Fetishist 4 the Dickensian

by Wet Dentist

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Originally released in 2012, remixed 2013

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

credits

released September 7, 2012

LINER NOTES:
All songs by Wet Dentist. Recorded, mixed and mastered by Wet Dentist at Devo Was Right,
Bethlehem, PA.
Backing vocals on “These Are End Times” and “The Running Man” by @ObliviousKnits.
Front and back cover art by Cherish Russty Brazil. Thank you so much Russty! Go to her Etsy shop. www.etsy.com/shop/CherishRusstyBrazil Her work is surprisingly affordable. Follow her on Twitter: @russty
Major thanks also to @ObliviousKnits
Follow Wet Dentist on Twitter: @ wetdentist

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Wet Dentist Bethlehem

Wet Dentist makes electro-based music in Bethlehem, PA USA. Free downloads (or pay what you want) of over a decade's worth of discography. Not for the feint of heart.

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Track Name: Fetishist 4 the Dickensian
FETISHIST 4 THE DICKENSIAN

I can shoot through the loopholes, I daresay, better than anyone.
You best leave this neck of the woods to us.
Faster than the speed of gasoline, it will seem like an alien poison; you've all had some.
Fetishist 4 the Dickensian, it's unstoppable what I've got going on here.
The cosmos shellacs itself in celestial light, and their dreams, they channel mine.
Enter the magma.
I will wield technologies that can do what now cannot be done.
Puny drones, you can't touch this. Do I stutter?
Fetishist 4 the Dickensian, it's unstoppable what I've got going on here.
She would look hot guiding an oxcart with stringy hair, answers to “you, there.”
She would look hot scrubbing the wash, tears in her frock, with dirty hair.
Fetishist 4 the Dickensian . . .
Track Name: Easy Money
EASY MONEY

We will name names and blanket billboards with you.
Once you're on television, then you'll know it's all over.
The caption under your face will be quite delicious.
You will be famous.
It'll feel like the receiving end of a 15 yard unnecessary roughness penalty
with a loss of down for you.
The leak we made couldn't be more clear.
You snooze, you lose. This could be the bad for you interlude.
You snooze, you lose. Worry we might take you and go next level.
Easy money.
Don't you even bother; we're going to be aggressive.
It'll feel like the receiving end of a 15 yard unnecessary roughness penalty
with a loss of down for you.
The leak we made couldn't be more clear. You will be famous.
You snooze, you lose. Worry we might take you and go next level.
You snooze, you lose. Just how bad will we be when we ruin you.
Don't you even bother; we're going to be aggressive.
Easy money.
We will name names and blanket billboards with you.
Don't you even bother; we're going to be aggressive.
Don't you even bother; the truth is always too late.
Track Name: Circle of Life
CIRCLE OF LIFE

I'm Wet Dentist the sleepwalking manic whose every dream got a timebomb tick,
and while I slay you, I'll say a little prayer for you, but no, I won't save it till the morning after.
I'll come atcha right away with rhymes swirling like the blades of a killer helicopter,
and while I battle you, you'll catch some fever and some blemishes,
and you'll think it never finishes, like the death of a Nero getting drowned in a tar pit.
Like getting crushed underneath the pyramids, I won't let you get your words in.
Wet Dentist chapter and versin', and now you can't think straight.
You got no clue what to do with what I put on your plate.
Circle of life. Looks like the clock just fucking struck on you.

But see now, that's why I'll slay you right now. Circle of life, right? Slay you right now.
While you stutter out your rhymes, I'm checking the DOW.
Your rhymes are tired, see, like a swampy canal.
Ten times stronger than your laundry detergent, heaving the winds that crush the Aleutians,
Wet Dentist pressing the fresh mechanism, keeping the square root inside my long division.
Why was it that you thought you could last like you had some sort of infinite past?
Wet Dentist. Wet Dentist. When I battle on the mic, the lights come out my eyes,
and I'm never one to wait around like a sucker for the stupid surprise.
I'm immune like a gun or a bomb all sunk in the ocean
with connections to the styrofoam peanut floating on top of the magic potion.
An inaudible commotion, a backwards notion. I won't let you get your words in.
Wet Dentist chapter and versin'.
Circle of life. Looks like the clock just fucking struck on you.

Circle of life motherfucker. Splat, take that. Do you believe that? No, you can't.
You were a sycophant anyway.
Why was it that you thought you could last like you had some sort of infinite past?
Well, the clock just fucking struck on you.
Well, the clock just fucking struck on you.
Psychotropic might be the topic, when I drop it.
Wet Dentist, the anti-somnambulator, the criss-cross obstifustigator,
the simile to a walking-upright alligator when I slay you.
Track Name: The Running Man
THE RUNNING MAN

I am the running man running faster than I can.
It's getting kinda hectic.
No need to show off my hologram.
Too much for your attention span.
It's getting kinda hectic.
I'm running a 4.34 right here behind my face.
I'm running a 4.34 towards another state.
Assume I dance inside my lavish pentagram.
Track Name: The Sum of One Plus Never
THE SUM OF ONE PLUS NEVER

This flesh is merely the physical representation of a digital presence.
“The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays.”
Who are we to restrict this Wet Dentist, the character that writes itself?
Did I mention that I'm thinking changing agents?
If you politely tore me open right now, you'd see all the cubicles.
Just up the stairs, there's offices housing competing interests.
What's the diff? We all hand our rent checks to the skin.
Blind in the ears, deaf in the eyes, mute to the taste of the stupid surprise.

Wet Dentist LLC they keep weird hours, get weird packages from weird places.
That's all I remember.
If you politely tore me open right now, you'd see all the cubicles.
Just up the stairs, there's offices housing competing interests.
What's the diff? We all hand our rent checks to the skin.
Remembering things is pretty much a waste. What's the point?
This body does other things.
My weedwacker is so bourgeois.
Another fanatic's ideas appear on my refreshed mobile screen.
It's gotten to the point I type “blah blah blah.”
Oh, how unfortunate, now it's buzz buzz buzz buzz.
My microphone stand doesn't encapsulate what I typed the other day with all those emoticons.
Blind in the ears, deaf in the eyes, mute to the taste of the stupid surprise.
The sum of one plus never or the sum of one never plus another.

My microphone stand doesn't encapsulate what I typed the other day with all those emoticons,
and that freaks me out (even the one that pours cereal in the morning,
the one that loves the May lighting bugs the best,
the one that thinks it might like humidified paper but knows it fucking hates humidity.
This body does other things. My weedwacker is so bourgeois.
This flesh is merely the physical representation of a digital presence.
“The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays.”
Blind in the ears, deaf in the eyes, mute to the taste of the stupid surprise.
Track Name: Head on a Swivel
HEAD ON A SWIVEL

Any moment now . . . disappearing. I'll be one of the ones that disappears.
Clampdowns live-tweeted from 50 or so separate vantage points. I file that away.
You can understand the density of the mirrors with their polyglot temperatures in the middle of Hell.
A blurred impression of an ilk could get you thrown into the path of a thresher.
If they can chomp through titanium, they surely can chomp through you too.
I can't presume this new monsoon season ringing between our ears isn't entirely something else.
I guess we're too in tune with too many things that go vroom vroom.
Any moment now . . . disappearing. I'll be one of the ones that disappears.
I did not exist in the minds of the solipsists exhaling the nature of the guillotine.
I'm thinking your morals might be just like a wizard sleeve: the image of totality's impossible.
I can't presume this new monsoon season ringing between our ears isn't entirely something else.
I guess we're too in tune with too many things that go vroom vroom.
Maybe like back in the day with Pinochet, or just like a snowflake that's melted away.
Keep your head on a swivel and your eyes peeled.
Keep your eyes peeled and your head on a swivel.
Disappear. Any moment now . . . disappearing. I'll be one of the ones that disappears.
Track Name: Free Trampoline
FREE TRAMPOLINE

Face abyss - my ribs give then my face it falls off to the tic tic toc of the out-of-wac clocks - I bend down, grab my face, put it on, my eyes closed, move my feet, feel the beat & make eye contact with a memory.
Wow. No. Quit making me open my eyes. I don't care if the pulsating lights dancing across your moving figure act like dictators working together . . . on my free trampoline.
Springs me out of this scene in a reverie spree, destroys what I need – destroys.
Face abyss - my ribs give then my face it falls off to the tic tic toc of the out-of-wac clocks – I bend down, grab my face, put it on, my eyes closed, move my feet, feel the beat & make eye contact with a memory.
Wow. Yeah. The insides of my eyelids flash the ephemeral oblivions of billions of orange things, probably due to all the acid that I used to do, and I bounce and I bounce and I bounce and I bounce on my free trampoline.
Springs me out of this scene in a reverie spree, destroys what I need – destroys.
Bounce. Quiver. Upshift like a derailleur.
Wheel and spoke, gear and chain, a tense machine: but I'm free, almost free, not quite free, not quite free.
Wow. No. Quit making me open my eyes. I don't care if the pulsating lights dancing across your moving figure act like dictators working together . . .
Track Name: These Are End Times
THESE ARE END TIMES

You might look more real to me with one of them tattooed tears.
I'm in comic books, I'm in comic books.
Weird subconscious shit: don't feel like doing anything about it.
Earthquakes don't kill people buildings kill people.
Now I'll never want to ever calm down, galloping like the voice that says “these are end times.” Plutocracy's got new lenses, talking with the voice people use to talk to pets.
Got a brain like a sieve; things get erased, penciled in, rewritten,
Then I try to count the times I was a punctured balloon.
Every second of live television is susceptible . . .
I'm gonna get skinnier yet. Hey look at me! I just turned into a puritan:
Slick like a white bird's newly blackened feathers.
Now I'll never want to ever calm down, galloping like the voice that says “these are end times.”
Anon . . .
I'm in comic books, I'm in comic books.
Plutocracy's got new lenses talking with the voice people use to talk to pets.
Now I'll never want to ever come down, galloping with the voice that says “these are end times”