Both as a standalone and as part of the DSOTS album, you can take this lyric as read. As a matter of public record, Jourgensen's drug intake was legendary even in the 1980s. By the late 90s, in his own words, he was grappling with massive addiction issues and had lost almost everything: friends, spouse, money and had nearly died more than once. "Dark Side of the Spoon" is a both funny & sad title for an album made by a musical genius who was losing the plot; and this song is a message to his fans & friends saying he knows it. It's painful to listen to so I'm glad the "Keith Richards of industrial metals" wised up and cleaned up. Well done sir.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. Perched.
Canvas draped, paint peeled.
Gallons of something puddles in mutated mixtures.
Hurl stones around breaths.
There will be shadows and holes.
I, the Swan am beautiful and a desist in space between being and idea.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. Perched.
Neck stiff, a stone-ed image of different male.
Words will work swollen kindered knees to the floor.
Canvas draped, paint peeled.
Gallons of something puddles in mutated mixtures.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
He picked up a large white vase and pitched it.
Sharp porcelain lined the shapless pool of liquid formed by its contents.
Of the man that pulled at my feathers.
The artist, the true manifestation of struggle.
The shattered porcelain greeted back with fresh wounds.
Memories. Two beasts, naked.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
Canvas draped, paint peeled.
Gallons of something puddles in mutated mixtures.
Hurl stones around breaths.
There will be shadows and holes.
I, the Swan am beautiful and a desist in space between being and idea.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. Perched.
Neck stiff, a stone-ed image of different male.
Words will work swollen kindered knees to the floor.
Canvas draped, paint peeled.
Gallons of something puddles in mutated mixtures.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
He picked up a large white vase and pitched it.
Sharp porcelain lined the shapless pool of liquid formed by its contents.
Of the man that pulled at my feathers.
The artist, the true manifestation of struggle.
The shattered porcelain greeted back with fresh wounds.
Memories. Two beasts, naked.
I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic.
Canvas draped, can I feel?
Lyrics submitted by rxbandit123
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the swan thinks highly of itself, but is entirely too premature to be considered something, hence the line "beautiful and phallic." it is still being formed and shaped. (brushed. canvas draped. paint peeled). gallons of something puddles, and you take the pictures could signify maybe a crime scene (or metaphorically speaking, leaving behind something you're no longer a part of).
hurl stones around breaths -- maybe attacking someones weak points there will be shadows and holes -- things not understood will arise.
i, the swan am beautiful and it desists in the space between being and idea -- with being being body and idea being mind, the swan's soul is crushed.
...and this is where my head starts hurting and the insomniac falls asleep.