An extremely limited edition copy of Making Space, in a full colour gatefold cd sleeve. Your copy will be just 1 of 85 CDs that are available to the public and one of just 50 CDs that are available from Bandcamp. Choose the "Signed" option if you want me to write my name on it.
Includes unlimited streaming of Making Space
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
I wrote this in a brand new notebook. Anyone that writes anything by hand knows that a completely empty notebook is actually pretty daunting. It's just a bunch of pages of expectation looking back at you. If you're not careful, it can swallow you whole and spit out a broken and demoralised husk.
The opening line - "The world is a white page waiting for ink" - was actually nothing more than an attempt to characterise the feeling I was having at the time. The next few lines are just descriptions of my surroundings. However, moving from inside my head to outside of the cafe I was in then lead me into the city itself and from there into the State and so on.
It's funny how the imagination works.
The world is a white page waiting for ink,
Taking a strong drink long, pen a song and I think,
Coz outside the world it's the rainy pall,
That falls on the concrete and sun streaked walls.
This city forged from the dirt and ore,
Drilled from the earth and the workers raw
From grit and course minerals that cut through skin.
On the landform, a man's form is blood and sin
And not a lot else.
See we mock the health and rot with wealth,
Digging until we've lost our Self.
But I've got to tell the story, poorly spelled,
Of how we ignored the signs and mine war with Hell.
The world is a white page waiting to burn,
Each holds tight to a paradise, waiting a turn,
To take a slice, like the lice that carried the germ,
Like a Hermes - the pyschopomp - leading we learned
to counteract it. We developed the dust
that proved trust we place in the science and cut
our hair short. Adjusted the blades we bought.
And fair enough, we were non-plussed believing we caught
it in time. The victims were pushed to the back
and stepped on once we swept them under the mats.
Coz the only thing worse than a plague that kills,
Is a world of ills stopping you from paying your bills.
The world is a white page, bleached by the sun.
Warm weather followed winter. We were already done.
The few that remained, they could stand or run.
But no matter which one this new man would come.
(Ah yeah) This new city made folks of us.
If folks is the right word at all for these horrors,
These shambling, shuffling, ambling imposters.
Are they really? I get the feeling we were the monsters.
But it could be the bitter bite scratching my skull.
The future is null/void. The past has been culled.
I looking for the high ground, carving a hull,
From the sky, sounds drowned by the beat of my pulse.
from Making Space,
released October 31, 2012
Co-produced by G-box and FG
Written and performed by FG
FG is a Perth-based, Melbourne-born producer and emcee. In the past he has produced and rapped on a number of albums with
the likes of The Funkoars, Muphin, Draino, Terra Firma and Crixus. He can usually be found haunting dusty old record shops muttering "Need more breaks. Need more breaks."
FG is one of a few people to be featured on both seminal oz hip hop releases, Culture of Kings 1 and 2....more