|
Deconstruction (Of Poetry). (Kirkeby/Harding).
Poem what is a poem? a poem is merely words smeared onto a page with a dirty brush. A poem is only emotions an open book full of yearning. A poem is only a tribute to yourself for you have seen the truth noone else can understand. A poem is only dreams a part of yourself you hope to reach. A poem is only life an everlasting search in the hunt for a home. A poem is only insecurity for nobody knows where life will lead you.
Girls And Love. (Kirkeby/Harding).
I’m so tired of songs about girls and love and girls and girls and girls. The radio is on and the sound comes out, the sound of boys who sing about girls. Girls they want to have or have had, it’s enough to drive a poor soul mad. I’ve heard it all a thousand times before and I’m not sure if I can take any more, of girls and girls and girls. I’m so tired of films about war and love and war and war and war. The TV is on and the pictures they move they move to show an explosion or two. Two cars that collide leaving noone alive, it’s enough to make a poor soul cry. I’ve seen it all a thousand times before and I’m not sure if I can take any more, of war and war and war. I’m so tired of comics about heroes and love and super super heroes. The pages are turned and the words get read, they reveal a most sinister plot. An evil scheme from the evil arch fiend it’s enough to turn a poor soul unclean. I’ve read it all a thousand times before and I’m sure if I can take any more but I can never get enough of comic books.
Between The Lines. (Kirkeby/Harding).
A human being in another’s novel trapped by coincidence. Between the lines, between the lines. Devoid of all substance passing through the author’s masterpiece, masterpiece. Trapped in literature on page 43, unrelated, insignificant. Does it hide a soul?
Lonely Boy. (Kirkeby/Harding).
Noone greets me on the streets so I keep my eyes on my feet making sure they are still therecouples kissing in the night strangers starting up a fight too busy to pay me a glancenoone calls me on the phone noone noone knows I am alone I’ve made a painting noone will ever seenoone cares about me noone wishes me a happy birthday or asks if I am ok it’s like I’m not even here all my poems remain unread someone will find them when I’m dead and then I will be richnoone calls me on the phone noone knows I am alone I’ve made a painting noone will ever seenoone cares about me nobody ever sends me mail nobody cares if I succeed or fail I’ve made a painting noone will ever see that’s why I am so lonely someday I’ll travel to the moon and then I’ll say I’ll write you soon if you give me your address every year is one year more without a knocking on my door so I remain the lonely boy.
Kjodelig Frihet. (Kirkeby/Harding).
Let your love become a neccessity. Let your dreams become reality. Let your wishes finally be realised. Surrender yourself to yourself. Only you can set yourself free.
Seaside Sorrow. (KIrkeby/Harding).
You were the inspiration of my wet and lonely sea you were the viking ship that sought to conquer me oh no you couldnt sail but I sure could float I was the island you were the boat you lay anquored at my shore and searched for my treasure a weekend of fun and five days of leisure all your strange and dirty fantasies I tried so hard to please I never tried to hurtjust appease but your appetite for adventure exceeded that of love you longed for another sea to sail and left thereof all those salty island tears filled my heart to its brink islands are forever boats always sink islands are forever boats always sink the ocean waves against my face couldn’t masure up to your embrace the tides cannot erase the trace that you left in my heart.
World’s Resume. (Kirkeby/Harding).
Flickering fading lights never seen but burning bright buildings built and buildings tornevil reproducing scorn radiator heat boy and girl will never meet piercing rhymes turns piercing steel rising dark on molested trees blinding books lie across todat will be tomorrows loss spinning through the empty void trying hard to avoid the blackness of your eyes and soul I won’t let you take control control your rage the way you feel try to say it’s no big deal the thoughts you think the air you breathe the hungry mouths you hope to feed feed them lies ignore their cries cover up their tired eyes for they don’t know the stars are dead no they don’t know the stars are dead as they hang above our heads the starsare all dead tigermilk in our veins makes our feet feel like chains black and white paintedgrey never matters what you say purifying chlorhexidine filling my corrupted mind unbuttoneddreams unstable lies evil men in hats and ties never seen but burning bright God bless the neon light.
Deconstruction (reprise). (Harding).
(Instrumental).
Detta är soundtracket för blytunga dagar då solen strejkar och
man vill dela ensamheten med någon – GROOVE (SWEDEN).
|
