Psychedelische klassieker du jour: 11 Mustachioed Daughters

Het muzikale equivalent van Monty Python met een (kenmerkend) bizar verhaal over heksen, blasfemie en Satanische rituelen tijdens de volle maan.  Voor sommigen een voorloper van Comus’ First Utterance, maar de Bonzo’s zijn een stuk minder serieus dan Roger Wootton en co.

11 Moustachioed Daughters.
Running in a field of fat.
The full moon high, the mandrakes speak, please come
to our sabat.

The changing children shiver round the fire their
mothers dance.
Strangely painted faces that smile but never laugh.

The crow pecked gibbet’s victim, swings broken in his cage
His hands cut down to make a crown to wear as a
round and round the magic things our fingers fastly
and wolf like things and toads with wings whisper wetly
“come with us”

fresh plucked eye of a favourite cat, pulped and mixed
with white hens fat, a lapwings wing, and lions roar, like belladonna to make your eyes
Like a beast

to anoint the body and make it shine
to drink and make thyself divine
to choose another form and make it thine

and knowledge of a blasphemy
and fill the fetid air
with ancient lies
and leprous cries
this night he will be there

A madness has the mouthsgate wide,
as one they sway and moan,
and every brutish face is turned
to see our goat kings throne

worship for satan heehee