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.
This contusion-colored evening
Maybe you paint the silhouette
Of the gaunt tree line singed in '97
When wildfires threatened my development
And the swallowed towns the Klan had founded
The shaded sand dens were party caverns
For them who'd come hallucinate while we slept
Scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches
Can't remember how I used to live
But they've all cased their jumps
Fatally I willed it to be
In the hours of blankness preceding sleep
Oh the years we waste faking remorse
Every decision I have ever made
Bred the branching future's mute howlers
With burst-vessel red eyes
Roaring inaudibly
On the freezing morning
Walk to the dim corner grocery
What hangs over big empty country
Reborn in negatives of photos of dusk
Regret so huge it's on a phantom axis
Receding beaches hissing hearing damage
And the miles-long column of cold moonlight cast across
Still seas when my nose begins to bleed
Some submitted to having their lights put out
By basement thrill killers
In the neighborhood I heard being murdered is no experience
Ten or eleven wounds
In it's not about Satan or anything you just die
It's weird
Maybe you paint the silhouette
Of the gaunt tree line singed in '97
When wildfires threatened my development
And the swallowed towns the Klan had founded
The shaded sand dens were party caverns
For them who'd come hallucinate while we slept
Scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches
Can't remember how I used to live
But they've all cased their jumps
Fatally I willed it to be
In the hours of blankness preceding sleep
Oh the years we waste faking remorse
Every decision I have ever made
Bred the branching future's mute howlers
With burst-vessel red eyes
Roaring inaudibly
On the freezing morning
Walk to the dim corner grocery
What hangs over big empty country
Reborn in negatives of photos of dusk
Regret so huge it's on a phantom axis
Receding beaches hissing hearing damage
And the miles-long column of cold moonlight cast across
Still seas when my nose begins to bleed
Some submitted to having their lights put out
By basement thrill killers
In the neighborhood I heard being murdered is no experience
Ten or eleven wounds
In it's not about Satan or anything you just die
It's weird
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Favourite track from my favourite album that I haven't heard.
this contusion-colored evening maybe you paint the silhouette of the gaunt tree line singed in '97 when wildfires threatened my development and the swallowed towns the Klan had founded
the shaded sand dens were Party Caverns for them who'd come hallucinate while we slept scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches I can't remember how I used to live
but they've all cased their jumps fatally I willed it to be in the hours of blankness preceding sleep oh the years we waste faking remorse
every decision I have ever made bred the branching future's mute howlers with burst-vessel red eyes roaring inaudibly on the freezing morning walk to the corner grocery
what hangs over big empty country reborn in negatives of photos of dusk regret so huge it's on a phantom axis receding beaches hissing hearing damage the miles-long column on cold moonlight cast across still seas when my nose begins to bleed
some submitted to having their lights put out by the basement thrill killer of the neighborhood I heard being murdered is no experience ten or eleven wounds in "It's not about Satan or anything. You just die-- It's weird."