Fat King Of Gods

My pal Andy, a CEO who does tech support for DWT in his spare time, sent me the above video clip (along with Hippy Fiasco) to watch, just as I was getting all worked up about the mayhem in London and retweeting away. In case you don't follow my tweets, this is what I was doing while I was listening to Nathan Moore's music:

the fat king of gods, the breaker of bones 
owns everything you see for endless miles 
and the talk of revolution vanished under stone 
still the mystic see him tremblin' and smiles 

liberty's children build prison on prison 
and try to rid us of violence with bombs 
anyone who goes where the wild wind blows 
knows where we'd be without our loving moms 

I know that might sound to dainty, still I'd repeat it 
for even the slightest truth shall never be defeated 
and it's a far cry at least from the daily deceit 
that we play and we play like its stuck on repeat 

peace has no leaders to play it's cards 
and peace may play it's own leaders' price 
but it's tomb will be empty as it flows from the bards 
ringing true like the best tune of advice 

slowly but surely the world revolves 
and Grace will be her own resolve 
and she will dance in every chance aloft 
till all of the world's problems are solved 

as the capitalist masturbates, dreaming of Rand 
and the philsopher wonders what he won't be when he's dead 
and the artist asks God to flow from his hands 
and the pacifist asks Hitler, "Well, what if I said...?" 

and the journalist keeps his day job waving like the seed (sea?) 
like a parade of princesses down the middle of Main 
and the one they locked up for feelin' too free 
he'll never stop laughing at those ridiculous chains 

from the war on this to the war on that 
has spun the frayed fabric of our modern day blues 
born in a rental and pried from our neighbor 
and our fears and our frights are labelled by hues 

but what for the child with the dream that comes 
that always comes to the innocent heart 
the one that says, "We've always done 
that which you are about to start"? 

perhaps destiny's too tedious for tongues wild as these 
and freedom's to mysterious when you're down on your knees 
but what's been the downfall of all proud societies? 
who knows the words? 
let's sing it drunkenly!!! 

please... 
let's sing it drunkenly!!!

Moore's an amazing songwriter. I'm glad he's on our side. But... aren't they all? He's from the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia and spends a lot of time in Charlottesville.

TOMORROW: THE DEBUT OF WOODY ALLEN TONIGHT, featuring "A Look at Organized Crime" (from Getting Even)

Nathan Moore Is So Down With Tyranny

Nathan Moore is a Charlottesville singer-songerwriter who teamed up with The Slip, from Providence, to create Surprise Me Mr. Davis. In honor of having opened the DownWithTyranny Books & Music Store yesterday, we found this awesome totally unavailable song, "Fat King of Gods," that they performed at the High Sierra Music Festival on July 4, 2008-- a song all about "tyranny" and "down with." Enjoy it; you can't buy it. And then visit our store and shop around.



Surprise Me Mr. Davis is playing here on the West Coast in early July. If you liked the clip...


the fat king of gods, the breaker of bones
owns everything you see for endless miles
and the talk of revolution vanished under stone
still the mystic see him tremblin' and smiles

liberty's children build prison on prison
and try to rid us of violence with bombs
anyone who goes where the wild wind blows
knows where we'd be without our loving moms

I know that might sound to dainty, still I'd repeat it
for even the slightest truth shall never be defeated
and it's a far cry at least from the daily deceit
that we play and we play like its stuck on repeat

peace has no leaders to play it's cards
and peace may play it's own leaders' price
but it's tomb will be empty as it flows from the bards
ringing true like the best tune of advice

slowly but surely the world revolves
and Grace will be her own resolve
and she will dance in every chance aloft
till all of the world's problems are solved

as the capitalist masturbates, dreaming of Rand
and the philsopher wonders what he won't be when he's dead
and the artist asks God to flow from his hands
and the pacifist asks Hitler, "Well, what if I said...?"

and the journalist keeps his day job waving like the seed (sea?)
like a parade of princesses down the middle of Main
and the one they locked up for feelin' too free
he'll never stop laughing at those ridiculous chains

from the war on this to the war on that
has spun the frayed fabric of our modern day blues
born in a rental and pried from our neighbor
and our fears and our frights are labelled by hues

but what for the child with the dream that comes
that always comes to the innocent heart
the one that says, "We've always done
that which you are about to start"?

perhaps destiny's too tedious for tongues wild as these
and freedom's to mysterious when you're down on your knees
but what's been the downfall of all proud societies?
who knows the words?
let's sing it drunkenly!!!

please...
let's sing it drunkenly!!!