letra de sdss1416+13b - scott walker
this is my job,
i don’t come around and put out
your red light when you work.
silence
what’s the matter,
didn’t you get enough attention at home?
silence
if sh-t were music,
you’d be a br-ss band.
silence
know what?
you should get an agent,
why sit in the dark
handling yourself.
for lavinia
who goes like
gynozoon.
ix i v
ix iii v i
for the citizen
whose joke lays
in their hand.
i v i
v ix ix iii
to play fugues
on joves
spam castanets.
v ix ix
i vi ix i
cattle are slaughtered,
entrails examined,
spread out across the moon.
the tisza is rising,
topless bars overflowing,
pulsing through the flumes.
drop-kicked coloraturas
fouling my ears,
byp-ssing
an anorexic sky and-
-scar jumping grafters,
chorion-crying.
how can you stoop
so high?
for papiria
who plops
the pantheon.
iv vi ix
v i ix i
for grosse gauls
who wont leave
our sheep alone.
v i vii
ix i ix i
nors-m-n!
do not!
eat the big pink mint.
flush hard,
its a long way to athens.
gone
from your wooden palace.
the wild mice pelt clothes
slipped from my toes
where termites
scribble the walls.
twisted forth,
and gone,
‘little father’,
the ‘snip’ off your
nine-ninety-nine,
from where you groomed
yourself too small.
no more
dragging this wormy -n-s
round on sh-g piles from
persia to thrace.
i’ve severed
my reeking gonads,
fed them to your
shrunken face.
j-n-s head
its said,
will give good door.
ix ix v
ix i ix i
for a roman who’s proof
that greeks f-cked bears.
v v ix
vii v iv i
heard this one?
this’ll kill ya,
about the ropes of hair
care of
venus the bald
tugging mercs across the plain.
those measuring road-rashed bellies
a perte de vue to me
night and day.
the one
about the saint
stranded high
upon his pillar.
thirty summers,
thirty winters,
his constant visitor,
his mother.
but he’d stare into the distance,
ignored her calls from down
below…
“did you ever throw your own
mothers food back at her?!”
“did you ever tell her,
take this junk away?!”
“what kind of unnatural son
would do that to his own
mother?!”
…the tasteless one
about the bantam
who couldn’t climb a rung.
your helipolis is scr-pheap.
gone,
the brown slug
of your tongue.
for eunuch ron
who sleeps at night
across the emperors
bedroom door.
iii v ix
ix i v i
grostulating-gorbi
requires fresh packing.
ii ix v
i iv ix i
over,
its over,
syrinx screaming
all around,
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar!
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar! bar!
aquil-aetos!
aquil-aetos!
screaming all around,
filling up my life,
screaming all around.
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar!
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar!
over,
its over,
your nibelung
can’t be found.
their shadowless
shadows,
wiping me.
wiping me clean
away.
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar!
bar! bar! bar!
bar! bar! bar!
where’s;
the scent of pine torches,
the lumbering caravans,
the felt covered wagons, moving like galleons?
the ‘wedgie’, the ‘melvy’ to threaten the air?
only fledge m-ffled
long hollow bone-drums
a beating.
the dark day behind us,
the dark day ahead
the wind drone across
skull goblets.
then,
basel-c-m-strasbourg-c-m-frankfurt-c-mspeyer-c-m…
i hear the only place your ever invited
is outside.
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