And Also the Trees: An Unofficial Fanpage-- Le Bataclan

1.  Sickness Divine          8.  Bullet Head 
2.  Red Valentino            9.  Vincent Craine
3.  The Soul Driver         10.  The Flatlands
4.  Prince Rupert           11.  Gone... Like the Swallows
5.  The Woodcutter          12.  Virus Meadow
6.  Dialogue                13.  There Were no Bounds
7.  Slow Pulse Boy          14.  Shantell

Wasting time, Aimlessly I roam without you girl By my side. Klaxons wail, Tunnel streets echo. Their serenade, Sickness divine. Daylight dies, a ferris wheel turns; Waves split the bay like a knife. In my mind Charity I hold you through days Sickness divine. Charity it's cold. Hold me tight Charity it's cold Without you girl, Sickness divine. Charity, it's cold...

In my stone solemn head, I chase the paradise. Beyond the streets, where my eyes cannot reach... I follow you. Past the neon sign, Red Valentino, in sick heart paradise. Red Valentino, how I could reel to your music. Red Valentino. In my stone solemn head, I chase the paradise. You bend and sway, Through mirror-hall wheel-arches, Down the chrome parades. You know the truth of the errant night. Red Valentino, in sick heart paradise. Red Valentino, how I could reel to your music. Red Valentino. In my stone solemn head, I chase the paradise. The velvet dark, soft beating of your heart. I follow you, through the shameless night. Red Valentino, in sick heart paradise. Red Valentino, how I could reel to your music. Red Valentino. In my stone solemn head, I chase the paradise. I see the trains, and wonder where they go... And from where they came. I see them come, and I see them go -- But the light still flashes, Red Valentino. I see you in your shark suit, with your high-collar high. Switchblade paradise... And all I feel are the veils of rain on my face... Switchblade paradise. And the veils of rain on my face... Switchblade paradise. And the veils of rain on my face... I follow you, through the sleepless night. Red Valentino, in sick heart paradise. Red Valentino, how I could reel to your music. Red Valentino. Sleepless night.... Thank you.

The rain was fresh on the streets The camber of the road Hissed beneath. The soft caress of the seat Sucked me back. The town that rose from its sleep Through the tunnel like a dream. But nobody sees Overland in a car But nobody sees The Soul Driver. And a young man and his bride are laughing in a room, As I glide Under a sheet-hung balcony I look back... Cafés, courtyards, and bakeries, slide forever Behind me. But nobody sees Overland in a car But nobody sees The Soul Driver. But nobody sees Overland in a car that sails The Soul Driver. And as my thick hissing wheels Hit the open road With a squeal, the soft caressing seat Sucked me back. But nobody sees Overland in a car But nobody sees The Soul Driver. But nobody sees Overland in a car that sails The Soul Driver. The Soul Driver. Thank you.

Rupert lies on a bed In a chamber and watches the weeds, and the feather-headed grasses that waver on the grey stone balcony. He sees the blood-stained silk white sky of another dawn arise; But Rupert knows this crimson morn will turn to dusk and night will fall before the day... "Oh, give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. "Give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. "Give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. Rupert hangs by a thread, on the wall above the cool, soft bed. And daylight comes in flashes, like memories of lightening through his mind. He sees the fleur de lis floor shine, gold and white as the sun climbs, and glints into his ruby ring, slipping from his finger, pale and thin... Onto the floor. "Oh, give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. "Give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. "Give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. Rupert lies on a bed Where the night bows her head. Stars weave their dreams around him, shaken from her loose, black raven hair. "Oh, give me this day," Prince Rupert calls. "Give me this day." "Give me this..." Thank you, it is very good to hear that.

He tried to say... that she meant nothing at all. Walk down the rivers and under the bridges, the bells mocked...foolishly. Foolishly. Walk down the rivers and under the bridges, the bells mocked...foolishly. Foolishly. Like dry leaves through scarce memories, She would reach to him from the deep... He believed. She rides the waves that whisper up to the shores. Her crescent figure through green waters glimmered. The dream-glossed estuary, estuary... Her crescent figure through green waters glimmered. The dream-glossed estuary, estuary... Like dry leaves through scarce memories, She would reach to him from the deep... He believed. The woodcutter he stares, towards the eastern cove. With eyes to stroke the torrid, wave-beaten shore. From the horizon of nowhere she glided, Her oak breast cut the sea. From the horizon of nowhere she glided, Her oak breast cut the sea. Like dry leaves through scarce memories, The woodcutter he stares... Like dry leaves through scarce memories, She would reach to him from the deep... He believed.

This is called Dialogue. Doves circuit the sky, In the room where I woke. I heard them fly Like a rush of blood into the endless blue. Out into the blue, reflected light Trembles on the wall Where Hannah lies. I thought of you And all the things I'd say, All the things I'd say to you. Out into the blue... All the things I'd say, All the things I'd say to you. She thought of a time... Saw herself by the lake, The house behind ringing with a tune of glass and chandeliers... Her lonliness grew. The evening brushed Through her auburn hair and closed her eyes. I thought of you. And all the things I'd say. All the things I'd say to you. Out into the blue... All the things I'd say. All the things I'd say to you.

In this dream, I'm in a room with no furniture, always. And there's a fire burning in the grate. And I walk towards the window. And I have this feeling that there's somebody behind me... I know there's somebody behind me. And the room gently glows, occaisionally, as somewhere the blast furnace explodes... plumes of amber in the night sky. Each explosion bounces, from horizon to horizon. From horizon...to horizon. And for a while, The slow pulse boy stood by the window. And let the fire sink into his skin. Again all was still... But for the empty tin, rolling up and down the gutter, on the breeze. Then we were standing very close. I could live in the space between his heartbeats. Outside, the furnace erupts again, and dark red rivers filled our veins with frenzy. We could tear out the floors, and find all the things we'd ever lost. And the fire burns in our jack boots... So we chase the explosions, From horizon, to horizon. Wrap ourselves around the distance, for as long as we can hold. Somewhere a girl is singing. There is calm in the air. But there is calm in the air... but there is greater calm than I can bear. Tomorrow the sun shines.

It was late afternoon, She sat watching never come to Vincent Craine. Under the wet-weather swollen door... Never came. She pressed her knee up Underneath a wooden table. As in her midriff, dread flutters like the threat of Love or pain. There was a bowl of fruit, shrinking on the table by a rusting spoon. And over the mist weary distant hills... Never came. Through piles of wrecked cars, From the stagnant pools of water, From the abbatoir flies that swarm, leech and crawl in Clamour lane. She walked towards the door, Pushed it open, and stood behind Vincent Craine. He leaned back and locked his arms around her... Her thin, awkward legs. They watched the sunlight slide in cold squares across the walls. They watched the sunlight Slide in cold squares across the walls.

She knew in time that the gate would swing. She knew in time that She would look up to see him... Behind the elms, the snow clouds were gathering. Into the winter, her voice would sing. She would stand and face the wind Over the flatlands came its tenor roar, Its legion force. And she would sing... Beneath the pylons, In lace white fields We cut the violets that came like phantom spring. Dress billowing Down the path into the wind. She knew in time that the gate would swing. She would stand and face the wind Over the flatlands came its tenor roar, Its legion force. And she would sing... Out of the silence, She raked the leaves. I stood beside her Beneath the giant trees... I thought I saw a figure wading through the corn. She knew in time that the gate would swing. She would stand and face the wind Over the flatlands came its tenor roar, Its legion force. And she would sing... Thank you very much, goodnight.

Balancing on the wind, Leaning on the cliff edge wind, in limbo -- He watches sand running through the fingers of his left hand... And into the palm of his right. He sees someone walking in a hot, dry wasteland, Young, hesitant steps... Recognised her crooked fringe and narrow eyes -- Summer patterned, cotton, threadbare sleeveless flowered summer dress... Scratched ankles, and nail bitten hands. Wanted to touch her cool dark hair... But she was gone. And his old tired face was still as ever. An aeroplane hummed way up in the sky, High up, high above the clouds. A green teapot, and a pair of boots, A broken pocket watch and chain, A born dead baby pig, Lying, pure white...bloodless Soft and smooth as a gloved ladies hand; a spinning wheel, an umbrella, empty bottles of empty bottles, a rip saw, a hat stand and a slate grey pillbox hat -- They sailed past his grabbing hands, And were gone...like the swallows. Stuttered words, stuttered words... Voices asking questions he cannot understand. Come and find us...Step back or you'll fall -- Tried to cling to the summer cotton, light, threadbare sleeveless patterned dirty carnation sweatstained primrose dirty disappearing decaying flowered faded cotton forgotten fucking summer dress... But it was gone. Gone...like the swallows.

Rattled chime, slow ringing echo, Roll around in virus meadow. Suck enchanted nightshade twine, Stolen bells beneath them chime. Sinking sermon, priest head murmurs Holy words across the meadows. Kissed the plague's black rolling hand as from his lips the virus sang. And the rooks seem to follow him wherever he goes. Flapping in the flat sky, shreiking from the spire, Dangling from the lead sky, hanging from the sun, the rooks, they seem to follow him...wherever he goes. Nodding thistle, English sun dew, Swansneck woman, child-bed meadow. Aching shoulders sink and grow, As the bells from ditches toll. And the smeared skin wrapped limbs of the night brothers. Struggling, crawling... Through the empty crack of morning. And the night brothers. And the night brothers. And the night brothers. The night brothers.

Thank you. Nothing is, for us, quite like the audience in Paris. Sometimes it scares the absolute hell out of us. Why, I don't know. There was no pain any longer, No more need to gasp for air. And the tiled floor had ceased to be cold and hard. All sound had died away, and it was quite dark. But in the darkness, and in the silence, there was still a kind of knowledge, a faint awareness. Awareness not of name or person, and not of memories of the past; The awareness knew only itself. Into dark silence, in the void of all sensation, Something began to know. And there were no bounds. There were no bounds. And it was aware of a kind of growing hunger, but a hunger for something that didn't exist. For the knowledge was only of absence. Of pure, and absolute absence. Durations of restlessness, and durations of hunger. But in the dark silence, in the void of all sensation, Something began to know. And there were no bounds. And there were no bounds. There were no bounds. There were no bounds. I hid the dog's teeth. They rattled in my pocket. Poor, old Atkinson...

Thank you, thank you. Now, this is for memory. Winter wind, blow the trees. Creatures trapped have to fall. Hear their howls claw the sky... Whispers follow Shantell. Shantell... Shantell... Shantell sleeps, tables creak, Mirrors start to speak. Branches scratch, tap the panes... Whispers follow Shantell. Shantell... Shantell...