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  • Dragging Heckel’s Horse Kicking and Screaming into Stuckism

    It was famously said of Stuckism “It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it.” Likewise, freeing Heckel’s Horse from the anti-STUCKIST MANIFESTO captivity it’s been languishing in for the last 13 years is a dirty job I, Heckel’s Horse Jr., am Stuckist dutybound to do. Every other avenue has been slammed shut by…

  • BACK TO HUB

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    You saw me every second.
    I saw I had no time.

    A favour every lesson.
    Takes you all the time.

    I beat it in a jungle.
    I’ll make it in a scare.

    But the girl, she lives in Iceland.
    Make us have no time.

    I’ll make it all a scare.
    But the girl is in Iceland.

    You saw me every second.
    I’m made for girls in Iceland.


  • BACK TO HUB

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    A middle aged song,
    it’s been made with a groan.
    After all, they say your head is where it goes to.
    You’re in my arms.

    Indiscreet industry.
    Wrongly identified embryo.
    In the roaring night we said we are in arms,
    when we groan.

    On this leyland moss, it’s mossy.
    On this leyland moss, it came at such a cost.
    On this leyland moss.


  • BACK TO HUB

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    I’m not a window to your brain.
    So why do we feel this stained?
    As his wife repeats his name.

    Some of those were wrong.
    Over hills belong.
    Life a comfort chore.

    Unlike a turn out now.
    I’m known to ride around
    a varied vacant sound.

    With your looks and my brains,
    it’s a failure of things that we name.
    What are phase of friendships for?

    The greasy and undressed
    make the same request.
    A labour of like we test.


  • BACK TO HUB

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    Wind blows ravaging time.
    I can hardly make up my mind.
    If I’m a war pig now.
    Bingo, bango, bungo.


  • BACK TO HUB

    ============================

    It was made, it was made, it was almost here.
    But they cut him from the trunk.
    Come and laugh at the old maid dear.
    He was almost true.

    He was fed, he was fed, by the old maid dear.
    Each hour through the night she cared.
    But the farmer killed him in front of the old maid dear.
    He was a farmer true.

    She was buried by the farmer the following year.
    Her hurt he never knew.
    Come in died, then you’re in tide.
    I would rather anew.

    The end.


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