
From my high tech happy place.
Then you came and blew it all up,
Left me laying all but dead.
Now I ride this hover wheel chair
With steel plates inside my head.
I built it back just as it was
And lured you in with ease
Now you’re here, my helpless captive,
Here to deal with as I please.
You may think I’m out for torture
But that game has passed me by.
I don’t want to see you writhe in pain,
No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.
No, Mr. Bond, I’m not kidding.
No, Mr. Bond, this is real.
You’ve had Pussy Galore in the past, but no more.
You’re about to lose your sex appeal.
Sure, I used to be a sadist
Got my jollies cutting chaps
While my laser sharks just circled
Licking their fins to get my scraps.
But enough of my explaining
I’ve gone on longer than I should
And your drugs will soon be wearing off
So, let’s finish this for good.
As your willing executioner
Do you have any final words?
Some pithy “Bond, James Bond”
Or a final drink, shaken not stirred?
My laser sharks are charged up
To blast you into the great beyond.
With a motion from my cyborg hand
They’ll fire and at last there’ll be no Mr. Bond.
No, Mr. Bond, there’ll be no escape.
No, Mr. Bond, it’s the end.
No, Mr. Bond, it’s time to roll tape.
Goodbye, Mr. Bond, my old friend.
My laser sharks take aim and fire
In a great sound and light display
I laugh my evil laughter
As I watch you pass away,
But something doesn’t seem right
You’re not laser sliced or fried.
And you’re looking rather chipper
For a man who should have died.
You rise up off the table
Where you were motionless before
And I realize as you approach
I couldn’t be rogered anymore.
You’re on my chair before I know it.
We pitch and crash into the wall.
The laser sharks set their sites on me
And I face my curtain call.
I don’t know how you did it.
It’s like you waved a magic wand
And I can only beg and grovel.
I don’t want to die. No, Mr. Bond!”
No, Mr. Bond, don’t kill me.
No, Mr. Bond, I’m asking please.
No, Mr. Bond, don’t use your license.
I’m begging on my Robo knees.
Wouldn’t you rather play baccarat
Or bed some brainless blonde?
But I can see the answer in your eyes,
Your answer is clearly “No.”, Mr. Bond.
The laser sharks thrum and ready
Their lethal laser light.
You’ve been a pleasure and pain to know, Mr. Bond.
I command them to “Fire!”
Farewell and goodnight.
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8. |
Antitypical - Bond Song
03:10
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9. |
Why, Why? - Vesper
02:54
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16. |
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17. |
Object X - Live to Die
05:15
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18. |
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time is a temptress in a red dress
with her finger on the pulse
of incendiary anxiety
a momentary stop of the beating
she's so fleeting
can she see you fleeing?
what would you do with more time?
what would you do for more time?
we're desperately winding til she's finding
that her gears are grinding
grandfather pocket watch
has been ticking since before this ship started sinking
but time always catches up
dispatches us
she strikes the matches
wee willie winkie runs through the town, upstairs and downstairs in his night-gown, tapping at the window, crying at the lock, are the children in their beds? now it's eight o'clock
sure as the crow flies, know the sun dies
an incalculable loss
of the moonlight; cursed birthright
of the hourglass's shame
it's all ending
the willow's bending
is the curtain rending?
what would you do with more time?
what would you do for more time?
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HolyCrapCommunity Black Mountain, North Carolina
Holy Crap Records is a community of underground artists who make music because they can. It is also a weekly podcast on www.hlycrp.com.
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