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Master of Plaster
Post n°40 pubblicato il 06 Agosto 2008 da coldsnap
Oh, sì. Sto al sicuro, al caldo di questo secolo. Con un'anima di gesso che si secca e si polverizza, ed ogni volta che cerco sollievo davanti a un soffio di vento sento che i miei pensieri vengono soffiati via insieme a questa preziosa polvere bianca. Oh, sì, me ne sto accucciato nell'incavo di questo secolo. E ricordo di reagire solo quando non ho più le forze di muovere un passo. Oh, sì sto al sicuro, tra le mie parole, le mie parole di questo secolo. Dalle quali non faccio che disimpararmi addosso, dimenticare, e per questo sbagliare, e ferirmi, e fratturarmi. Che lavoro crudele. |
AREA PERSONALE
CONTATTA L'AUTORE
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Nickname: coldsnap
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Età: 38 Prov: RM |
MARILLION - BITTER SUITE
Not the regal creature of border caves
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
Of some obscure Scottish poet
The mist crawls from the canal
Like some primordial phantom of romance
To curl, under a cascade of neon pollen
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father
Your carnation will rot in a vase.
II. Lost Weekend
A train sleeps in a siding
The driver guzzles another can of lager
To wash away the memories of a Friday night down at the club
She was a wallflower at sixteen
She'll be a wallflower at thirty four
Her mother called her beautiful
Her daddy said, "A whore".
III. Blue Angel
The sky was Bible black in Lyon
When I met the Magdalene
She was paralysed in a streetlight
She refused to give her name
And a ring of violet bruises
They were pinned upon her arm.
Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand
To a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears
And from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear
"'J'entend ton coeur"
I can hear your heart
IV. Misplaced Rendezvous
It's getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper
Something's gonna give under this pressure
And the cracks are already beginning to show
It's too late
The weekend career girl never boarded the plane
They said this could never happen again
So wrong, so wrong
This time it seems to be another misplaced rendezvous
This time, it's looking like another misplaced rendezvous
With you
The parallel of you, you
V. Windswept Thumb
On the outskirts of nowhere
On the ringroad to somewhere
On the verge of indecision
I'll always take the roundabout way
Waiting on the rain
For I was born with a habit, from a sign
The habit of a windswept thumb
And the sign of the rain
It's started raining
ALTRI ECHI LONTANI
IQ
Belly first, unrehearsed,
I’m thrown from all I’ve known
A silhouette set among the
badlands paved with stone
Photographs, fingerprints,
fragile refugee
Higher rise fire in the sky society
Can I hold on, can I believe in
All the things you are?
There’s no sane in,
chaos reigns in Subterranea
Cadillac heart attack,
back of this beyond
Pusher king, TV queen,
accommodating blonde
At Traitor’s Gate while you
wait gender reassigned
The blindfold leads the blind
Can I hold on? I cannot count them
All the things you are
Were I stronger I’d hold out longer
in Subterranea
Without the walls,
comfort is freezing in my veins
And caught within chemical rain
My dreams have turned against me
And fatally have fenced me in
Above me cold light
and below me over all
The time I‘ve lost, how can I know?
So I keep forgetting
what I am half recalling
On a bed of fallen flowers
Hold me now
as I was held before
Powerhouse, scared vows,
trigger happy punk
Driven by hidden eyes
and figure hugging junk
Heaven knows if I’m close,
am I unreleased?
If I’m in hell I may as well
be famine to the feast
Can I hold on, can I belong to
All the things you are?
There’s no sane in,
chaos reigns in Subterranea


