All instruments played by Pleudoniem; lyrics and vocals by Pleudoniem.

About a Lady who has been blinkered enough to deny any damage she has been causing to her environment, and most particularly her children. A clash with someone who simply returned fire leads to the conclusion that she had better stuff herself.

In the lyric, I larded references to some of the greats of jazz in people and titles. The reason is that music is a great medicine, and because I thought it was fun.

Kind of Orange

The peeling of an orange
In the sound of Fats Waller
Big feet and a smile
The taps of Miles to come
I've closed the door behind me
Wiped off my suit

I don't think that I fed you
The way the fruit's been feeding me
The purchase and the call
Was all fair trade

Instead you stamped your foot
And pulverised the rind
On human want forever
Sweet pulp on tarmac
So here's another fruit
To suffocate your greed
I'm feeding it you whole
Make your face turn kind of blue

The dust of her saliva
Spat in gunpowder strokes
A Cannonball Adder
Ready for a bite
Strange fruits won't budge
In your throat

I don't think that I cut you
Or barred the wheel inside
The segments and the spokes
Could have rolled

    • Type: Original
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