There's a story in an ancient play about birds called The Birds
And it's a short story from before the world began
From a time when there was no earth, no land.
Only air and birds everywhere.
But the thing was there was no place to land.
Because there was no land.
So they just circled around and around.
Because this was before the world began.
And the sound was deafening. Songbirds were everywhere.
Billions and billions and billions of birds.
And one of these birds was a lark and one day her father died.
And this was a really big problem because what should they do with the body?
There was no place to put the body because there was no earth.
And finally the lark had a solution.
She decided to bury her father in the back if her own head.
And this was the beginning of memory.
Because before this no one could remember a thing.
They were just constantly flying in circles.
Constantly flying in huge circles.
There's a story in an ancient play about birds called The Birds
And it's a short story from before the world began
From a time when there was no earth, no land.
I lean in
to the well
black water
what can you tell
a shadow swallows my reflection
mother I see nothing at all
the moon
belly full of light
all big and bright
all alone
in the sky
alone as I
a shadow swallows my reflection
mother I see nothing at all
I thought I saw
your face
how I wished
it would be your face
a shadow swallows my reflection
mother I see nothing at all
I lean in
to the well
black water
what can you tell
Nous passerons nos vies
Dans des lieux sublimes
A lire en sirotant l’alcool
Des textes décadents
Sur la nature de l’Homme
Sur ses plaisirs futiles
Et nous rirons à pleines dents
Idéal, idéal, idéal, idéal
Devant la mer, des êtres androgynes
Danseront tous les soirs
Dans leurs robes d’argent
Et nous confondrons
Dans nos vagues pupilles
Les reflets de l’eau et le soleil fondu
Sur l’accord de septembre
Idéal au bord de mer
Idéal et délétère
Idéal et délicieux
Idéal et déluré
L’idéal doit exister
Nous passerons nos vies
Dans des maisons de pierre
Dressées dans la nature
Meublées d’objets anciens
De frugal banquet devant le ciel clair
Pour simple nourriture la musique et le vin
Idéal, idéal, idéal, idéal
A vivre demi-nus, de fruits et de soleil
De poésie subtile
Verlaine, Rimbaud, Baudelaire
Du vin coulant à flots
Quelques habits de fête
Juste ce qu’il faut
Rien ou presque
Secrets spun as thin as summer threads
hidden in the hems of summer dresses,
"It's only skin, warming skin" you said.
Innocence will bow and kiss your forehead.
How the heat will beat beat beat it from your breath,
Go on, leave the seeds to break and swell.
Tell me all your troubles, I'll tell mine.
Show every weapon you've been hiding.
"It's only skin, warming skin" I'll say.
Innocence can swallow every silence.
Come come! Color all your visions red!
Come come! Has the darkness lost it's sway?
It's only skin, warming skin
It's only skin, warming skin
It's only skin, warming skin
It's only skin, warming skin