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No Masters in Paradise

by Paul Bergmann

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1.
So much wine Smoke till I die Lungs blacker than coal Breast sweeter than most I want to consume all of thine All of thine Meat and crime Hearts bloody and roast Burnt down to a toast Scrape it all into a line, I've no Child I have no child Red caustic repose Don a collar that's sewn I’ll wear a long neck all the time Dye of the times Dye of the times Gurns the face of grief The underside of a leaf Belly up into the storm, I cry Oh, I cry Oh, I cry Lungs blacker than coal Breast sweeter than a rose I want to consume all of thine All of thine
2.
I dapple the sun Indulge in the rain Still these fuckers surround My aching good faith Obfuscating, these wools Dripping down just to say Let his body unfold He'll be out of your way A perceived slight Aversion to poem Looked up to the sky With vacant green eyes And with my calloused hands Those hard-driven lads Let their lovers divulge My last words to hold Precious grown child In a stiff cowboy hat The luxury’s yours I’ve been through all that As I was bathing alone And peace slathered my back Well, I gave it all back I gave it all back Pariahs and ghosts Bent weird on the rail Was it fair to collude With the mother in you But the loving was good And I, I was short I was short of some thing I was short of all that
3.
Don't give me lemons Don't piss in my hand Don't give me a tongue To taste what I've had Don't seek out her swimming Swimming unclothed Don't be my rudder Don't row me home Don't try to shimmy To slough off the skin Don't let the wretch live Despite all of him Don't take in the fire Who's out fucking the wind Don't you Don't you let him in Don't you let him in Don't you let him in Don't you let him Don't you let Don't make me plastic Don't make me care Don't think there's a part of me I want to bare Don't stain my fingers With shit and with soil Don't reap anything There's no fruit anymore Don't be reborn We're playing for keeps Don't splay across Every inch of this thing Don't be so lending I know you're not of love Don't try to end it It's already done It's already It's already It's already done
4.
The butters of youth Cat's milk in the bowl Slivers of fruit So pampered and cold Honey and oil Sucked sweet from the thumb We're getting old Nothing is won Of filth and of fame That peach was to blame Juices that ran Left trails down the man Now little bones swim Just below the skin And fists that would win Just hang in the wind Cake for the sinner Doomed to eat well Priest of the living Living on shells Some Puritan life Not a morsel tonight No honor in living Living to bite A crumb of a wafer Not food for a mouse Pleading for nectar A breast in the mouth No masters in paradise Just sugar and fat And the butters of youth I've had all of that
5.
Lords of ragged Rags of time Scraps I want to fill this Mouth of mine Curtain lifting Slowly A part of me is in We suffer, we live too well We suffer, we live too well Beasts of burden Know thy tell Mothers shouldering the Boys of Hell Took the poison Began to kneel Down the gullet like a giant horse pill We suffer, we live too well We suffer, we live too well Mint cigar Thick smoke Peel apart a scrim of White cloaks Violet dress and a Gold lapel Drape it on me like an ornament of Hell We suffer, we live too well We suffer, we live too well Death is waiting In the wings Hold me tightly I will not cry I only came to say goodbye I just came to say goodbye We suffer, we live too well Heartless blooming Raw power Takes my bleeding And fills the bath I went to smile and you Covered me You covered me in clothes A speck of tiny gold A speck of gold Joyless ending Touch my hand Let's dance Cut the sutures I understand I know my place before the rod To be taken into the arms of God We suffer, we live too well We suffer, we live too well We suffer, we live too well
6.
Eyes burst Pellucid moon I bend And lick the wound Locks unfurl To scrape the louse Amber curls Filling up your mouth To wake Under your robe Cedar smoke Her breath is cold Smell of white White burning lace Strings of coal Across your face Brine deep Under the rock Wild beasts Who breach the dark A brackish flume Pervades the throat Ice womb Divining note Black field Starless hound Eyes steal Make no sound Pellucid moon I lick your wound What more do I Have to prove? Eyes burst Pellucid moon
7.
I’m not one of the guys/one of the guys Built my life on all sorta lies/all sorta lies I'm just here to make ‘em laugh/ make ‘em laugh I'm just here to be a gas/be a gas What a world to perceive/to perceive What a strange way to be/way to be So hungry to be loved/to be loved By the people I loathe/I loathe Driftin’ off/driftin’ off Into some spiral again/spiral again This trip has gotta end/got to end At some point, it’ll end/it’ll end I’ll go face to the fire/to the fire I'll go fist to the wall/to the wall In some ways, I am real/I am real In some ways, I can’t feel/I can’t feel Not one of the guys/one of the guys Tellin’ all kinda lies/all kinda lies Just here to be loved/to be loved Just here to be fun/to be fun What a strange way to be/way to be On my bullshit again/again When they say, be yourself/be yourself Do they mean for your health/for your health One day, I’ll be free/I’ll be free One day, I’ll be free/I’ll be free From this prison of mine/of mine One day, I'll be free

about

No Masters in Paradise was written in August 2021 and recorded from March to October 2022 in New Haven, CT, Port Ewen, NY, New Orleans, LA, and Los Angeles, CA. All lyrics and music were written by Paul Bergmann. Vocals, guitar, keys, and percussion were performed by Paul Bergmann; drums by Booker Stardrum; bass guitar by Mike Clauss; lead and slide guitar (Piss in My Hand, No Masters in Paradise) by Stephen Heath; mixing by Jarvis Taveniere.

This album is dedicated to Raymond Bergmann, a master of his own paradise.

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released May 5, 2023

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Paul Bergmann New Haven, Connecticut

In his relentless oeuvre-building, Paul has amassed an especially articulate kind of existentialism: what it means to persist, and to create, in a world which dies in the near distance. In No Masters in Paradise, the form of the songwriter’s ballad, in the hands of an expert, is turned inward for comfort, resisting the base lure of worldly approval. ... more

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