1. |
Cement flowers
05:17
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Lights were all undone
Lights were all undone
And the reasons were too many
By far
I told you:
• I was a cold neurotic man
• I was a deeply wounded man
• I had looked for feelings
(in the most obsessive way)
I’m looking forward
To burning
All the flesh of your eyelids
To see your black eyes devouring me
Devouring me
We smoked cigarettes by fours
And climbed the virgin walls
Of my past
(Oh, my telltale soberness)
What would happen to you?
What would happen to this place
If I don´t come back?
Nothing.
Just nothing.
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2. |
I ain't Jesus Christ
03:40
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Are you gone?
Or is just that you’re dreaming silence in the pale corners of this cold room?
It is dark,
Much darker than last night: now we can feel the burden of each other’s words,
And they’re too heavy for both of us.
What you call my heart
Is just a boy diving in two liters of cheap rancid wine.
Isn’t suicide
The simplest answer to the question ‘how much is this gonna last’?
Well, I know it’s not such a feasible plan.
I ain’t fucking Jesus Christ
Neither someone who can sacrifice his flesh for some human love,
So just stop trying
To show me your wounds waiting for my pain to be a proper cure,
Because pain is an unaimable gun.
It’s been too long
Since last time that we parked on the edge of the road for a fuck.
It was fun
But now I don’t even drive and I pretend to be always too tired,
So I guess you’ll have to jerk-off this time.
I’ve said I ain’t Jesus Christ
But I do carry a cross
Made of untestified self-pity and vices
And silences firing me.
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3. |
Dennis Hopper
05:49
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Dennis Hopper,
some years ago,
glazed his beard
and so did I this morning:
I slipped my face
between the sharp-as-knifes legs
of an open-minded woman
and I arose feeling closer to Art.
Like this, I’ve made waste of every woman,
like the poet of the one-night-longing songs.
And I’ve tried to turn every wound into word
in the most obsessive way.
Are my verses now much more convincing?
Do they look completely insane?
That’s it: that air of mentally-tortured genius
is what I’m trying to get.
So I’m trying not to stay sober
or, at least, to keep my eyes like in flames.
I spend afternoons ‘round the alley
giving the air of being strayed.
I’m closing the doors to my former rooms.
One by one.
With forced disdain, with blank nights,
with unnatural days.
I’m driving away.
I’m carelessly driving away
like Pound or like Cave,
like every fucking man who really got
a piece of dark fame.
I’m driving away.
I’m driving away
because past’s so uninspiring
for it’s so real and plain.
When mixing memory and desire
things get out of way.
I feel a bit like Francis Bacon
after having bought two halves of a cow:
dragging them home
all through the amazed market.
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4. |
No more cement flowers
04:02
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Last night I dreamed of two snakes devouring your little sweet face:
I did nothing but watch.
So now you’ve just faded out and I can’t see clearly your eyes or your lips,
in my head,
when I masturbate.
I’ve tried to feign a taste for your arty shit but I’ve fallen into a hole of blank nights
and critic reviews.
Like when you said you liked Godard and I went and watched like 30 % of his stuff:
It was just a bore.
It was a fucking bore.
So I’ll stop saying you are my light, my Jesus, my Ono, my heart and my life,
For I need none of them.
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5. |
Driving
03:56
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I was driving
(just for the ride)
down in Athens
a white mid-size car
And I was waiting
for you to start
your phony fire
I'm just getting on the lights
I'm just getting on the lights
Yes, I'm driving
through the nothingnew
and there's no glasses
containing blood
And I was hoping
this sky was just
neither this nor that
So that I can just get on naming it
I'm just getting on naming it
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6. |
Destruction
04:38
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God, look how,
in a five-years’ time
I’ve become darker
and I’ve changed my name to Buck.
Now,
you know I’m prone to boredom
and prone to start again
and again.
And it’s taking me too long,
it’s taking me so long
burying
my own corpse.
But it’s almost done
and winter’s almost gone
and we’re still apart
in this cold backyard.
I wait for destruction
to treat us like sons
and to take us from darkness
to the open road.
(We lack a road)
The man in me
and the monkey in me
and the you in me
think the same:
that I’m a cruel man
swimming in my own blood,
but I think I’m just
quite devoted.
All my etceteras
and all of my lies
walk outside.
and so will I.
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