Ετικέτες

,

rose-in-water.jpg

τα ρόδα είναι ρόδα είναι ρόδα είναι ρόδα και η πανσέληνος η ίδια χθες, την έχουμε ζήσει φορές τόσες πολλές, ψευδαισθήσεις σαν άρπα, και η άρπα  μουσική, αυτό το τραγούδι, για μένα κάτι παραπάνω μνήμες [άσχημες πούναι οι μνήμες του Τάμεση], αλλά οι «μνήμες νερού» καλές, για δες πώς ξύπνησα σήμερα, μια άλλη μέσα μου είναι γυναίκα, ίσως γυναίκα-στο-πιάτο, ίσως γυναίκα-στον-πάτο [αλήθεια, πόσα ψέματα γράφω;]

αφού όλα σε μένα γυρνάνε ρόδα.

Ακούστε, παρακαλώ:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvDXy1wThYM&feature=related

 

Catatonia / Bulimic Beats

I thought we’d escape
I packed a fishing line and counted on it
I thought we’d escape
I packed a fishing line and counted on it

But dreaming is for moonrise
And moonlight also ails those tired eyes

I treat him like a lady
I treat him as I would he unto me
Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money
With silicone and poetry
But it’s the end of me

I thought it could change
I’d wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange
I couldn’t get there Behind walls of Sunday papers
I thought it could change
I’d wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange

But dreaming is for moonrise
And moonlight ails these tired eyes

I treat him like a lady
I treat him as I would he unto me
Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money
With silicone and poetry
And it’s the end of me

Here I am
Here I am
And here I stand
Here in my kitchen where I familiar with every brand
Here I am
A front line with labels where I witness Custer’s last stand
Here I am

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