Includes three bonus tracks not available on the original LP release.
I'd steal your kingdom for a horse. I'd sell your grandma for a buzz. I'll pick your pick your pocket on the bus. I'll rip your locket off its chain and hawk it in the market if I can walk straight... In line. Like the lines on my arms. Like the line at the clinic where they'll pump me dry and turn me loose to cynically steal your kingdoms once again.
The Infinty Waltz
Fanning the flames with a feather. He leapt from the the 10 o'clock train to oblivion. Maimed, but the ceiling was falling, the siren was calling. He threw off his chains and he joined The Infinity Waltz. Gallantly screaming we fashioned a cross with the legs of a leper who cried in his cot. And the ringmaster wrestled the Lamb singing sweetly "The Lord is my shepherd" He died on the spot. Madonna was waving, she cut herself shaving; we fell on our knees as she led The Infinity Waltz. Soldiers of fortune were torturing slaves, tipping corpses in graves - slipping mandrax and hairspray to godfearing matrons who wept into aprons and gaped as the ghosts fled to join The Infinity Waltz.
The Price of Salvation
Candles, cathedrals and handfuls of change in the great white plate for the great white man with the smile that saves and the hands that heal. Make a deal, he'll make a miracle... The walls collapse, the steeple snaps and turns into a rocket. He'll fly you off to Mars... Just line his pocket. He'll turn your Mother into Marzipan. He can! And he will with those holy fingers. Double glazing, quite amazing coma toes. Ask the lady in the 13th row. She was Monroe for a day but she paid. How she paid! The price of salvation is high.
The temple swayed from side to side. We waited at the door. Reading bibles, snorting coke and looking rather bored. The priestess passed the holy water and we drank it... Asked for more. At Lisa's Christening. And through the dark clouds round the steeple, sun and stars appeared. We reached for our protective helmets - it was raining chandeliers. And farmer caught a melting shell and pressed it to his ear. At Lisa's Christening. Priestess held the silver mirror, winked and combed her hair. She whistled twice and snapped her fingers - we knelt and said a prayer. Raised the baton. Shouted "Louder" - threw Lisa in the air. But she survived...
He loved her beautiful, naked... Caged with grapes on a plate and a couch to recline on. Go on a page... She was Venus. He ordered a slave just to break off her arms and her scream was a song that he'd heard in his dreams. He sang along as they walked in the woods... with his hand on her stump. He felt her warm blood pump out a cure. Made him pure. Made him beautiful, naked, caged! She said, "Jeez, I had this weirdo-wild look in his eyes. Well I done hand jobs, band jobs, gland jobs - none of them used chisles. He whistled as he chipped. And he'd chip away all day. I'd lie back and pout. He'd shout - but he wouldn't take his tie off. He said I looked just like De Milo - I said 'Don't you break my arms!' but he was harmless and he paid. How he paid!"
The priest was wearing crimson, blessed the brimstone. Called the Devil 'sir'. As fires burned and candles flickered. Revellers were rolling in the dirt, flicking wax. Having sex beneath the eiderdown. Zip the clown was playing sax - a hellhound played the bugle. Handel blew 'Messiah' on Kazoo! "It's simply super!" said the naked taxman. Sucking on a bone, attacking lonely widows, stroking zones and charging V.A.T. A Lady felt the earth move (Oh! He's in the groove). And thunder clapped, the mountains whistled - Lisa shook a fist. She said "I'm flattered!" - scattered ashes on the devil's head and elegantly strolled into the sunset! Born again!
The Glory, The Glory
Marble halls and city walls... He lined them all with figures tall who called to passers-by and cast their eyes with scorn on forms imperfect - spread across the lawns... and born to wonder just why they coughed and cursed and died cos statues never die. They keep their beauty, hardly worn though storms have tried to break them. And bombs dropped at their feet. They're still standing, naked, but they're warm. They're waiting for their turn to rule a world where nothing speaks and nothing's small - nothing's ever worshipped. Where they're gods themsleves. A 'perfect' world.