The Yellow Machine
by American Fuck-Tape
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 13-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now $6 USD or more
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Buzzkill
04:21
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Payback Option
04:58
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Typhoon at Tripoli
03:03
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[c]harm
05:23
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The Cost of the Ride
05:31
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Poor Little Stitch Girl
05:42
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about
"The Yellow Machine" - a Rockeretta Spectacular
©2012 Psychology Bag/Cuebro Records
©2012 Psychology Bag/Cuebro Records
credits
released 23 November 2012
[see individual songs for music credits]
©Psychology Bag Music/Cuebro Records
Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by Dr. Kyle "The" Jones
Sleeping Brotherhood Studios
[see individual songs for music credits]
©Psychology Bag Music/Cuebro Records
Recorded, Mixed and Mastered by Dr. Kyle "The" Jones
Sleeping Brotherhood Studios
tags
license
Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.
feeds
feeds for about
American Fuck-Tape created the Rockeretta Spectacular - and accompanying full-length concept-record "The Yellow Machine".
...to prove you don't have to just sit there and take it.
Not Every Time.
©Psychology Bag Music/Cuebro Records
... more
discography
-
Nov 2012 -
Dec 2012
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, click here.
- Track Name: The Yellow Machine (radio edit)
-
**THE YELLOW MACHINE (edit)**
Of pearls, porcelain and platinum she’s made
Externally priceless; but inside it’s all jade.
A virtual love: just pictures, just text.
She says “you’re the First”… Sit down. You’re just Next.
The Insect Goddess ensconced & detached
The Lady Premier has you crudely dispatched
Not born- she’s constructed; a Lean Figurine.
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine
Thin blood, thinner background. Faux entrepreneur.
She cares not who’s looking… but- all eyes on her.
You’re not even a Secret, you’re merely a Cipher.
Like you, her vacation; though she swears she’s a Lifer.
The Insect Goddess devouring tomorrows
The Lady Premier that thrives on your sorrows
Hypnotic. Robotic. Mistress Mise En Scene
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine
Bruised eyes; webbed red, stream-weep sans sleep
Mucking manic notes (upon notes) in his mind, just to keep.
No brainstorm’s dull thunder undercuts the mendacity.
Nor heartstrings unbind that unkind audacity.
The Insect Goddess devoid of compassion
The Lady Premier finds your tears out of fashion
Some hellish inverse of Ringo’s “Submarine”
‘Cause we all die… in a Yellow Machine - Track Name: Buzzkill
-
**BUZZKILL**
We used to storm up, baby – like a lethal typhoon
But now we don’t shoot for the stars –
we don’t bark at the moon
But when we’re dressed to the nines
Somehow your fire declines
You’re a Buzzkill; with no Love Skill
And that’s why I’m hopin’ these drugs will
Do their part to numb my heart
And help make me make some kind of a start
You’re a Buzzkill – draggin me until…
I can’t stop pounding these dumb pills
Every night – to stay upright – and go another round in this fight…
A knife of an invite stabs through our TV I.V.
But I know you’ll never reach your Escape Velocity.
When we’re out on the scene…well…
It’s like you miss our routine...?
You’re a Buzzkill; with no Love Skill
And that’s why I’m hopin’ these drugs will
Do their part to numb my heart
And help make me make some kind of a start
You’re a Buzzkill – draggin me until…
I can’t stop pounding these dumb pills
Every night – to stay upright – and go another round in this fight...
But when we’re dressed to the nines
Somehow your fire declines
You’re a Buzzkill; with no Love Skill
And that’s why I’m hopin’ these drugs will
Do their part to numb my heart
And help make me make some kind of a start
You’re a Buzzkill – draggin me until…
I can’t stop pounding these dumb pills
Every night – to stay upright – and go another round in this fight... - Track Name: Payback Option
-
**PAYBACK OPTION**
Instant morning, not instant coffee
Nerves asunder; helpless wonder
Every lie, each masque of caring
Unfolds from your sleek clutch; “Don’t touch me!”
Months and Weeks and Days and Hours
Silence-bound, run aground, astounded
All I wanted & thought I needed-
So I compromised, complied and I pleaded.
I’ll save the day (again)
(and) You’ll walk away (babe, ‘cause)
This is how it’s played
(when) You exact your pay
Typing letters, typing people
The promises you broke; unspoken
Paving mileage; hearing nothing
Stuffed & shattered; bent & battered
Self-possessed, impressed by nothing
Your icy laughter; forever after.
First abandoned, then imprisoned
By your legs - and your mesmerism
I’ll pave the way (again)
(and) You’ll have your say (babe, ‘cause)
This is how it’s played
(and then) You get your way
Scars & stories; success & suffering
Always the martyr who had it harder
‘Show & Tell’ yet somehow Top Secret
Faux selective; for-real defective
It’s not just your guts that are disfigured;
Your heart and your mind are so misaligned
Heroic, stoic…yet pout and pucker?
You’re just a checked-out motherfucker
I’ll save the day (again)
(and) You’ll walk away (babe, ‘cause)
This is how it’s played
When it’s Slay or be Slain. - Track Name: Typhoon at Tripoli
- **Typhoon at Tripoli**
- Track Name: American Rock Song [You Ruined L.A.]
-
**AMERICAN ROCK SONG [YOU RUINED L.A.]**
A dance on the freeways; of Empty, of leeches
Yoga and YOLO – too cool for the beaches
Live in a car; don’t make friends - just make deals
The city’s a bleach-blonde sex-tape on wheels
But I started to see peeks of Real though that Fake
Oases in places; Los Feliz, Silverlake
Clifton’s and Koda. The Museum of Death
Mexican markets and all the rest
You ruined LA for me
It’s cheap, it’s about an inch deep
It’s phony, tacky and it’s cruel
So I ‘spose it suits you
Just fine – I didn’t need to “make it mine”
I’d never really dug the Left Coast
but now The City of Angels is nothing but ghosts
I can’t go to Canter’s, Randy’s Donuts: a “don’t”
Dusty’s is in the dust; it’s a bust; I just won’t
The sacred Cha-Cha is out, ditto fave Thirsty Crow
For Chrissake my namesake – Pink’s – is no go
You ruined LA for me
It’s cheap, it’s about an inch deep
It’s phony, tacky and it’s cruel
So I ‘spose it suits you
Quite well – the both of you can burn in Hell
Y’know – it always was kind of a joke
but now whatever I found there is nothing but smoke - Track Name: [c]harm
-
**[C]HARM**
All of everything was sharp in the night; alight
A spray of bandied repartee
Each up, one by one – til bands of the Sun
Sliced endurance, expiring them with light.
He’d been emptied yet charged by lighting strikes, like
Tender tendrils tracing and embracing him
He became mindless, forgetting kindness
Under the spotlight & in front of the mic
She puts the ‘harm’ in ‘charm
Effortlessly
No – he can’t see.
It’s just how she’s made to be
As simply as she takes his arm,
She puts the ‘harm’ in ‘charm’
For the worth, the brilliance, the flash of the Jewel
Made brighter with facets deftly cut by that Fool
‘til some beauty-borne blindness misfires a misquote
And she’s talked his heart into cutting his throat.
Here in the stretches of Silence he waits; debates
With his doubts, turns his back to the facts
To swim in her eyes & not drown in her lies
Surrendering all of his logic to fate
She puts the ‘harm’ in ‘charm
As if he knew
It was all she could do.
So she soothed him with a coo:
“Dear, there’s no need for alarm”
She puts the ‘harm’ in ‘charm’ - Track Name: Roger, The Devil (by LOVEJESUSPRIME)
- [oh, dear - you'll have to ask Roger]
- Track Name: Toreador [Three-Syllable War]
-
**TOREADOR [THREE-SYLLABLE WAR]**
Insert coin and collect at will
Dream in reverse, you can get your fill.
So be my date to this Cold War;
‘cause this ain’t a warm, safe place no more
No morphined infant; tubed to the gills.
No icy mother. No diet of pills.
Your doe-eyed tales can fall to the floor;
‘cause I’m the cape, but you’re the Toreador
The Devil is the deep-blue Me
Not even Angels could help you now.
This is the part no one wanted to see.
The Devil is the deep-blue Me
Forget your teeth; forget your hair;
Forget all those things that you barely wear.
It’s one-on-one, it’s mind versus mind
And then we’ll see who’s fallen behind
Stuck in a room without a view;
But all I ever wanted- to see you.
Whatever you pretended behind that door
Kicked off our little Three-Syllable War.
The Devil is the deep-blue Me
Angels can’t help you now.
This is the part that no one wanted to see.
The Devil is the deep-blue Me
Forget your teeth and forget your hair;
Forget all those things that you barely wear.
‘Cause it’s one-on-one, it’s mind versus mind
And then we’ll see just who falls behind
Stuck in a room without a view;
All I ever wanted - to see you.
Whatever you pretended behind that door
Kicked off our Three-Syllable War.
The Devil is the deep-blue Me
No angels can help you now.
This is the part no one wanted to see.
The Devil is the deep-blue Me - Track Name: The [For Real] Last of the Famous International Playboys
-
**THE [FOR REAL] LAST OF THE FAMOUS INTERNATIONAL PLAYBOYS**
Dear Stephen, my Demon
with all those songs that you crooned so perfectly –
I can’t help hating you;
‘cause every word that you sang came true
See – it was into her heart that I followed you;
and you’ve no idea what I’ve been through –
but your man José – well +he+ knows my name.
But now it’s you and me; just me and you.
oh – oh-oh
I am the Last of the Famous International Playboys
The Last of the Famous International Playboys
In my heart; how I loved her
But the only thing that she loved was You
Oh - - Morrissey…can’t you feel my pain?
Don’t say you don’t; ‘cause I know you do.
oh – oh-oh
I am the Last of the Famous International Playboys
The Last of the Famous International Playboys
In our lifetimes, those who kill our hearts
They’re never made to answer.
She said she would stay for all of the days –
these are the ways, these are the ways
in which I was betrayed.
Now, I can’t blame it on you;
I do not think that you’re evil –
but the things I tried to do…
just to make myself more attractive than you…
but I failed.
I failed.
I am the Last of the Famous International Playboys
The Last of the Famous International Playboys - Track Name: The Cost of the Ride
-
**THE COST OF THE RIDE**
…and we’re spinning.
How apropos
That fleeting instant Life’s aglow
And you pray to stay Right There…
But there’s a banshee
and I can’t breathe.
I don’t remember how to leave.
Her heart is black; mine is just blue
Oh, baby – I know it hurts inside
My mind is a cyclone: vision’s askew
I’m +so+ sorry I laughed when you cried
She walked out that door – and that’s when I knew
Ooh, honey; that ‘sting’ is just Pride
There’s no sense pretendin’ that it isn’t true:
That’s the Cost of the Ride
So it’s endearing;
These turns of phrase.
The gauzy vision of the days…
Pressing, confessing smiles
But here comes the shorthand –
and a silken blade
shivering, twitching in the Shade
Tomorrow is never; it’s a coin in a well
Oh, baby – I know it hurts inside
Book passage to Purgatory – but end up in Hell
I’m +so+ sorry I laughed when you cried
I’m not even sure there’s a soul left to tell.
Ooh, honey; that ‘sting’ is just Pride
So I keep on buying all there is to sell…
That’s the Cost of the Ride
And this is the low-tide
and the ebbing’s here.
A stockpile for the year.
We race to outpace the Need
But here breaks tomorrow
Open, bleeding and dire.
One’s a Sucker. One’s a Liar.
I’ll stand in line, though my pockets are bare
Oh, baby – I know it hurts inside
Seeping creeps can’t be worse for your “wear”
I’m +so+ sorry I laughed when you cried
I give you Well Done; but your give me… rare.
Ooh, honey; that ‘sting’ is just Pride
It may have been legal, but it sure wasn’t fair;
That’s the Cost of the Ride - Track Name: Poor Little Stitch Girl
-
**POOR LITTLE STITCH GIRL**
Fresh out of the box, she got re-wired
Wrongly ripped & strongly-dripped
The quack who hacked - he got fired
"Un-Mother", "Not-Dad"; whoever they were
They already had one, they were done
so they never held her close... they held it against her
We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl
Year upon year; re-sewn as she grew
Her whole life always under the knife
She survived each cut not-quite-good-as-new
Alone and cold, more bold with each suture
Unsure how to live 'right now';
Every cut from the Past bloodies the Future
We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl
Her insides re-routed, detoured, re-patched.
Helped the parts, but not the heart
Never 'all there', but now; all detached.
She can't cut loose, see - that's just not her thing
Understand: no one planned
to live a Life held together by string.
We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl - Track Name: (Now It's Your Turn To Be) Out of My Mind
-
**(NOW IT'S YOUR TURN TO BE) OUT OF MY MIND**
I used to rip myself to bits
Now I don’t give a shit about you
I was always tearin’ out my hair
Now I don’t really care what you do
Druggin’, tryin’ anything to numb and dull the agony
Screamin’, cryin’, pennin’ nasty messages right through my phone
Searching for something that I missed
I chewed through 13 therapists
PhD in devastation; congratulations, I am alone.
But I did +my+ time inside that crazy ride
(and) Now it’s your turn to be
Out of my mind.
I used to weep myself to sleep
Now I dream peaceful deep without you
You used to slither through my mind
Now you’re pretty hard to find right on cue
Drivin’ through those empty streets
Hidden in the frozen heat
Sweatin’, breathin’, spinnin’ and I hated every night
I walked the walls, paced the ceiling
Trying to dislodge this feeling
Dropped down to Hell – and that just ain’t right.
But I stood up, brushed off, and now I’m fine
Now it’s your turn to be
Out of my mind.
I used to rip myself to bits
Now I don’t give a shit about you
I was always tearin’ out my hair
Now I don’t really care what you do
Druggin’, tryin’ anything to numb and dull the agony
Screamin’, cryin’, pennin’ nasty messages right through my phone
Searching for something that I missed
I chewed through 13 therapists
PhD in devastation; congratulations, I am alone.
But I did +my+ time inside that crazy ride
(and) Now it’s your turn to be
Out of my mind. - Track Name: The Yellow Machine [full reprise]
-
**THE YELLOW MACHINE (full)**
Of pearls, porcelain and platinum she’s made
Externally priceless; but inside it’s all jade.
A virtual love: just pictures, just text.
She says “you’re the First”…
Sit down. You’re just Next.
The Insect Goddess ensconced & detached
The Lady Premier has you crudely dispatched
Not born- she’s constructed; a Lean Figurine.
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine
Thin blood, thinner background. Faux entrepreneur.
She cares not who’s looking… but- all eyes on her.
You’re not even a Secret, you’re merely a Cipher.
Like you, her vacation; though she swears she’s a Lifer.
The Insect Goddess devouring tomorrows
The Lady Premier that thrives on your sorrows
Hypnotic. Robotic. Mistress Mise En Scene
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine
Well she was lithe, and blithe, and bright-eyed
And she never cried.
She was wistful of our tryst; full of mysterious tidbits
Delivering some delirious fits of Bliss;
A few near-misses; a few dead-on hits.
Little riffs and dips found us mired in shit
And a split; ending a bit…exposed.
But who knows? From the get-go it was a rodeo.
A sullied, silly ode to the winsome nights we rode
Right where the stars showed the mightiest and the brightest
And I feared I might explode. Yet, in I dove.
Because our way of play was a breezy repartee –
Night or day; fun underslung… bunnies & birds
Kisses & words, kittens and… See- she and me…
The Possibility. The easy freedom in between streams of things
That teemed with Meaning. Or so it seemed. Y’see –
She was The Most Beautiful Girl I Had Ever Seen.
My Queen; My Perfect Dream.
Well things just aren’t what they seem.
Bruised eyes; webbed red, stream-weep sans sleep
Mucking manic notes (upon notes) in his mind, just to keep.
No brainstorm’s dull thunder undercuts the mendacity.
Nor heartstrings unbind that unkind audacity.
The Insect Goddess devoid of compassion
The Lady Premier finds your tears out of fashion
Some hellish inverse of Ringo’s “Submarine”
‘Cause we all die… in a Yellow Machine
