The Division of Labour

by Naevus

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released May 16, 2012

Performed, recorded, mixed and mastered by Lloyd James at Wooden Lung from September 2009 to November 2011.
All material © 2012.



all rights reserved


Naevus London, UK

Lloyd James: voice, acoustic guitar.
Ben McLees: bass, electric guitar.
Hunter Barr: drums, keyboards.
Sam Astley: electric guitar.

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Track Name: Man in a Ditch
When he fell into the welcoming ditch
There was nothing beside him
When he looked up at the grey, drizzled sky
There was nothing that could have reminded him

When he tried to account for his position
His actions displaced him
When he sought to describe his location
His interests erased him
Track Name: Idiots (Let Me In)
Let me in
Let me in
Let me in

Diagonally across the street
Without control of their faculties
Spending your time and mine
All over the street

Let me in
Let me in
Let me in

Filling up the shop
Dissatisfied with their lot
They just don’t get it
They just don’t get it

Let me in
Let me in
Let me in

They don’t know left from right
They don’t know right from wrong
They don’t know anything
They don’t know this song
Track Name: Bleat Beep
The roaring in your mind roars on
The pennies in your pocket have gone
The sense of well-being that your system neglected
Alights instead upon a distance, well-protected

What do you see in an instant?
Images of bodies that your mind kept
What did you feel when your nerve went?
Actions that remained unrepentantly repentant

Bleat, beep

What did you cut out from behind the glass?
Nothing, of course

You go out to the old mine shaft
At Cemetery Tropicana
You look up and it all ends suddenly at the sky

What is it that defies revision?
Words and a simple movement
What was it that you heard behind Joy Division?
Just a simple movement
A simple, human movement

Bleat, beep
Track Name: Making Hay
When the world was younger
And things lasted for longer
There were several children on their way
They paused by the brook
And lazily they looked
At the workers in the fields making hay

Some did not to continue
When the rest of their retinue
Journeyed home for repast
And their youthful curiosity
Knew not what the cost would be
Of helping the workers in their task

That was the beginning
Of all of those songs you’ve been singing
That was the start
Of your incessant craving for Art
For Art

When the sun was setting
And the children saw it was getting
Too dark to enjoy their activity
They bade farewell to the workers
And planned to head homewards
But the they found themselves angrily encircled

The workers did not
Want to be left to their lot
And so blocked the free passage of youth
And so not wanting to fight
The children worked through the night
And became acquainted with the truth

That was the beginning
Of all of those songs you’ve been singing
That was the start
Of your incessant craving for art

Language grew rough and instructional
Actions became swift and functional
Muscles and sinews grew hard
Dominating head and heart

And so the world grew older
And Man became ever bolder
And still now to this day
Children out walking
Are inevitably lured in
By the sight of workers making hay
Track Name: The Stomach
How much more of this
Can you be expected to take?
For how much longer should you be
Prepared to wait?

How much longer?

How far from your stated aims
Have you been taken away?
And how long will it take to find
A buyer for those theories that you make?

How much longer?
Track Name: Song in Suspension
Your bunker is high
Never mind, never mind
They fall at your feet
Never mind, never mind
Chemicals in your bloodstream
Never mind, never mind
People in your streets
Never mind, never mind
It’s only science
Never mind, never mind
Controlled intake
Never mind, never mind

But who will fight this fight that you fight?
Who will fight that fight that you fought?
Track Name: Hobo Placing
Bad Night?
No new dimension
Impersonators nowhere to be found
But what is to be expected?
Nothing to smash
But should you be in the mood
There will be plenty of glass there
And typhoons of thought
Each one could envelop
Something one degree greater than itself
Until there is nothing left to say

Nothing to see here
Cross the road carefully
Abstract things
Still threaten on the horizon
Tasks can be apportioned
But the layers of your privilege will rot away
And so expose the pain that we feel
At being given tasks to do
We dare you to refuse
Just as we will
When given anything resembling an opportunity

Heated loser laughing
Neglected winners pissing
Vomiting prawns down their vests
These are the outcomes
Of my thought-marathon
Contestants: I’m sorry!
I tried not to beleaguer you
But I did it all the same
Small lists recede
Left well behind
Dotted expeditions
Multiplying excavations
So many things to write
So many things not to write
And nothing in-between

When they are looming straight up at you
When springs are curling deftly beneath you
It could all go wrong
Do not limit your wishes
Men need their tonic
You have never been so lucky
Track Name: Donkey's Trough
Pigeons taking dusty baths
Donkeys kicking flies
Animals on the righteous path
That animals decry
Defaming and demoting us
They lift us to their place
At the table of their lust
Afraid of losing face

Scarlet flowers across the breast
Silk down to the hem
Torn to tatters in the mess
Of brawling bar-room men
A shot of whiskey on the grass
Takes me way back when
Playing cricket on the lawn
Wringing the necks of hens

People laughing, people fall
Guts all torn up rough
Dragging teeth right through your skin
Lying in the donkey’s trough
Kicking all the children down
From the branches of the tallest trees
So much fun in the summertime
They land and break their knees

Can you see the buildings fall
They’re landing at your feet
Slates are falling from the roves
I catch them in my teeth
I’m just passing on my way
I’ll see you sometime soon
You’ll recognise me on that day
Wearing the skin of some raccoon
Track Name: Chalk is Valuable, Keep it in Your Hand
Induction by judgemental herd speaks nothing
Don’t spoon it out, then, onto stupid wood
All manner is wasted
Possess it away from what they all leave,
Away from that
It’s no spillage for bleary-armed whores