kept occult
We keep a current
Flowing from a sluice
Cloud it with corrsives
Hoping to appropriate
What holds its own so well
What tips an ever »
Gegenstand
Kew. Rhone.
by Lisa Herman
|
Of my Grimsby
Oh England you´re fair
But there´s none to compare with my Grimsby
Through nights of mad youth
I have loved every sluice in your harbour »
Grimsby
Caribou
by Elton John
|
But they were panning good dirt on the winding Shotover
So we headed down there just to see
We sluiced and we cradled for day after day
Making »
Farewell to the Gold
Penguin Eggs
by Nic Jones
|
Old Jimmy Williams and me
They were panning good dirt on the winding shot over
So we headed down there just to see
Chorus
We sluiced and we »
Farewell to the Gold
Time for Touching Home
by The Black Family
|
the rabbit hole
And head for the sluice way
I'm a chip away boy
I'm a chip away boy
And I'll chip away
Till I make the other side »
Chip Away Boy
Black Letter Days
by Frank Black and the Catholics
|
Orally force fed, until cirmosis is induced,
Fatal renal failure, bleeds like a sluice,
Spewing blood as the gallbladder extrudes,
Alcoholic »
Hepatic Tissue Fermentation II
Wake Up and Smell the Carcass
by Carcass
|
[music - Andrew LaBarre]
[lyrics - Sean McGrath]
Icy liquid fills your lungs
A gushing salt water sluice
Flushing out your bronchia with vitriol »
Choke on It
Mondo Medicale
by Impaled
|
the fence posts are collapsing
And the stream has blown its sluices
But I'm coming back tomorrow
Or at least some time next week
And if it ever stops rainin' »
If It Ever Stops Rainin'
Deepcut to Nowhere
by Graham Parker
|
Swing insects juice
Caught in the windshield headlights and sluice
As you battle ahead on Truth
Sheet lightning going down through the pines
With your »
Dizzy's Goatee
Earthquake Weather
by Joe Strummer
|
to town.
So I buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep,
And there he's waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep; »
The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
The Singing Ranger, Vol. 3
by Hank Snow
|
And lo! as if to make amends for all the futile past,
Late in the year he struck it rich, the real pay-streak at last.
The riffles of his sluicing »
The Ballad of Hard Luck Henry
The Singing Ranger, Vol. 3
by Hank Snow
|
| BTW, Why won't you become an editor? |
