I’ve watched Elvis Costello’s music evolve with great interest. Something I’ve always noted was that this musician seems to have a powerful predisposition towards American Civil War themes sort of like I’ve always had towards European war histories. I’ve been haunted by past life memories throughout my life and these memories are the substance of this project.
I do remember Napoleon and I do remember dying on the 2nd day of the bombing of a Dresden - which is why I take the subject of Satanic death rituals so seriously.
I know the Third Reich terror club when I see it. The bombing of Dresden just so happened to occur during the “Satanic holiday” called Lupercalia.
Dresden was the capital of Saxony and the King of Saxony never sold out Napoleon. I have wondered many times if beautiful, historic, cultured - not much to do with war - Dresden was selected for genocide by the British government and allies because of this fact. Who benefited from the bombing of Dresden?
King Frederick Augustus I of Saxony.
Some of the monarchs were good and they had the power to stand up to infiltrating marauders. Where are these monarchs who could protect the public now?
Those of us speaking the truth all end up telling the same story. If a group has really reduced it to a science how to trap human beings into slavery, it may be because they’ve had a whole lot of practice throughout the centuries at accomplishing this predatory task.
I'm cutting up her pure white dress
That I dyed red, that I dyed red
I'm putting scraps in cheap tin lockets
What time erases and memory mocks
I'll send them over the ocean foam
Right into those gentle European homes
The slave ship 'Blessing' slipped from Liverpool
Over the waves the Royal Navy rules
To go and plunder the Kingdom of Benin
Where certain history ends and shame begins
Dahomey traders paid powder and shots
Line up their prisoners, sell them in lots
They packed them tight inside those coffin ships
And they took them to the brand new world
Of auction blocks and whips
So I'm cutting up her pure white dress
That I dyed red, that I dyed red
I'm putting scraps in cheap tin lockets
What time erases and memory mocks
I'll send them over the ocean foam
Right into those gentle European homes
White is the sheet on your fine linen bed
The blood stained red on each cotton thread
The merchants gathered at St. George's Hall
To unveil the kneeling slave
Who is carved upon the wall
Picture the scene at the Old Salt House docks
They loaded the iron shackles and locks
Between a sandstone crocodile, a barrel and a bale
You will see the nameless faces
They were offering for sale
So I sing the praises of God's glory
As a blue cetacean floats in the basement
An elephant on the second storey
And they queue all day to see him
In my American Museum
But the Lord will judge us with fire and thunder
As man continues with all his blunders
It's only money, it's only numbers
Maybe it is time to put aside these fictitious wonders
But man is feeble, man is puny
And if it should divide the union
There is no man who should own another
When he can't even recognize his sister and his brother