Industrial Pressure Washer Blues

progressive math-rock, technical metal-fusion, industrial drumming

[Verse 1]
I’m standing in the splash-zone, shivering and pale
Connected to a pump that could sink a Royal Mail
It’s a three-phase motor with a chrome-plated nozzle
Designed to strip the paint off a vintage fossil
The rhythm’s getting technical, the riffs are getting jagged
My poor old posterior is looking pretty ragged
I’m tapping out a pattern on the ceramic tile
While the pressure gauge is climbing for at least a country mile
(One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three, one two, one two three)
(That’s the count, keep up, you slag)

[Pre-Chorus]
It’s not a gentle cleansing, it’s a tactical assault
If I lose my internal organs, it’s the government’s fault
The seventeen-sixteen groove is a mathematical sin
As the industrial-strength cleaning starts to sink right in

[Chorus]
Oh, it’s the industrial pressure washer blues
I’m losing my mind and I’m losing my shoes
A jet-stream of justice at the speed of sound
I’m no longer touching the hallowed ground
It’s math-rock mayhem in a dirty bathroom stall
I’m being power-washed straight through the brick wall
(Power-washed! Through the wall!)
(Ripping through the plumbing like a freight train)

[Verse 2]
The water’s hitting levels that shouldn't be allowed
I’m attracting a confused and terrified crowd
There’s a geyser erupting from my council-flat roof
If you want a mental breakdown, well, here is the proof
The guitar’s doing triplets while the drum’s doing fives
The most dangerous plumbing in our miserable lives
I’ve been exfoliated down to the skeletal frame
I don't even remember my middle name
(Is it Trevor? It might be Trevor)
(Everything’s a blur of H-two-O and high-gain)

[Bridge]
(Technical distorted guitar solo in a frantic polyrhythmic loop)
(Percussive drumming mirrors the high-pressure pulses)
(Ad-lib: Watch the vibration! The tiles are coming off!)
(I can taste the copper! I can see the matrix!)

Seventeen beats in a bar of pure hate
The industrial nozzle is deciding my fate
It’s a hydraulic enema, a liquid divorce
Delivered with sixty-thousand pounds of force

[Final Chorus]
Oh, it’s the industrial pressure washer blues
I’m losing my mind and I’m losing my shoes
A jet-stream of justice at the speed of sound
I’m no longer touching the hallowed ground
It’s math-rock mayhem in a dirty bathroom stall
I’m being power-washed straight through the brick wall

[Outro]
(The pump’s seizing up, Terry!)
(Switch it off! Switch it off!)
(I’ve got no skin left on my ankles)
(Everything’s pristine though, innit?)
(You could eat your dinner off my colon now)
(Seventeen-sixteen... who writes this rubbish?)
(I need a sit down. But I haven't got a chair)
(Or a bum)
(Safe)
[End]

2983/7500

[Intro] (Right, Terry, crank the gain up until the amp starts smoking) (Seventeen-sixteen time? Yeah, sounds like a broken clock in a blender) (The bidet wasn't enough, was it?) (Now I’ve gone and hooked the mains up to a petrol-driven jet-wash) (God help my lower intestines) (Stand back, it’s pressurized) [Verse 1] I’m standing in the splash-zone, shivering and pale Connected to a pump that could sink a Royal Mail It’s a three-phase motor with a chrome-plated nozzle Designed to strip the paint off a vintage fossil The rhythm’s getting technical, the riffs are getting jagged My poor old posterior is looking pretty ragged I’m tapping out a pattern on the ceramic tile While the pressure gauge is climbing for at least a country mile (One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three, one two, one two three) (That’s the count, keep up, you slag) [Pre-Chorus] It’s not a gentle cleansing, it’s a tactical assault If I lose my internal organs, it’s the government’s fault The seventeen-sixteen groove is a mathematical sin As the industrial-strength cleaning starts to sink right in [Chorus] Oh, it’s the industrial pressure washer blues I’m losing my mind and I’m losing my shoes A jet-stream of justice at the speed of sound I’m no longer touching the hallowed ground It’s math-rock mayhem in a dirty bathroom stall I’m being power-washed straight through the brick wall (Power-washed! Through the wall!) (Ripping through the plumbing like a freight train) [Verse 2] The water’s hitting levels that shouldn't be allowed I’m attracting a confused and terrified crowd There’s a geyser erupting from my council-flat roof If you want a mental breakdown, well, here is the proof The guitar’s doing triplets while the drum’s doing fives The most dangerous plumbing in our miserable lives I’ve been exfoliated down to the skeletal frame I don't even remember my middle name (Is it Trevor? It might be Trevor) (Everything’s a blur of H-two-O and high-gain) [Bridge] (Technical distorted guitar solo in a frantic polyrhythmic loop) (Percussive drumming mirrors the high-pressure pulses) (Ad-lib: Watch the vibration! The tiles are coming off!) (I can taste the copper! I can see the matrix!) Seventeen beats in a bar of pure hate The industrial nozzle is deciding my fate It’s a hydraulic enema, a liquid divorce Delivered with sixty-thousand pounds of force [Final Chorus] Oh, it’s the industrial pressure washer blues I’m losing my mind and I’m losing my shoes A jet-stream of justice at the speed of sound I’m no longer touching the hallowed ground It’s math-rock mayhem in a dirty bathroom stall I’m being power-washed straight through the brick wall [Outro] (The pump’s seizing up, Terry!) (Switch it off! Switch it off!) (I’ve got no skin left on my ankles) (Everything’s pristine though, innit?) (You could eat your dinner off my colon now) (Seventeen-sixteen... who writes this rubbish?) (I need a sit down. But I haven't got a chair) (Or a bum) (Safe) [End]

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