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Morning Is Dead

from His Sleepless Cabaret by Saint Lazarus

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about

A spoken-word musical poem inspired by late acid-rock – a song about hangovers, death, and the advice one is so often offered by red-eyed strangers in the middle of the night.

lyrics

I was walking along
one chilly Sunday morning
drool dripping from the edge of my chin
the smell of Friday night still hanging in my clothes
when I came upon a man, old and dishevelled
enveloped in blankets and old newspaper sitting
on the side of the road
a look of madness in his eyes
he put a withered claw around my ankle
looked me deep in the eye
and said

Bless the morning dead and gone
the inhabitants of hell
walking zombie-like across
whatever's left of the weekend carrousel
skin dripping, eyes burning
tell your folks that morning is dead

Kill yourself every day
Wake up in the morning
With a rope around your neck
Work and play
on the edge of a rooftop
Go to bed at night
With the barrel of a loaded gun
Lodged between your teeth

Hunt yourself to extinction
Infect your wounds
With dirt and grime
Run headfirst into walls
And sleep where the tide comes in
Eat only salt and cyanide
And fuck
In spiders' nests
And beehives

Kill yourself every day

And always leave a note
To remind yourself in the morning
That yesterday you died
And today
You die anew

Bless the morning
Dead and gone
the inhabitants of hell
walking zombie-like across
whatever's left from the weekend carrousel
skin dripping eyes burning
tell your folks that morning is dead

under the neon lights of a magic theatre
a stranger approaches
carrying himself like a silken sheet
blowing through the humid midnight air
as if expending no effort
he looks at you
with eyes like the nests of a recluse
and takes your hand in his
a cool cat, he calls you, drunk like a glass of water
offering you strange dreams packed
in white crystal
you forget his name before he has even spoken it
but you know him just as well
before long
your skin starts sloughing off
a myriad of tensions let go
as you speak
and he reaches for the scruff of your neck
with his slight and feminine paw
looking deep into your eyes
saying
tripping is often literal
watch your step

Bless the morning dead and gone
the inhabitants of hell
walking zombie-like across
whatever's left of the weekend carrousel
skin dripping, eyes burning
tell your folks that morning is dead
tell your folks that morning is dead
tell your folks that morning is dead
tell your folks that morning is dead

credits

from His Sleepless Cabaret, released February 23, 2020
The Band:
Vocals: Harald Toksværd
Bass Guitar: Simone Wester Larsen
Drums: Daniel Nielsen
Guitar: Kristoffer Winther Jensen

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Mix/Master: Tobias Rødkjær Griffin

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about

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Saint Lazarus Copenhagen, Denmark

SAINT LAZARUS is a four-piece project of hypnotizing post-punk, combining cabaret, heroin blues and beat poetry in a smoldering chaos of circus and sound. Centered around the tale of the undying Lazarus, the group is a storytelling project brought to life through poetry and theatrics, with man's innermost darkness as their musical driving force. ... more

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