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Domino Death

by Tom Smith

Domino Death 02:30
Well, the pizza biz ain't what it used to be, It's a dangerous job for a boy like me. Jay-walkers stare like you lost your mind, Speed-traps ahead of you, muggers behind. I've been robbed eight times at somebody's door, I'm mad and I ain't gonna take no more, So the next time somebody goes for the cash, I've got a turret-mounted laser wired up to the dash. Domino Death, we're gonna have some fun, Domino Death, you better duck and run, Domino Death, you better do your best, Or I'll deliver you to Hell in thirty minutes or less. I've got an armor-plated van with a Teflon sheen, A Plexiglas windshield, Polaroid green, Bullet-proof tires with a Kevlar mesh, And a hotbox to keep your pepperonis fresh. I've got an on-board computer to do my math, A big cow-catcher to clear my path, And I'll fry the brains of anyone I miss -- I've got a tape of Frank Sinatra singing Grace Jones and KISS. Domino Death, I'm crazy as Hell, Domino Death, I hope you tip real well, Domino Death, you better watch for me, And if you manage to survive, you get the pizza for free. Well, you can beg and plead, but it's just no use, I'm over the edge, I don't need an excuse, I'll blow off your head for getting double cheese, And I wouldn't say, "NO ANCHOVIES, PLEASE." I keep the streets empty night and day, Fire trucks and funerals get out of my way. Now I'm looking around to see who I've missed, And I guess Little Caesar's is next on the list. Domino Death, it's no big loss, Domino Death, you'd better love the sauce, Domino Death, just pick up the phone, We're courteous and friendly, like Sylvester Stallone. Domino Death, I've got a double for you, Domino Death, I'll get your roommate ('family', 'neighbors', pick one), too, Domino Death, you'll go like the rest, I'll deliver you to Hell in thirty minutes or less... Or... else... it's... free!
I'm a warrior born and a warlord made To conquer the final frontiers, But they put my ship in a cryogen dip, And they froze us for four hundred years. I was perfect in body and in mind, Genetically engineered, Till a pretty-boy captain destroyed all my plans And the damn rabble neo-fen cheered. He marooned me on Ceti Alpha Five, Ceti Six blew up, barely twenty survived, But I'm back in space and the blood from their faces Will drain when I finally arrive. So find me a ship, Reliant will do, Find me an anchovy covered in goo, It will go in the ear of a young Russian jerk, Who will send out a signal to James T. Kirk. Bring me my lunch, I feel quite starved, It may look like steak, but it's Kirk's heart I carve, In the back of your fridge may be ten kinds of mold, But vengeance is best served cold, Vengeance is best served cold. The indignities that I suffered at his hands, Those endless unbearable days, Selling rich Corinthian leather and being A straight man to Herve Villechaise. My wife lies buried beneath these sands, The breath from her body was ripped. Who believes his claim that he wasn't to blame? All his buddies were writing the script! He's an admiral with supplemental pay, Doing Barbary Coast, selling almost-Parkay, But my brand of Promise: He'll hope that his Mom is Around if he gets in my way! So find me a ship, Reliant will do, Find me an anchovy covered in goo, It will go in the ear of a young Russian jerk, Who will send out a signal to James T. Kirk. Bring me my lunch, I feel quite starved, It may look like steak, but it's Kirk's heart I carve, In the back of your fridge may be ten kinds of mold, But vengeance is best served cold, Vengeance is best served cold.
It's three o'clock in the morning, ship time, Only five more hours to go. How many miles will pass before us, How many years will pass below? The console lights are fairy tales I've Heard at least a hundred times before, Lying about the happy endings, Leaving me desperate for more. The wall in front of me thinks it's a window, And the blackness, earthly skies, The stars are trying their best to tell me That they're brighter than her eyes. We're doing point nine C, but there's no Rush of wind to make me feel that speed, The only sound is my own heart beating, And that's not the sound I need. There ought to be a saxophone, playing softly in the night, A lonely, gentle melody to make me feel all right, But I left that all behind me, with the only one who might Have heard me play, She's so far away. We used to sit on the fire escape, so Close, I didn't really have the room to play, We'd serenade the stars and each other, Till morning chased the stars away. But I've given up my mornings -- You need horizons for a dawn. And I've given up my evenings -- there's no Music here, no reason for a song. Still, there really ought to be a saxophone, right here in my hands, A warm and friendly sound to take to cold and empty lands, But I left all that behind me, with the one who understands The dreams I play, She's so far away. We're going too fast to see behind us, But still we're far too slow to touch the sky, Outracing sound and time but not the heartache, In space, no one can ever hear you cry. It's three o'clock in the morning, ship time, A console light starts burning blue, A message says, "Break out the equipment Kept in Locker Number Two." But the only thing I find there is a Hard-shell case they made me leave back home, Inside, there's just a tear-stained letter, And my heart in steel and chrome. And I raise the saxophone to my lips, and I softly start to play, I serenade the stars and her as the hours drift away, And when my shift is ended, my broken heart is mended, At least halfway -- at least for today... She's less far away.
Come gather, lads and lasses, and a tale will be told, Of noble young adventurers in search of a dragon's gold. Well... maybe not that noble, maybe not that bold, And as my song will soon relate, they didn't get that old. Their leader was Delphine the Black, she fought with double swords, She wiped her feet on noble fops and humbled mighty lords. There was also a dwarf named Bristol, quite a strong and ugly lump, So short and wide and thick of hide he was called the Bristol Stump. Now, Biff the Drunken Druid was the party's magic power. He spent his days in a bourbon haze through every waking hour, And, for Delphine's affections, fought with Varicose the Vain, A pretty-boy elf with a damn big axe and a thing for causing pain. Their battle plan was simple: They would all have lengths of wire, And Biff, disguised as an ice cream man, would quench the dragon's fire, They'd garrote off its arms and legs in a daring frontal raid, And if that didn't work, well, they always had the Holy Hand Grenade. So, they started off for the dragon's cave, its treasures for to take, But halfway there the birds flew off and the ground began to shake, They heard a roar and a terrible crash and they all turned round to see The dragon, right behind them, cleaning its nails on a tree. (tune: "The Battle of New Orleans") And they ran through the brambles, and they ran through the briars, And they ran through the bushes where the rabbit couldn't go. Ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em... Sorry. Then Biff said, "Divine Intervention! Hey, that's always worth a try. O Mother Goddess, save our hides! We beg you for D.I.!" Now, Druid gods have always had a wit that's rather dry, So a dozen guys in green and black fell out of a clear blue sky. They landed with a mighty yell, 'cause landing hurts a lot, But when they saw the dragon all their pain was quite forgot. They hollered "WHAT A CHALLENGE!" and they hid behind some trees, And they all whipped out their laser guns and blew away its knees. Now, our heroes were in front of it, as you may well recall, And when its legs were vaporized, they knew where it would fall. Now, Biff had a chance to save just one, and it caused him awful pain To choose who lived -- whether Bristol, whether Delphine, or whether Vain. Then he pushed Delphine to safety and knocked Varicose to the turf, And when the dragon hit the elf, he was shorter than a Smurf. Now, Bristol the Dwarf was weighted down with all that stupid wire, And he got crushed to dwarven slime, so now he's Bristol-Mire. Delphine and Biff the Drunken Druid sent up a thankful prayer, And thought of all the dragon gold the two of them would share, Till they remembered all those warriors wondering what to do, Until that balmy Druid said, "We're friendly! Who are you?" So if you ask adventurers, they'll always say the same: "Don't ever bother dragons -- nothing adventured, nothing gamed, And never trust the Druid gods, nor beg them for D.I., 'Cause you might get Intervention, and you just might get Dorsai."
My friends, I sing this little song to tell a tale of woe, About a misadventure that I had a while ago, I've managed to recover, but I'm telling you the truth: To pick up girls is now a game of my forgotten youth. I was sitting in a local pub, from my house not too far. I nursed a couple Pepsis and devoured their taco bar, When in she walked, or should I say, she made an enter-ance, 'Twas then I realized how bloody damn tight were my pants. She moved across the floor like 'twas quicksilver in her joints, My face grew hot, and my blood pressure shot up twenty points, She looked around, her eyes met mine, and then she smiled at me -- And that's the very moment that I really had to pee. To my surprise and joy, she was still there on my return, And as we sat and talked, familiar flames began to burn, And so, the long and short of it, when everything was said: We went back to her place to pressure-test the water bed. We started getting friendly, then we started getting brash, Then we started getting naked, moving faster than The Flash, With both her hands in mine, right down upon the bed I sat, And that's when I discovered that the lady had a cat. Well, Tabby whipped around and sank her claws into my leg, And I began to howl and bleed and whine and curse and beg, And Tabby ripped the mattress open as she tried to flee, And spilled the damn massage oil over lady, bed, and me. I gave a yelp and grabbed the cat, the fur flew fast and thick. We found ourselves awash on a patchouli oil slick, The blanket tried to throttle me, and amidst this frantic damp, The cat tried once more to escape, and broke the bedside lamp. Now, water, oil, and voltage spell "electrolysis" to me, And in that half-ton lava lamp, our split ends ceased to be. We're soggy, burnt, and hairless, but friends, what's really bad, Is, that's the most fantastic sex that I have ever had. I'm doing rather better, since that monkey-love deep-fry. My body hair has all grown back, most nights I'm pretty dry, But I've sworn off babes with water beds, and cats who can't escape -- And now you know why it took so long to get my second tape.
We never have ruled this world, my friends, though at ownership we lie. No, do not be fooled -- this world is mens', while the Sun is in the sky. We are all unmade by that burning bane; Still, a broken blade can inflict no pain -- If its light should fade, only we shall reign, And the blood will ne'er run dry, Thus, I swear: The Sun shall die! For a thousand times a thousand years, our kind has ruled the night. Forbidden crimes and primal fears have given us our might. Yet those who hate us know that they Need only wait for the dawn's first ray To escape our fate for another day, Defended by its light. I say, it ends tonight! Who should care if they have the day? Hey! for the life eternal-o! By night we hunt and they're our prey, Ho! for the death of Time! Let them rage at the life we lead, Hey! for the life eternal-o! Beneath the Sun they age and bleed, Ho! for the death of Time. Our weakness is the key, my friends, The light we so despise. We've had eternity, my friends, In darkness to grow wise. Our flesh is cold and theirs is hot, But youth we hold while they do not, We don't grow old but the humans rot Before each other's eyes, For they see each sunrise. Douse that light and we'll stop the clock, Hey! for the life eternal-o! Endless night and deathless stock, Ho! for the death of Time! And when the darkness fills the sky, Hey! for the life eternal-o! We'll seize the world and bleed it dry, Ho! for the death of Time! Hey! for the humans' funeral bell, Hey for the sound of the final knell, Now listen, and my plan I'll tell.... The death and dooming of the Sun is not an easy task. The gods by whom the world is run have prices they will ask. No wealth or tool could you purloin, Their hearts are cruel for a different coin, The living jewel from a goddess's loin Will buy for us the Sun. I know of such a one. Each beating of her heart's a note in a symphony of power. I'll take her mind and love and throat and pluck her like a flower, And when it's done and her heart is tame, The magic won in her mother's name Will snuff the Sun like a candle flame, Let that darkness be her dower, Oh, and how the blood will shower. Such a mate I vow to wed, Hey! for the life eternal-o! And celebrate with a river of red, Ho! for the death of Time! Tourmaline will prove her worth, Hey! for the life eternal-o! The undead queen of a broken Earth, Ho! for the death of Time! Hey! for the humans' funeral bell, Hey! for the sound of the final knell, Hey! for the Sun being blown to Hell, Sing Ho! for the death, Ho! for the death, Ho! for the death of Time!
Once, in a land far away, on a beautiful day, On a wide grassy knoll, There was a cute little sheep, who was drifting to sleep, When the earth opened up... ... and swallowed him whole! Way down in the fiery lake, Lucifer had a lot at steak, But he wanted some lamb chops instead, and Shari Lewis wasn't dead, So he kidnapped some virgin wool, grabbed its soul and began to pull, But he never thought that the lamb he'd caught Would rebel and then conquer and rule. Now he's Fenton, Lord of the Inferno, Fenton, Demon King of the Dell, Fenton, eyes of flame, breath of Sterno, Fenton, Death Sheep from Hell. BAA-AA-AHH! He's right out of a storybook, but the signs are there if you know to look, Nasty moustache on his face, sheep are tenors, but this one's a bass, It's a nearly complete disguise, except for the fangs and the glowing eyes, If the lion lies down with the lamb, he'll be found In three pieces of varying size. Thanks to Fenton, Overlord of the Ovis, Fen-Tongue, does his breath ever smell. Fenton, chew some parsley or clove-is, Fenton, Death Sheep from Hell. He's a strategist and a conspirer, with a few dozen enemies' lists, And the Weekly World News and Enquirer are afraid to admit he exists. He's a devious mind without equals, and if you're convinced that I'm wrong, Take a look at the various sequels that I'm going to write to this song! Death Sheep from Hell is the first, you see, Who he is, how he came to be, Then it's done, but what can you do To stop the shear terror of Fenton 2? The story would not be complete Without Death Sheep 3: The Last Heart Bleat. Apparently killed, he comes back for more In the savage sequel, Death Sheep 4: Lamb of doom, baa-ba-baa-baa, baa-ba-baa-ba-baa, Lamb of doom, baa-ba-baa-baa, baa-ba-baa-ba-baa. After that one, we get to meet Olga, the one girl sheep to whom he is true, And their lovemaking gets pretty vulgah in Death Sheep 5: Ewe Devil, Ewe! But the forces of goodness are scheming to slay him and bring the world peace, And you'll spend nearly two hours screaming at Fenton 6: Rest in Fleece. And after it's over, he'll be in the cool earth, At rest in the clover... hmm. What is his wool worth? But don't think that Heaven is finally winning -- Watch for Death Sheep 7: A New Baa-Ginning! Starring Fenton, he's a cuddly disaster, Fenton, and I'm hoping he'll sell, Fenton, Dark Prince of the pasture, I'll send Spielberg an offer letter -- If he won't bite, a demonic sweater -- What could be better than Fenton, the Death Sheep from Hell! BAA-AA-AHH!
We are at the opera, but she don't like the opera, But I love the opera, and she loves me. Vikings in leotards, a sixty-year-old teen, And a German Godzilla all sing off-key. She'd rather hear the Mormon Tabernacle doing Whitesnake*, The threading of the plot, she cannot unwind, But we are at the opera, because I love the opera, I wish I couldn't read her mind. ("This goes on for three-and-a-half hours? And not one sing-along?") (New version: "I will not give him the satisfaction. I'll figure out which one Gotterdammerung is all by myself.") We are with my ex-wife, she doesn't like my ex-wife, But I'm friends with my ex-wife, and she loves me. She feels like a combination prostitute and pirate, And wishes my ex-wife was more ugly. She's guilty 'cause she knows we'll never get back together, But if we'd broken badly she would not be in this bind, She doesn't want to take the chance that she might like my ex-wife, I wish I couldn't read her mind. ("Gee, she's really kinda nice. I wonder why he broke up with her? ... It was him who broke up with her, right?") (New Version: "Oh, okay, she's nice. Pretty but not too pretty. -- She doesn't know Bab 5 and Firefly? Yes!") Whoever thinks telepathy is wonderfully mystic Is celibate, misogynist, and maybe masochistic. I always have to filter through and translate double meanings, And what it's done to my love life gives me hermetic leanings. Here we are, we're making it, but she is merely taking it, My lady love is faking it, 'cause she loves me. I am doing everything to make her go crazy, But she'd rather be watching her MTV. (New version: "... playing her stupid Wii.") It's not that she's uninterested, or even non-orgasmic, She worries for my feelings, but... am I that blind? We are always making it, and she is always faking it! I wish I couldn't read her mind. ("Ohh, God, this is wonderful. I guess.") (New Version: "Beige. I think I'll paint the ceiling beige.") So if I'm looking tired, and you feel inspired To figure how my brain is wired, go right ahead. I am so fed up with knowing all of her secrets (And if she knew that I knew, we'd both be dead). I'd like to find a woman who just tells me what she's thinking, Who doesn't feel she has to lie just to be kind, So if you're out there listening, I'm looking for love, And the catch is, I can read your mind -- I sure hope you don't mind. ("And the fact that you always know what I'm going to say next --") -- really gets on your nerves.... * Somewhat dated now that Whitesnake has been relegated to the third tier of Muzak, but you never know whose memory you will jog into a crippling flashback. Other possible lines include: ... Madonna and Sinatra do the Bee Gees ... The Beatles as performed by Willie Nelson ... Fred Schneider and Drew Carey doing 'N Sync ... Paul Potts and Kanye West perform with banjos ... or whatever unlikely groups scan to the line
The winds were hard, the skies were brown, She'd wanted to get home before the rains came down, But he'd said, "Stay," and she almost said no; Now she ran as the high clouds loomed so grand and slow. The thunder roared, like bells it pealed, She found no shelter as she ran across the field, Stumbling and crying at every flash of light, Losing her courage, losing her way in the dark of night. But then she stopped to see, atop the hill, A young man standing, arms outstretched against the chill, Staring up at the storming sky as if entranced. Then he danced, oh, he danced. She could not move, could not breathe in her surprise, The storm ignored for the love and madness in his eyes, She sighed at his strength, she gasped at his grace, Until he stopped and came to stand before her hiding place. He said, "Why are you alone when everything sings above? Why do you fear at the afterglow as the clouds make love? Why do you wait when given a perfect chance? Come dance, come dance." She tried to think of the man she'd left, all safe and warm, But she only saw the dancer shadowed beneath the storm. She thought his hair was dark, she thought his eyes were clear, She thought she must be trembling as he drew near. He touched her face, she closed her eyes, In his fingertips she felt the pulse of the open skies. Then he held her hand, and he held her glance, And they danced, oh, they danced. And when the morning came, they found her there, Humming a tune, braiding flowers into her hair, But no one there could meet the look in her eyes, So dark and cold, unless she looked up at the skies. Now when the high clouds loom so grand and slow, She runs away to the hilltop with her eyes aglow, She stares up at the sky as if entranced, And she'll dance, oh, she'll dance.
The land is burning and dry under hot desert skies. My gut is churning but you won't see fear in my eyes. Nothing to lose as I climb in and look to the roads, Then light the fuse of the cannon, which promptly explodes. The blast sends me skyward and into free fall, With one final thought as I head towards the wall: I'll get that Road-Runner if it's the last thing I do. If Murphy's Laws are religion, I must be a saint. What else explains semis bursting from tunnels I paint? A thousand Rube Goldberg nightmares lie smashed in my garage -- How many falling pianos can that damn bird dodge? From magnetic birdseed to dynamite darts, I could buy General Mills with what I spend on parts, But I'll get that Road-Runner if it's the last thing I do. I should forget it, he's not big enough for a stew. My line of credit with Acme is ten years past due. Got no insurance, I can't sign for claims with my paws. In vile durance for breaking most EPA laws. But my super genius will deal with that dunce, Remember that I have to win only once, And I'll get him someday -- perhaps I should try something new. My canyon compactor was perfect to echo my screams. My backpack reactor worked fine, until I crossed the beams. My bomb extender snapped back with the lit TNT. My flying blender was just a tad quicker than me. But I'm smarter, I'm stronger, and he's only fast, Let's hear him "beep beep" with his head up his ass, And I'll get that Road-Runner if it's the last thing I do! (spoken) .... Eureka! That's it! EARTHQUAKE PILLS!!
She: I'm not really drunk, and I'm not really tired. So why does my head feel so light? He's given his heart to me, I'm still unwrapping the bow. Everything we've ever done has conspired to bring us together tonight. But do I really want this to happen? I think so. Both: There's a moment of fear as you're pulling me near, but not of your everyday harms. The chance that I take is that when I awake, you'll be somewhere that's not in my arms. He: No, don't open your eyes, That would spoil the surprise, And it doesn't take vision to see You know in your heart, that all of your dreams Are me. He: The night's too dark, and the wind's too cool, And a chill is on your skin. You're looking for love, like every fool, But you don't know where to begin. Well, here in the darkness is where it lies, And here in the dark you'll start. Just open your mind, close your eyes, And listen to the sound of your heart. She: Don't tell me about the sound of a heart, When you've never even heard your own. Here in the dark is where you'll start To bloody well leave me alone. I don't want any thing you might be selling, And my only coin is hate! He: Well, you might not like all the tales I'm telling, But you know I'm telling it straight. You don't want a man who trusts you, 'Cause his woman is all that you'll be. You don't want a man who needs you, 'Cause betrayal is all that he'll see. You don't want a man who loves you, 'Cause your fires have got to burn free. When you weed out the deadwood, You start to learn, There's a spark in your heart That's starting to burn, And the heat of the blood is rising. [counterpoint] She: Don't tell me about love and trust 'Cause you've never felt either one. Your passion is only cloying lust And your promises overdone. Don't say anything, 'Cause I won't listen No matter how sweet your voice. He: Don't think, just feel, Let the sound Play off of your skin With me you're more real than you Ever might have been. Let your fantasies Ride the magic in my voice, She: I don't want to like how Your eyes can glisten -- He: And you don't have much of a choice! Your mouth is dry as tinder, And the spark starts catching flame Your throat is raw as kindling, And it lights up just the same. Your breath is a fiery wind, dear, That whispers the sound of my name. And the fever's so high you can barely stand, And the only relief is the touch of my hand, And the heat of the blood is rising. [counterpoint] He: Your flesh is soft, And your touch is sweet, But it's got the wrong Shape and tones. By the light in your eyes And the burning heat, There's a dragon down Deep in your bones. She: No way. No how. Not here, Not now, Not fair, Not true, Not me, Not YOU! [counterpoint] He: Your skin is moist and steaming, And your collar's tight as a noose. You know that you Can't be dreaming, But the knowledge Has got no use. And you know you're Going to start screaming If you don't let it All run loose She: So many times you've lied, I've given up keeping score. So little left of my pride, I don't know what I keep it for. So much building up inside, I don't want to hold Back any more Both: And my (your) hand on your (my) skin Is a flint on steel, and the fire burning higher Is all you (I) can feel, And the heat of the blood is rising. He: Your breath is a sweet inferno, And your lips are cinnamon wine You shed your clothes like a snakeskin, And around each other we'll twine And you won't stop writhing against me, And I believe you'll be mine Your body's burning like the surface of the sun, And at last you're learning Tonight I've won, and -- [counterpoint] He: The heat of the blood is rising -- (x 8) She: The heat of the blood is rising -- (x 7) She: Don't tell me about the sound of a heart, When you've never even heard your own. You may know blood with a lover's art, But you don't know flesh and bone. You talk about passion and desire, Like a star of its lost shine, Well, together we build a raging fire, But the rage is mine, all mine! [counterpoint] She: You don't want a woman -- He: No magic, no spell. She: -- who trusts you, 'Cause she'll take what pain you devise. You don't want a woman -- He: You've blown it to Hell. She: -- who needs you, 'Cause she'll see through all Of your lies. You don't want a woman -- He: You should be a shell! She: -- who loves you, 'Cause she'll look you square In the eyes. Oh, your gaze so clear, And your face so fair, But when you look in the mirror, there's nothing there, And the heat of the blood is rising! He: I've had it with all your allusions, To the way it's supposed to be. Both: No more of your tricks or delusions, It's come down to you and me This has only been cuts and contusions, Compared to the carnage you'll see, At last I know what I've been fighting for, And you better be ready, 'cause now it's war, And the heat of the blood is rising. And the heat of the blood is rising. And the heat of the blood is rising. And the heat of the blood is rising.


Original Liner Notes (only very slightly tweaked)

Filk Weirdo On The Hoof:

Take one (1) fast-talking Pepsi-guzzling maniacal grin.
Glue one (1) beard all around.
Add: one(1) guitar;
one (1) Amiga computer;
too (2) damn many eclectic books, tapes, videos, and toys for his own good;
the (1) conviction that the perfect guide to human existence is Mystery Science Theater 3000.
Shake well.
Half-bake until slightly crusty. (Watch out for sudden parodies and explosive puns.)
Garnish with beautiful women. (Optional, but very desirable.)
Serve overhand, with a slight pull to the right.

Copious love and thanks to Anne Schneider, without whom I couldn't handle half my life, and Leslie Larkins, without whom I couldn't handle the other half.

Thanks also to Bill and Gretchen, Julie Washington, Sarah Zettel, Janet Coburn, John Hall and the D.I., and my grandmother, Phyllis Troeder, about whom more next tape [Plugged].

To Fandom: Thanks for having me, but now I ain't going.

-- Tom Smith

Bill and Gretchen would like to thank the Supreme Court for their ruling on parodies, but have nothing more useful to say than Justice Souter did. ("You wait and wait for a ruling and what do you get? An invitation to get sued to find out if your parody is covered by the ruling....)

By the say, see if you can spot the cut that was recorded on the ADAT. (No prizes -- we're just wondering if all this digital technology makes a difference.)


released May 20, 1994

Vocals & Guitar: Tom Smith
Additional Vocals: Anne Schneider ("Wish I Couldn't Read Her Mind", "Heat of the Blood")
Saxophone: Mike Musser ("Starlight and Saxophone")

Recorded, mixed, and produced by Bill Roper and Gretchen Van Dorn
Recorded hither, thither, and yon over a far longer period of time than we believed possible (let alone likely)

All songs are written by and © Tom Smith in the listed years, with the exceptions noted below:

"Domino Death" (© 1988)

"Temperature of Revenge" (© 1987, original music "The Temper of Revenge" by Julia Ecklar, © 1983 Julia Ecklar)

"Starlight and Saxophone" (© 1989)

"Divine Irregularity" (© 1987, original music "The Good Ship Callabar" [trad.])

"The Really Sick Note" (© 1993, lyrics after "The Sick Note" by Pat Cooksey, original music "In The Garden Where The Praties Grow" [trad.])

"Ho! For the Death of Time" (© 1992)

"Sheep Marketing Ploy (The Ballad of Fenton)" (© 1993)

"Wish I Couldn't Read Her Mind" (© 1989, original music "Good Think He Can't Read My Mind" by Christine Lavin, © 1988 Rounder Records Corp.)

"Storm Dancing" (© 1988)

"Operation: Desert Storm" (© 1992)

"Heat of the Blood" (© 1991)

All songs are further rereleased with a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial ShareAlike license




Tom Smith Ann Arbor

Weird Al with more books, JoCo with more jokes, Carlin with more Cthulhu. Since 1985, Tom Smith has been breaking hearts, minds, and laws of propriety and physics with his insane blend of sf/fantasy, Life With Computers, pop culture, politics, and puns. More than twenty albums later, he maintains the best is yet to come. ... more

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