Martha And The Muffins
This Is The Iceage lyrics


M. Gane, T. Gane, A. Haas,
M. Johnson, D. Lanois, J. Lanois

Another fight on the street below,
They've got things to prove.
Shouting threats and sending out a counterglow.
All they do is walk, talk, knit socks, wind clocks
and crawl on their bellies like a reptile.

I have no idea at all...
I hear a sound...

We talk of parks and simple places,
Sense the thickness of the air.
Highly strung like nervous guitars
My fingers make waves in you.

We're afraid to call it love,
Let's call it swimming...


M. Gane

In a hundred wars across the earth,
Men and guns are thought to prove their worth,
Women stay behind and grow the food,
Placing soldiers in a dangerous mood.

Women around the world at work,
Working, working...

There's a man who must be sixty-five,
Makes his living running other lives,
Tells them when they can't and when they can,
They're so busy they don't give a damn.

Women around the world at work...
Working, working...

In The Daily X, May '81,
Back-page human interest story runs:
Just so men can have their bloody way.

Women around the world at work...


M. Gane

Once again, flaring white,
tortured words infect the night.
You said there was no comfort
in intervening grey,
Afraid the sound would kill you
If you stayed another day.

Casualties of glass.

Crying out, like a child,
driven wild, full of doubt.
You fear that fife will rob you
of all that you deserve,
Your new-found friends assure you
all it takes is nerve.

Casualties of glass.

Of broken hearts and old cliches,
weary entertainers praise.
The record flaks yell "Keep it up!"
The pounds they make aren't quite enough.

Casualties of glass.

Temporarily cancel all available light,
Place the index on nerve end,
Stroke until it goes soft.
Don't lose hope.

It's the business of dreamtime,
Plan to do what you want,
Use the science of running,
Now and then we connect.
Don't lose hope.


M. Gane

She never learns so she's never wrong.
She doesn't like to sleep alone.
When she does, she dreams of jets
falling from the sky.

Only in moments of weakness,
does she need him now.

Boy Without Filters
From silence to distortion:
Boy Without Filters

He thinks too much so he's never sure.
The day seems spent before it's through.
He remembers the sound of a distant night
filling up the room.

Watching her eat he notes that her mouth
has a life of its own.

Things are moving.
Doors are closing on the
Boy Without Filters

Only in moments of weakness
does she need him now.


M. Gane

Riding our bicycles down on the freeway,
Leaving distorted cars trailing behind,
We move like bullets!
No danger, no danger
We take that for granted.

Crossed the bridge, left the network behind,
I could teel it in my heart.
We gauge ourselves and the scenery too,
We push on forever and a day.

This is the Ice Age...

Feeling the trees and the wind on my face,
Passing along single file,
Might be autumn but we know it's not,
Cynosures hiding in the air.

All we did was close our eyes,
A moment come unhinged.
All we did was close our eyes,
A world falling into shape.

The wind purls over a hinterland of long grass,
gold, where tiny black horses play.
Distant mountains move like water.
My friend is with me, a familiar voice,
an unfinished memory:
"This is the Age of Innocent Passion."



Walking the streets all alone as my mind
tries to uncover the reason,
Why such a city with all of its charms,
can't conquer this sadness I'm feeling.

Champs Elysees, hey now what do you say?
If I could be here tomorrow,
wouldn't be here today.

One day in Paris

The heights of the tower cannot lift up my spirits,
They're left on the ground far below.
My thoughts are as foreign as these sights that surround me,
There's nothing familiar to me.

Senses distorted by this melancholy mood,
My memories always will be clouded.
When I look back on regrets of my life,
I know this day I'll remember.


M. Gane

When we were young and the world seemed fine,
My dad bought a cottage underneath the pine
By the shores of a lake with a funny name,
We used to go there just the same.
He never said a word about snakes and bees;
Gooey stuff leaking from the bark of trees;
Thunderstorms loud enough to split your head...
... But it's a lifestyle.

You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.

The golden memories flood back:
- Prickle bushes.
- Bloodsuckers between the toes on the lake bottom.
- Falling out of the tree fort.
- Being bitten by the chipmumk that lived underneath the boathouse.

Horseflies dining on my back,
B.B.Q. heaven burned to black,
Motorboat havoc kept me on the shore,
Suntan fever to migrarne roar.
Overheating as I lay in bed,
Blankets wrapped around my head,
No way spiders landed on my face...
... But it's a lifestyle.

You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.
You sold the cottage.

Words, Music: M. Johnson, M. Gane


There are some singing on Chemistry which is not on the inner sleve...