[stop these lines]
Morning peace dusty air
Clean your teeth comb your hair
Dressed in clothes you always wear
Go to work I won't be there
Lunchtime snackbar eating chips
Ketchup's running down your lips
Deadeyed waiters selling bibs
Which you have to fix with clips
Sitting waiting find an end
Meaningless with no comment
Is this life in your own hand
People are like grains of sand
Pick up streets and pull down skylines
Ravish women blast the mines
Burn the whiskies spill the wines
Find beginnings stop these lines
-Paternoster, 1972
posted by the X at 9:04 pm
2 Comments:
that's poetry, innit?
:)
-yeah...:)
...but nothing can beat hearing the actual *song*, where this sad, bearded swiss vocalist belts out the lyrics in a pain-struck helium falsetto,like he's under the verge of crying, oh so so sad!- while the drummer and organ-player sounds like self-taught kraut luminaries not sure whether they want to play prog or something else...it's a really sweet record(although not exactly star material), and i recommend you check it out! -it's called paternoster, by -duh!- paternoster...;)
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