Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares - chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Au fond des forages qui abreuvent nos nerfs
Se forge un langage qui donne vie aux éclairs
C’est pas un désert qui nous fera lever
Mais juste une caresse sous la forme d’un coup de pied
C’est nos abîmes qui nous réveillent
Nos insomnies qui nous rendent beaux
Verse ta salive dans mon oreille
Chaloupe tes jambes comme un roseau
Le temps part en vrille vas y mène la danse
Fait voler la quadrille et pardonne leurs offenses
En rupture de graines le temps nous le rend bien
Réveille toi ma hyène atterri enfin
Y a rien de plus nul qu’un guerrier urbain
Y a rien de plus noble que les essieux d’un train
Ils perdent le nord à s’enfermer
Contre leurs flèche un pas de coté
Demain la frontière nous tendra son fil
Je te prête mes ciseaux si tu ravales ta bile
Ey que la colère disparaisse s’évanouisse comme une promesse
Et que nos spectres deviennent cendre et que rugissent les amours tendres

Featuring Sanseverino avec l’aimable autorisation de Sony France entertainment, Columbia
(William Butler Yeats)
Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares - chant
Sanseverino– Guitares -chant
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

Philippe George – Trombone
Jon Handelsman – Saxophone
David Lewis – Trompette
Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares Chant
Lucio Watkins - Chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Emmanuel Galet – Prise de son – mix Paroles et musique de Gerard Watkins
Working on a song
Set you back on course
Feed it through you veins
Rid you of remorse
So step out in the hall
With your thumbs your on your chest
Elbows in the air
Dressed up in your best
Celebration of a one way dance
Celebration of a one way dance
Trying to get involved
Hold a grip on what’s wrong
Get some riddle solved
Bury negative thoughts
Watch your kneecaps tremble
As u listen to my song
And the hours come piling in
The hours of sleeping yourself strong
By the way do you know whet the mean by peace
Celebration of a one way dance
Celebration of a one way dance
Alwas thought they’d get you in a trance
Thought you’d work on your home
Better Work on yourself instead
Pay few xtra dollars
U can even it do it in bed
Priest ain’t around no more
And yo grandma’s kinda dead
Cash can open up ears
but they end turning red
My song can work you wonders
No need to say a word
Get yo body ready
Dance like a paradise bird

Let me introduce you to your future where everything ain’t quite as it used to where everyone lies ready to die
while the government flies right by like a vulture where daily routine is a daily routine
new movie every week but I ain’t seen a new scene
all shit’s the same yet who’s to blame people would do anything to get the fame
one path
one step
one wiggle
one dance
one track
one tape
one rhythm
one sample
U wanna be a cool kid oh that simple
get yourself some Yeezies and a bif of Bape too
one mistake and ur the Ugly Duckling
there must be something wrong with this system
so if your pissed of against the nation
join us all in a celebration

David Lewis – Bugle
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Matthis Pascaud – Guitares
Gerard Watkins - Guitares Chant

Ca ne me dit rien de me faire couper en deux ça ne me dit rien de fuir en avant
Ca ne me fait rien de me cirer les yeux ca me fait rien touts ces pieges qu’on me tend
C’est aujourd’hui hier et demain c’est toujours c’est comme ça que je reçois le temps
C’est un plat qu’on me sert dans le désordre du rien c’est un masque taillé dans du vent

C’est beau de rêver le matin et de rugir le soir en se serrant les dents
Encore faut-il que le toit soit de bronze que les murs sentent le mauvais ciment
La vie semble belle quand elle sert plus a rien qu’elle est là pour se jeter dans les champs
C’est la rançon de l’errance elle m’est rare elle est m’est chère je la serre je la perds je la prends

Quand je tombe savamment
Dans les ondes du néant
Quand je tombe lentement
Derrière l ombres du bouclier blanc

Je n’écouterai pas les stridentes sirènes des pourpres des bleus des blancs
Je suivrais les traces de la louve sereine dans l’espoir de lui faire trente enfants
Déjà c’est trop tard le jour se fait noir nous ordonne de foutre le camp
Le dernière tasse est toujours la meilleur il est temps de se trouver un banc

J’aime les moines le cercle de silence il n’y a vraiment qu’eux que j’entends
C’est le trésor des humbles d’être pris à défaut de se sentir a poil en décembre
C’est le prix à payer pour ne pas être faux un oubli un maitre du chiant
De se casser de la marche qui sent bon la débâcle et de se laisser choir vraiment

Dans la lande des tourbillons
Dans l’attente du poison
Dans la tombe de cendrillon
Dans la chambre du pharaon

C’est ma main que je tends son regard qui se libère sa salive qui se transforme en sang
Quand je franchis la ligne comme une aveugle elle cligne comme une sourde elle se protège le ventre
C’est la terreur de l’autre mon chien mon apôtre qui frissonne à s’en claquer les dents
Le froid me pénètre et je ri de mauvais cœur et je jouis qu’on va tous faire semblant
Il me reste une lueur que je vénère quand je pleur qui se fige a chaque fois que je me mens
Il me reste un neurone qui se fout des clones qui ont beau se prétendre des géants
C’est ne voix qui me perce une aiguille qui me berce un manteau qui me sert de paravent
Vous êtes fous d’avoir raison j’ai raison d’etre fou ova se quitter comme ça bêtement

Où est ta lumière, maintenant ?
Où est ton armée d’absents ?
Où est ta fronde de savants?
O est ton bouclier blanc ?

(Néologisme pour néolibéraux illogiques)

Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie  
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares - chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Prise de son / mix  deEmmanuel Galet
Paroles et musique de Gerard Watkins

Un florilège d’investissement de fric à mettre en arrière plan
Et non sans contrefaçon
Avachi dans un canapé chevauchant sur la canopée
Des tas de cendres de ta maison
Si lui dit vrai qui est ce qui ment ? S’il est dessus qui est dedans ?
En vert et contre toute raison
Une cure de blair une chute de blé une gerbe de flair une paire de dés
Pour dire qu’il n’y a plus de saisons
Et le manque à gagner est le butin de l’araignée
Et des ombes du fond de la tombe où nos âmes sont enterrées
Et le bout d’os au fond de la moelle est là pour qui crèvera la dalle
Et les mouches qui se mangent la toile chanteront fort ce madrigal
Une ouverture à ras la bourse le temps que le diable aille faire ses courses
Et qu’est-ce qu’elles sont lourdes à porter
A passer dans les mailles du filet de peur qu’on l’attrape au collet
Il change ses langes d’identité
Bien fiscal est son paradis où tout est d’or comme il l’a dit
En joie de son lointain exil
Le plus on coule le plus il grimpe le moins c’est cool
le plus tu il pimpe ses dents de sang il fera mille
Et hop et hop ah bon eh oui et c’est comme ça
Je dis que ça craint tu dis que t’as faim il dit que c’est rien
et tout ça pour notre bien
Et nous sommes toujours des iles.
Car bien au delà du parasite que tout séduit
qu’un rien excite est loin d’être jaune le péril
Bien fiscal est ton paradis
Une ombre au moins ça a un air lui n’est même pas dans le dictionnaire
Et dans ses voiles y a vla du vent
On l’a senti on a prit cher passer par la porte de derrière
Les balles toujours bien dans son camp

Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie  
Matthis Pascaud – Guitares
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares Chant

Prise de son / mix  de Emmanuel Galet
Paroles et musique de Gerard Watkins

Old engage in arm locks with the heathen
Young indulge in star struck misbehaving
Veils of Jordan girl gets caught in cycle wheels
Charlie’s angels sunbathe by the squatting leaves
The Ethiopian restaurant is open
Pilipino cook is outside for a smoke
Bearded ruffian grunts cos he’s so broken
Vaclav is no waiter but a hell of a joke
I was born with technical decisions
Ran away from segregation hell
Fought my way through moderation limbo
Woke up in a cosmopolitan shell
Gucci mama drops her bag in the sewer
Tie Rack Jack is late for a low-cost flight
The smell of falafel is growing stronger
It’s not organic but worth a hungry bite
Jaffa’s looking for simple expressions
Ways to change and die then be born again
Rock and roll is good for all his pressure
Gipsy pharaoh says to get his ass from the rain
Dog soldier’s son he is so happy
His father’s shack finally burned down last night
Looking for a gig but it ain’t no music
Got to be somewhere in town a cage fight
Meet someone today from somewhere else
You now she will produce the hidden words
They’ll hit you like diamond in the face
All the rest just leave it it to the parking ticket birds
I was born with technical decisions
Ran away from segregation hell
Slept my way through moderation limbo
Woke up in a cosmopolitan shell

David Lewis – Trompette
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Jon Handelsman – Saxophone
Philippe George - Trombone
Bertrand Noel – Batterie  
Matthis Pascaud – Guitares
Gerard Watkins  - Guitares Chant

Woke up on the 19th floor last night with no clothes on
Burning my wings over you
Number 9 gave our loving bodies a cold shower nothing we could do
I got nothing in common with U except being lost little girl
Take me by the head and blow it the rest will follow
Fight against sleepy death under the lampshades
They roll up they crawl up they blow up out of the blue
Only the night can keep us together
Only the night can hide is till dawn home
Only the night can fix all your faces
Cos' only the night will hide us till dawn
Trying to count how many U's there are Russian Doll
Must be 'round 16
The U's you use are sharp & deadly user unfriendly
The U’s you hide are shrewd
Traded threads of knowledge for a hole in your twisted mind
Buried a hatchet below crawled up and died in your shrine
Living with wild beasts sharing the rent in your hive
The wild one the tame one the blue one the one that's naked & blind

Odja Llorca- Chant
Gerard Watkins – Guitare chant

Took a walk down to employment lane
Careless and casual and colder than a letter from Cain
All i could do think to keep from going insane
What will be there loss will be my gain

The lady at the desk was a tumbling dice
The way she’d lean on her file made it all look so nice
Guy in front straight from men and mice
Drooled as he listenened to all this friendly advice

Never thought i’d make it through he day
So many suckers singing come what may
For something they can do nothing they can say
There are no raging rocks left anyway

Anything goes said the company wiz
I got mine don’t worry about his
Do what u want just don’t call it what it is
Keep you chin up go outo make us some biz

I signed up all their papers with a sense of relief
Sharpened my knike and cut me some beef
I ain’t got the guts to be a common thief
I’m a free and aging man going underneath

Eating chips on my couch with a twist of shame
A sparrow flew in my room and told me is name
Said his cousins were all dead and he was to blame
For sleeping on the job on the lookout for planes

Mr sparrow i feel sorry for you
But sleeping through this hell is all i can do
I swear my soul is safe and sound and true
Jus don’t know where it is and away this bird flew

Philippe Georges – Trombone
Jon Handelsman – Saxophone
David Lewis – Trompette
Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins - Guitares Chant
Lucio Watkins - Chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Did u forget to pass out in the hall paper coupon in your hand ?
Did u forget to blow an extra fuse disconnect with fatherland ?
Did u forget to forget about the berlin wall let it haunt a one night stand ?

Di u forget to lock up your front door
Did u forget u could be such a bore ?
Dis u forget such a thing as a whore
Did u forget the peasants fucked by the lord

Did u forget ? Did you forget ? Did u forget ? Did u forget ?

Did u forget to google yourself at 2 am to find a link with a karpathean goat ?
Did u forget to give up for good an essential need hope it wasn’t your winter coat
Did u forget to smile at the satellite see it up in ozone float ?

Did you forget to show the world u could crawl ?
Id u forget to stick your foot in the wall ?
Did u forget your sweetheart down at the mall ?
Did u forget the shorts that go with the ball ?

Did u forget to sympathize with a hostage for so much longer held in hell
Did u forget to rat on an alien resident sweating in a basement den ?
Did u forget to socialize your facebook pride with a descriptive pen ?

Did u forget to give half of it up
Did u forget to drink blood from a cup
Did u forget to wag your tail like a pup
Did u forget or not to shut the fuck up ?

Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins - Guitares – chant
Philippe Welsh - chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Where is everybody going ?
Was her last question
Stuffing books in her jacket pills in her cup
Lighting a cigarette she knows won’t be her last
Counting the children she lost in her head
Counting days ahead
Dodging lovers fled
This is what she said

What will bleed will bleed
Just another seed
The diamond wad a beed

So let it come down

She took all the numbers in her phone directory
Fake friends and dodgy workaholics
Incinirated in the washroom
She looked in awe as black smoke came out
Dark came all about
She had no time to shout
So she whispered out
What will bleed will bleed
Just another seed
The diamond was a beed
So let it come down

Walking down the hall she fell on a smalll boy
Looked like the devil himself was it her own
Eyes staring straight through her mind
Holding a bag full of paper notes from hell
When this angel fell
She could never elle
Could only say so well
The diamond was a beed
So let it come down

Odja Llorca - Chant
David Lewis - Trompette
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Gerard Watkins - Guitares - chant
Vassia Zagar – Guitares

Candle lit on a turkish bath
President chokes on a laugh
Floating ashtray sails nearby
With a cuban cigar extinct and saying hi
President stares at his toes in a fan
Farts and the bubbles break loose through his hands
Mingles in the air
With the food he ate and the thoughts he does not share
He is the man
Man with the plan
Talks to his plants talks to the wall
The plants hear voices the wall knows it all
Drips on a persian rug
His siamese cat stays off of drugs
Aircon’s a bitch germs passing through
Memories skating on the dew
Of a window the maid leaves open all day
Minibar lock and key seem to say
He is the man
Man with the plan
President dreams of educated clouds
Drifts ans reads Lord Biron out loud
Never rains but bleeds a few words
Soothes the flocks and slaughters the herds
This is our future this is our past
This is the powers iconoclast
Hear him sleep neerby

Odja Llorca - Chant
Benoit Lugué – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Arthur Orcier – Claviers
Matthis Pascaud – Guitares
Gerard Watkins - Guitares Chant

Belle vit maintenant sous cloche
Ce qui l’entoure est bien moche
Protégée par un sommeil de plomb
Son conseiller nuptial se sent con
Des heures devenues des encoches
Des briques en or noir plein les poches
Elle verse du sang froid dans le fond
D’un verre dangereux qui sent si bon
Et sans rancœur
Sans l’âme sœur
On l’avait prévenu de se taire
Mais sa glotte n’a rien su y faire
Vivant son trépas comme un outrage
Traversant la scène à la nage
Il y a t il un ailleurs quand l’autre ment ?
A t il une odeur d’infirme amant ?
Son jardin secret en jachère
Troquant des mots contre de la chair par si cher
Et sans rancœur
Mais sans l âme sœur
Belle ne veut pas d’esclavage
Belle souffle les bougies de sa cage
Pour mieux manger le ciel endormi
Et bruler à la loupe les fourmis
Dans la brume se frayer un passage
Siffler en passant ça doit être l’age
D’ouvrir les yeux sans faire de vague ni de pluie
Sur le balcon d’une vie absente et d’un monde évanoui

Frank M Hinrichs – Basse
Bertrand Noel – Batterie
Matthis Pascaud – Guitares
Gerard Watkins - Guitares Chant

Koffi lives in the Congo
By a river that looks like a swamp
That’s where he buries his brother
Along with a five hundred note
Says take this with you my brother
You’ll need it where it is you go
Just give it straight to the man at the gate
If he asks questions just nod and
don’t ever say no again
His sister’s a half wit albino
Been raped for the very first time
It’s bad luck to rape an albino
Says her ma as she washes her down
Her skirt is torn at the shoulder
On her back is a scar like a cross
Ans as walks through the minefield
She swears she won’t ever play
won’t ever say no again
Koffi lives by his colours
Paints all this wonderfull art
Full of faces and bullets and flowers
And visons he tears apart
One of his visions a tower
Two hundred stories high
One day he’ll climb all the way to the top
Break a few windows
and swear he will say no again