The Death & Hate of the Party

by Japanese Workers

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released January 27, 2017

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Japanese Workers Aberystwyth, UK

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Track Name: Millionaires Love Street Prostitutes
treat me like a robot for I have no conscience.
i'm not afraid of death and i'm certainly not afraid of you.
i wonder about what goes on in their minds and their lives and what brought them down the same Peter Street alley as me tonight.
touts offer me drugs and blowjobs and i turn them down because i am the most pathetic excuse for a human being there is.
nothing would stop me gutting you and playing in your blood.
i would cut you into fifteen pieces and drive your remains across all four corners of the UK.
i wouldn't give a fuck about your family alone at christmas.
as soon as i've got rid of you it wouldn't enter my fucking mind again.
but i guess that's what separates me from you.
i could quite happily slit your throat, clean up after myself and go for a leisurely drink.
conscience is a gift for those with a soul and i guess mine is filled with the relative emptiness of a black hole like a fleshlight.
conscience is a gift for those with a soul and i guess mine is filled with the relative emptiness of a black hole like a fleshlight.

inside these darkened rooms.
there exists a soul inside her.
it's not just a hole to fuck.
the hole inside her chest, where her heart used to live.
before it was fucked out.
fucked out of her by me and you.

soho walkups charge twenty to thirty pound for a ten minute fuck.
because that's how exactly much businessmen can claim on expenses.
the piss stained alleys and the piss drinking CEO that couldn't function without his weekly fucking beating.
they walk the same streets as you, whether you're fat, ugly, beautiful or blonde.
every fuckers money is good enough.
madonna drinks coke so you can too.
millionaires fuck street prostitutes and you can shoot up the same cunt as rupert murdoch.
i'm surprised i haven't killed a man yet.
the reality is i just haven't really wanted to yet.
i want to live until i'm 150 year old.
i'd rather live a life of misery rather than die at 45 being happy.
conscience is a gift for those with a soul and i guess mine is filled with the relative emptiness of a black hole like a fleshlight.
conscience is a gift for those with a soul and i guess mine is filled with the relative emptiness of a black hole like a fleshlight.

inside these darkened rooms.
there exists a soul inside her.
it's not just a hole to fuck.
the hole inside her chest, where her heart used to live.
before it was fucked out.
fucked out of her by me and you.

inside these darkened rooms.
there exists a soul inside her.
it's not just a hole to fuck.
the hole inside her chest, where her heart used to live.
before it was fucked out.
fucked out of her by me and you.
Track Name: Me & Marilyn Manson Go To Disneyland
soft baby entrails used in sex games involving leaders of the ku klux klan.
sucking on the infected cock of a faded rockstar bleeding heroin out of his ass.
leviticus already committed you to a lifetime of sodomy in the name of jesus' love.
prostitutes are some of the nicest people you will ever meet, their love is unconditional.

get it up
suck up suck up
die down die down
stroke shaft stroke shaft
anal anal facial
do it all for jesus christ

walking through the gates of disneyland, holding hands with marilyn manson.
the dead infant makes no sound until some fucker rips the fucking larynx out.
they drained the blood, they slit the throat and still we want our pound of fucking flesh.
imagine the loneliness of standing onstage and hearing the crowd singing back someone else's words.

get it up
suck up suck up
die down die down
stroke shaft stroke shaft
anal anal facial
do it all for jesus christ
Track Name: The Soundtrack of Loneliness
THE BLOOD, THE BILE AND THE PUKE LINE THE PAVEMENTS TONIGHT AS STILLETTOS CUT INTO THE STOMACH LINING OF A TEENAGE GIRL.
A LIGHT FLICKERS IN THE DISTANCE AND REFLECTS AGAINST A POOL OF URINE STREAMING INTO THE MOUTH OF A PASSED OUT ELDERLY MAN.
THERE’S A STENCH OF INEVITABLE DEATH IN THE AIR AS ANOTHER FLAILING BODY FALLS FACE FIRST INTO THE KERB AND SPILLS CRIMSON RED.
A SMALL CHILD IS BRUTALLY MURDERED WHILST NO-ONE WATCHES ON AND THE FLESH IS TORN FROM HER BONES.
A NEWS REPORT EXITS TO STATIC NOISE AGAINST A BACKDROP OF CACOPHONY AND I QUESTION WHETHER THE END IS NEAR.
THIS TOWN IS FILLED WITH TERMINAL PUBS IN EACH WE ALL GO TO MEET OUR END WITH THE SOUNDTRACK OF LONELINESS, DESPAIR AND FEAR.

WALK THE STREETS WITHOUT A DRINK INSIDE YOU IT’S AN EDUCATION UNTO ITSELF. SWERVE AROUND THE GHOSTS OF THIS OLD TOWN.
THE GHOSTS OF THIS OLD TOWN COLLIDE WITH EACH OTHER. THE GHOSTS OF THIS OLD TOWN PLAY IN THE BILE AND FIGHT IN THE BLOOD.
. I WAS ONCE AN OPTIMISTIC YOUNG BOY WHO SAW A FUTURE THAT WAS WORTH LIVING IN UNTIL I REALISED THE POOR ARE THE GOVERNMENT’S PLAYTHING.
A WOMAN LEANS AGAINST A WALL AND EMPTIES HER STOMACH ONTO THE LAP OF A HOMELESS MAN SLEEPING IN A SHOP DOORWAY.
THIS BEAUTIFUL TOWN EXISTS AS A MUSEUM OF DESOLATION, A GALLERY OF USELESSNESS, A MUSEUM OF DESOLATION, A GALLERY OF USELESSNESS.
SLEEP SOUNDLY IN YOUR BED TONIGHT, CRADLE YOUR LOVED ONE FOR TOMORROW THEY MAY DIE PAINFULLY IN A POOL OF YOUR BLOOD.
EACH MARK THEY LEAVE ON YOUR BODY IS FURTHER PROOF THAT NO-ONE CAN BEAT THE SPIRIT OF HUMAN ENDEAVOUR. YOUR SOUL IS CLEAN EVEN IF YOUR BODY IS BROKEN.
DESTINY FAVOURS THE STRONG AND DEATH FAVOURS THE WEAK. SCRAPE THE BILE OFF YOUR BOOTS AND START AGAIN TOMORROW MORNING.
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WE, DIE, ALONE, INSIDE OUR HEADS.
WE NEVER NEEDED THE SPACE THAT IS LEFT WHEN ALL THAT WE LOVE SMASHS INTO OBLIVION.
WE DIE ASLEEP IN OUR BEDS.
WE NEVER NEEDED THE SPACE THAT WAS LEFT WHEN ALL THAT WE LOVED TURNED INTO BLOOD.