Bloodied

from GAZOGENE by Kitz Willman and rob crooks

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Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album
The "GAZOGENE" CD comes in a jewel case with artwork designed by Kitz Willman. The 8-page booklet features the complete album lyrics.

Includes unlimited streaming of GAZOGENE via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

shipping out on or around December 12, 2024

$15 CAD or more
Streaming + Download

Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

Purchasable with gift card

$1 CAD or more
Buy the Full Digital Album

lyrics

kitz willman:
The guards got bloodied in the mele of the fall / Shillelagh to the skull / Fly eyes on the wall / Quick punches in the gall bladder / Tall ladder / Pitter patter / The fascists were dressed dapper / Now their jackets are tattered and torn / Barely worn / Covered in worms / Warn us before the storm / McDonald’s is the Norm / Updated and informed / Tracker tackled in the thorns / Warn us before the storm / Wicked windy waveform / Tablets written in cuneiform / Guards killed in their uniform for their uniform / Guards bloodied on the daily / Skull cracked wit a shillelagh

Burnt in his bed by a candle at the open gate / He met his fate / Burned face and charred limbs / “Yeah, that’s him!” his mother said in the coroner’s basement / In that shiny little room so far from her womb / But still so close, that’s what hurts the most / Burnt in his bed by a candle at the open gate / He met his fate / Yeah, that burned little face / At the city’s gates / They held them closed

rob crooks:
He grew up when in the movies all the enemies were ruskies who kept their own people hungry by hoarding all the food in the country / Now they want to take our freedom, reduce the number of words we can speak with, or whatever Orwellian story or tale they believe in / But in reality there were guns in the home and frequent hunting trips on long weekends / Hhis father, his grandpa and him / In school, he’d get into fights; at home he’d cut his flesh with a knife and flex in the mirror, holding a pistol that was loaded / Making lists of classmates of his / He didn’t forget any teacher that made a fool of him you could bet would soon regret it / But then that September morning, the eleventh when they all went to the gym and the principle wheeled in the television and a whole new generation was introduced to the word terrorism / To remain terrorized, the counter revolution must be televised / Precision strikes on black and white screens / The sound of children screaming has been removed / He remembered that recruiter who had come to his school / What else could he do? No college fund, no scholarship, no job to hunt, no father with connections / This way he could learn a trade, maybe kill a communist along the way / Basic training then we was on a plane to some god forsaken place quicker than he thought he’d be and got shot in the face ‘cause he thought that he could fight his way out of poverty against people fighting for national liberation / Well, he was sadly mistaken / No compassion for the invader