the singing painters/ all tsp lyrics written by Hans van Heirseele/ among the more recently performed ones are

/bad drivin‘/ 1998

2000 generations in front of the evening news
and after news 2000 more

chorus
if you don’t wanna die you got to be dead

Mary please don’t yell Bart shut up
upstairs sweethearts brush your teeth go to bed

chorus

French English Dutch incest the same
don’t bother sweetheart spell me your name

chorus

religion one killing more
brother Jesus hanging naked in front of the door

chorus

2000 generations in a living-room
on the point of discovering 2000 more

chorus

and the good news: on the point to conquer America
and the bad news: conquered yet

chorus

don’t yell please Mary Bart shut up
upstairs sweethearts upstairs go to bed

/close the door/ 1998
/minimum/ 1998
/the nicest thing comes in the end/ 1998

/each day Pasolini died/ 1998

heard courtney love on mtv she said said
something something about identity crisis
i don’t care don’t care identity who cares

chorus
each day pasolini died wrote onre more poem
one more poem one more poem bout who cares
each day pasolini wrote one more poem died
one more poem one more poem bout who cares

who fuckin killed pasolini no one knows
no one knows anything
yeah shoot the sparrows
and listen that sound it makes

chorus

i guess some care the blood
i guess some care that poetry
i guess some care any sound it make
prime time boulevard
i guess some care the goddamn shit

chorus

/jackals/ 1998
/result/ 1998
/embryo dictaphone/ 1999
/elevator man/ 2000
/fool control/ 2000

/ocean/ 2000

The darkness came from the ocean. A long, narrow path along the south edge of a huge rock. One wouldn’t have trees around. Houses tiny little sugarcubes. It felt as if she was on top of that. The world had been lifted high above her small tiny little voice, as a fingerprint on a stroke of daylight. People swarmed around her eyeballs, huge and distant but likewise so close that she could have been each of them. Voices hurried. Hurried thru a narrow gap. Thru a narrow gap voices hurried. Hurried, not one by one but a melodic swarm, a gelatinous melody of swarming gossip. This overpowered her. A gaze fluttering in between a slow but steady footstep, each step filled with shadow. One even wouldn’t try to decipher its code, or, anyway, not in public. Shoulder next to shoulder, brain next to brain. And someone tapping with her forehead on the table. And my darkness above that sudden movement, huge and heavy as a reddish rock. Blood made a triangular move. One eye opened and a tear came out quite suddenly and as noiseless as a trigger. As a trigger. (nothing else worth to be mentioned)

/hungry fat dog/ 2000

no one care a hungry fat dog
no one care a hungry fat dog
wear some feather wear a gun
eat some rabbits shoot a nun
good old jesus a load of fun
war ahead in one or other nation
yeah think brain needs solid isolation
no one care a hungry fat dog
no one care a hungry fat dog

/laughter at bullock'
/sister gasoline/ 2001
/frame/ 2003
/normal american weather/ 2004
/texas shopping/ 2004
/born again/ 2004
/mister president’s penis favourite thing/ 2004
/pig valley/ 2005
/painter/ 2005
/don’t think/ 2005
/risk/ 2005
/theoretical suicide/ 2005
/program/ 2006