Dead Fingers Talk - Dead Sea Apes
Hanging By A Thread - Phil Judd
Counting The Beat - The Swingers
Gabriel's Strut Dub - The Black Seeds
The Fish That Never Swam - Hector Bizerk
Look Away - 2 of Clubs
I Hate The Beach - Rebel Tears
Fan Fiction - Long Limbs
Gold Divers Under The Ice - The Electric Cheese
King Titan - Wild Al Hotchkiss and His Aquaphibians
Lucie - Fungi Girls
Going Into The Unknown - Wounded Lion
Billy - Boys Boys Boys
Conductor - Girl Band
Stay The Same - Huon Kind
Hairdo - Sex Hands
Adolescence - The Murlocs
by Robert Frost
The bear puts both arms around the tree above her
And draws it down as if it were a lover
And its chokecherries lips to kiss good-by,
Then lets it snap back upright in the sky.
Her next step rocks a boulder on the wall
(She's making her cross-country in the fall).
Her great weight creaks the barbed wire in its staples
As she flings over and off down through the maples,
Leaving on one wire tooth a lock of hair.
Such is the uncaged progress of the bear.
The world has room to make a bear feel free;
The universe seems cramped to you and me.
Man acts more like the poor bear in a cage,
That all day fights a nervous inward rage,
His mood rejecting all his mind suggests.
He paces back and forth and never rests
The me-nail click and shuffle of his feet,
The telescope at one end of his beat,
And at the other end the microscope,
Two instruments of nearly equal hope,
And in conjunction giving quite a spread.
Or if he rests from scientific tread,
'Tis only to sit back and sway his head
Through ninety-odd degrees of arc, it seems,
Between two metaphysical extremes.
He sits back on his fundamental butt
With lifted snout and eyes (if any) shut
(He almost looks religious but he's not),
And back and forth he sways from cheek to cheek,
At one extreme agreeing with one Greek
At the other agreeing with another Greek
Which may be thought, but only so to speak.
A baggy figure, equally pathetic
When sedentary and when peripatetic.