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lyrics

Mary England rips the petals from the rose
reorganizes all the clothes she owns
by color, size, and now by sentimental value
whips the kettle from the stove
steeps her tea, enflames a black-rolled clove
they'll come in droves to gave upon her latest breakthrough
Mary England lines a box with plastic bags
wheels it carefully and tries not to drag it
through the rocks in socks as thin as Bible pages
douses it in kerosene, flicks a cigarette
and sips her chun mee green
hums a tune she hasn't hummed in ages
take a look at my face, think it tastes like honey?
a murderess is a hard case, but they'll never take me alive

Mary England once was positively sane
once was privy to the finest champagne
was she smiling then? well, certainly and absolutely
now she's smiling once again
another letter slithering from her pen
gives the hows, the whos, the whys, the wheres and whens

do you remember, we used to grind our words together?
there's no more speaking in well-mannered tones
vultures picking at the bones of every word
now just a widowed valentine
another wish to be so much older
and so much more refined
they come in and they swallow death
think it tastes like honey
cause I was born just like all the rest
but they'll never take me alive
cause they'll never realize
it's been a bad year for love
been such a bad year for love

the sweet, supple scent of your breath
I can taste you, honey
I'll find you after my death
cause they'll never take me alive

Mary England
prone to moods, she feuds alone
pink monogram of a lover she'd known
she weeps a bit and spits on the embroidery
two by fours to line the door
hammers with a femur all the way
from header to floor
keeping out the stink of the charcuterie
but every moan, creak, crack and ghost groan
lumbers through the air of halls that reak
of rose water cologne
she's crumbling and feeble
only wishing for a little truth to cradle in her slumber
cause when the number of the beast sounds sweeter
than the name upon the sheets
and the name of the deceased
needled on the shoulder blade of Mary England
and the darkness sits down
and it's out damned spot
the darkness holds
and it's out damned spot
the darkness folds
and it's out, it's out damned spot

credits

from The Funeral of the Siren, released August 15, 2008
Joshua McCormack - vocals, piano, guitar, bass, percussion
Jay Will - drums

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Joshua McCormack Tucson, Arizona

From the odd acoustic pop of Joshua Mccormack Presents Holiday Girl , to the electronic-tinged rock of The Phantom King , to the collection of sonic oddities on The Dunce Cap, he’s been restless for years.

His recent album Lights Out 4 Baby Grand, shows a more personal side, while The World, Just For You is a collection of cover songs he recorded to survive the dystopian ambivalence of 2020.
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