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I know I cannot leave this place
full of memories
Things like the way they knew us
all over town
We used to walk the streets together
We could be seen
Past shops where people knew us
Yeah, people knew
I've got to choose between tomorrow
and yesterday
I can't stop to think about
my life, here today
Maybe I'll find someone to get you
off my mind
Take me away from here
and leave it, leave it all behind
Memories can hang you up and haunt you
all your life, you know
Get so you cannot stay
and yet cannot go
I could find out where she's gone
Today I feel so unhappy
Streets seem so empty now
I want you with me
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Poetry in motion is what you've become
From the front and from behind you're a star
Sideways, on the top and underneath
Close inspection reveals that you're in perfect nick
You'll perform like a dream
(repeat)
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Is it worth it?A new winter coat and shoes for the wifeAnd a bicycle on the boy's birthdayIt's just a rumour that was spread around townBy the women and childrenSoon we'll be shipbuilding
Well I ask youThe boy said Dad they're going to take me to taskBut I'll back by ChristmasIt's just a rumour that was spread around townSomebody said that someone got filled inFor saying that people get killed inThe result of the shipbuilding
With all the will in the worldDiving for dear lifeWhen we could be diving for pearls
It's just a rumour that was spread around townA telegram or a picture postcardWithin weeks they'll be re-opening the shipyardAnd notifying the next of kin once againIt's all we're skilled inWe will be shipbuildingWith all the will in the worldDiving for dear lifeWhen we could be diving for pearls
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...How I wish I could forget those happy yesteryears
They have left a rosary of tears
Your face beams
In my dreams
'spite of all I do
Everything seems to bring memories of you
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Tears you've shed today will pause
waiting until tomorrow
Dreams of what could be
Come close to me, timidly
There's a brand new day in sight
At that time: round about midnight
Life's game of chance
And you're one of the minor players
Look for what you lost
For days to come, harbour some
Let your spirit start the fight
At that time: round about midnight
Every day's going to bring some sad times
Every day's going to bring some glad times
So take what you can of the glad times
Don't measure your pleasure
In nickels and dimes
Look back on today and you'll know
When you have been unhappy
Tears done, chased away
What might at night have their day
Let your eyes put out their light
At that time: round about midnight
Round about midnight
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An early photograph
of the young braid with the confident grin
who is celebrating his first defeat
by clutching a haircut from his skull
the pig tail
in death of modern man
like a young braid with a price on his head
Delilah's and Samson's
stands the accused the symbol is clear
cut from his skull
the long hair
the long hair
if this is the missing link
the threaded locks getting down to remain
unable to avoid the sacrifice
the short back and side
the closest shave
the pig tail
remember how it's done
first you must think and then you began
seemingly retreating
the coiling spring is triggered to leave farther ahead
the long march
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Esto no puede ser no más que una canción
Quisiera fuera una declaración de amor
Romántica sin reparar en formas tales
Que pongan freno a lo que siento ahora a raudales
Te amo – te amo – eternamente te amo
Si me faltaras no voy a morirme
Si he de morir quiero que sea contigo
Mi soledad se siente acompañada
Por eso a veces sé que necesito
Tu mano – tu mano – eternamente tu mano
Cuando te vi sabía que era cierto
Ese temor de hallarme descubierto
Tu me desnudas con siete razones
Me abres el pecho siempre que me colmas
De amores – de amores – eternamente de amores
Si alguna vez me siento derrotado
Renuncio a ver el sol cada mañana
Rezando el credo que me has enseñado
Miro tu cara y digo en la ventana
Yolanda – Yolanda – eternamente Yolanda
Yolanda – eternamente Yolanda
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Te recuerdo Amanda la lluvia en el pelo
Corriendo a la fábrica donde trabajaba Manuel
La sonrisa ancha la lluvia en el pelo
No importaba nada ibas a encontrarte con él
Son cinco minutos la vida es eterna en cinco minutos
Suena la sirena de vuelta al trabajo
Y tu caminando lo iluminas todo
Los cinco minutos te hacen florecer
Que partió a la guerra que nunca hizo daño
Que partió a la guerra y en cinco minutos
Quedó destrozado suena la sirena
De vuelta al trabajo
Muchos no volvieron
Tampoco Manuel
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Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Well it's September seventy seven
Port Elizabeth weather fine
And it was business as usual
In police room 619
Oh Biko Biko Biko oh Biko Biko Biko
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Now when I try to sleep at night
I can only dream in red
You know the outside world seems black and white
With just one colour: dead
Oh Biko...
Inamajo...
Now you can blow out a candle
But you can't blow out a fire oh no
Once the flame begins to catch
The wind will fan it higher
Oh Biko...
Inamajo...
Inamajo...
And the eyes of the world they're watching now
they're watching now
watching now
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Here's to the Fidel few
Clearing road and landslide
Children of history
Changing from the inside
Non just because Che Guevara showed the way
Not just to shame the C.I.A.
Everyone needs to feel at home
Nobody wins who fights alone
Here's to the N.J.M.
Planning for the future
Women and men who dared raise our aspirations
Not just because Maurice Bishop told them to
Not just to change the western view
Everyone needs to feel at home
Nobody wins who fights alone
And here's to our friends like Chris
working in the classrooms
London to Mozambique
Nursing wounds of empire
Not just because revolution paved the way
Not just to be there on the day
Everyone needs to feel at home
Nobody wins who fights alone
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Was A Friend (Wyatt, Hopper)
Furry kind of greeting, not exactly hostile,
Not exactly facing, not exactly turning away,
Not exactly frowning, not exactly smiling.
Lurking by the door
Without a sign of wanting to move.
Though hardly friendly, not an angry gesture
Did it make. Just quite unnerving.
It's been a long time.
I almost forgot were we buried the hatchet.
"Bin a long time no see", (pidgin English
Native to none). After several silences
A cautious head nod. This could take forever.
Did it want to come for a dig? It did
Not answer. I was feeling restless at the door,
Ashamed of my fears. Where WAS the hatchet?
Suddenly was gone. I woke up
Feeling stupid. No-one else awake
Though dawn was only minutes away.
Quietly I rose to fill the morning pee pot.
What a silly dream,
Not like what really would have occurred.
Old wounds are healing.
Faded scars are painless – just an itch.
We are forgiven.
It's been a long time.
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Over an ocean away
Like salmon
Turning back for Nayram
To the delta
With the rivulets tumbling down
Glide over sand
Around the rocks
Back through the wavering weeds
And the turds
In the way
Riversmell
On the route
Along away
Over gravel
The weirs of the tributaries
Against the icy waterflow
To Maryan
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Pa arrives in the city of the closed doors,
Greeted by miners from Asturias.
His limousine streaks past giant shiny moneyboxes,
Huddled together for warmth.
He is deposited in his inner chamber.
Later, Pa meets the bear, impersonates a tree
To confuse the hell's gates dogs' sense of smell,
And rests for chess with no-one.
Then (amongst the closed doors) he shrinks,
Is dwarfed by rabbits, expands again
To invade the destiny of fourteen mysterious others,
Strangely clad, captured by a camera,
carefully arranged, with a space for his image.
A plot hatched by fate.
Pa looks for diversion in the written word,
Meanwhile, the mundane world seeks solace in illusion.
An imprisoned rainbow gives shelter to the homeless.
A painted machine registers the weight of mystery,
And for background interest a kilometre of women
Queue to kiss a wooden foot, patiently.
The Queen had been.
But no information, in the city of the closed doors,
On Christian Spain.
Elsewhere, bare buttocks wait their turn.
In vain. No guides available. All busy in the Prado,
Followed by shuffling feet. Fascinated. Perhaps.
Outside again in the mundane world,
In the city of the closed doors,
Living men impersonate sleeping saints,
On sundry raised surfaces, (like benches).
Art objects seat beadless (beneath coats).
Performance artists simulate poverty and beg.
A day's begging pays the entrance fee
To the Cinema of Terror. A golden gas mask
Throw the torturers off the trail, amongst
The grazed walls of the city of the closed doors.
Pa escapes,
Samples the delights of raw fish, good wine,
Closes the door of his inner chamber,
Closes the door of his inner chamber, and sleeps.
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Given free will but within certain limitations,
I cannot will myself to limitless mutations,
I cannot know what I would be if I were not me,
I can only guess me.
So when I say that I know me, how can I know that?
What kind of spider understands arachnophobia?
I have my senses and my sense of having senses.
Do I guide them? Or they me?
The weight of dust exceeds the weight of settled objects.
What can it mean, such gravity without a centre?
Is there freedom to un-be?
Is there freedom from will-to-be?
Sheer momentum makes us act this way or that way.
We just invent or just assume a motivation.
I would disperse, be disconnected. Is this possible?
What are soldiers without a foe?
Be in the air, but not be air, be in the no air.
Be on the loose, neither compacted nor suspended.
Neither born nor left to die.
Had I been free, I could have chosen not to be me.
Demented forces push me madly round a treadmill.
Demented forces push me madly round a treadmill.
Let me off please, I am so tired.
Let me off please, I am so very tired.
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