Honey and the moon – Joseph Arthur

Don’t know why I’m still afraid
If you weren’t real I would make you up
now
I wish that I could follow through
I know that your love is true
and deep
as the sea
but right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives.

Remember when we first met
and everything was still a bet
in love’s game
you would call; I’d call you back
and then I’d leave
a message
on your answering
machine

But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives

Freedom
run away tonight
freedom, freedom
run away
run away tonight

We’re made out of blood and rust
looking for someone to trust
without
a fight
I think that you came too soon
you’re the honey and the moon
that lights
up my night

But right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish that I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives

freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight

we got too much time to kill
like pigeons on my windowsill
we hang around

ever since I’ve been with you
you hold me up
all the time I’m falling down

But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
i wish i could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives

freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight

Famous friends along the coast – Joseph Arthur

You never knew your way back home
You lost yourself and began to drown inside a cage
With photographs and lights of glass
And memories of when your style was all the rage
Working in the diamond mines
The things you lost down the line come creeping back
And when you try to get some sleep
The spirit world has prepared its attack

You look in the mirror and see the eyes
No one can keep you realise you are a ghost
With famous friends along the coast
You dissolve but somehow still propose a toast
To victory to wings that fly through misery
Swallowing your alibi
To learning how not to try to figure out
Who you’ll be in the night

You’ve been here once before
You let the leper through the door and fell apart
He took from you your self respect
You were huge and then a speck of his heart
The darkness knew it’s ok to be like that
You got away and bought the shirt
And disappeared into make believe
So no one knew just how much you really hurt

Now they want you to mop the floor
To clean the blood that keeps on pouring from your head
But everything just fades to black
There ain’t no map and everyone you meet is dead
The crucifix, the hand grenade
Only you know which one is gonna save you
The dancing bones and faded bombs
Somehow you must know you’re gone and disappear

Brenda/Love for sale

Daar staat ze dan, alleen op de dansvloer. De tijd om naar huis te gaan lang voorbij. Op dit uur gaan alle nummers over haar. Over haar uitgelopen mascara en de ladder in haar kous. Geen stairway naar de zevende hemel. In het beste geval een short cut naar dat appartement waar ze straks weer eenzaam wakker wordt. De weg naar huis, die vindt ze wel. Alsof ze ergens anders naartoe kan. En eens ze de deur achter zich dichtslaat, zitten ze allemaal te wachten. Alle demonen, alle geesten uit een ver verleden. Bij wijze van teambuilding komen ze nog wat in haar hoofd muizen.

De schikgodinnen hebben dit verhaal al zovele keren geweven. Een eeuwenoud patroon dat in alle culturen herkend wordt. Haar spiegeltje, haar spiegeltje aan de wand heeft dit beeld al zo vaak te zien gekregen. Een massa mensen staart terug. Wie ze zou moeten zijn. Wie ze zou willen zijn. Wie ze zou kunnen zijn. Maar wie ze is, nee, die is niet in de massa te onderscheiden. Die wil ze ook niet zien. Te confronterend. Te ontgoochelend. Onherkenbaar geworden ondertussen. Te lang maskers gedragen, teveel make up, teveel face lifts. Om in de massa op te gaan. Om op te vallen.

Ze laat de kater uit en zoekt in de bergruimte iets eetbaars. Daar staan ze dan. Die twee grote blikken, helemaal weggedoken. Twee blikken die ze zo graag zou opentrekken en over iemand kieperen. Er iemand mee doordringen, er iemand in verdrinken. Het laagje stof en het vergeelde etiket drukken haar met de neus op de feiten. Heeft haar liefde een versheidsdatum? Ze weet enkel dat er geen conserveringsmiddelen of andere additieven inzitten. Nee, haar liefde is puur. Puur en ze staat te vervliegen in een stofferige hoek van haar bergruimte. En toch, toch moet iemand een blikopener hebben. Toch moet iemand ondergedompeld willen worden in deze nectar. Maar jij niet. Jij ook al niet.

My twentieth century

I woke up this morning,
Dreading the thoughts of another, dull and boring day.
Hey! Woe is me.
I go out on the streets, north side of the city
I see the steel, the fading rust
And the fields I used to play in…
My friends are famous and all my foes live happy
Loved by lycra, fooled by velcro
And fucked by what they need…

But who am I to criticise? My pointing finger backfires
I hang my head down low.

I once believed in Jesus,
Now I can’t believe in rock’n'roll
From baptism to alcohol, in a land suffocatingly green
Hey! The myth is magic, do you know what I mean?
The politics of sin and of sex
Suffer the fools, pawn our jewels, will it ever change?

But who am I criticise? I’ve made my bed, I lie on it
And hold my head up high

My disbelief, my fake redemption
My twentieth century
My holy war, my self indulgence
My twentieth century
My human flesh, my sad dependence
My twentieth century
My apathy, my big decision.
My twentieth century

Any lethal shore

If I was a blind man I’d
dress you all in white and
keep you in a white room
turn on the bright lights and
call you invisible, call you invincible
and I’d dream of white waves on a very lethal shore

if I was a sick man I’d
drink your bourbon and
drift into a blizzard or
any lethal storm and
emerge all windblown
cross-eyed and clothes torn
all just to see you on another lethal shore

If I was a strong man I’d
pull your curtains
down from the heavens, past
where the sky was born
kiss you in secret
right in your locket
and then I’d pull your house down like some very lethal storm

If I was a storm I’d
blow past your window
and linger in spirit
all around your face
and you’d never know, dear
the force that I bring
just to make your ears ring and keep you in a haze

If I was a bird I’d
orchestrate branches
into a chorus
only you would know
crash through your window
all just to see you
all just to meet you on another lethal shore

The scream

What artist could blame his public for not grasping the essence of his work? This painter could never fault some not-so-intelligent designer for your myopia. The blame lays entirely with the painting that has been presented to you. Every artist should dip his brush in his own soul, and paint his own nature into his pictures. But like some Dorian Gray picture, this expressionist gave you nothing more than a superfluous contour of reality that isn’t necessarily true.

A portrait with loud, shocking colours; with broad, thick brush strokes. Designed to repel rather than to attract. All about scandal. He’s been doing a lot of abstract painting lately, extremely abstract. No brush, no paint, no canvas. Just thinking of the concept. If nobody comes close, nobody can blemish this perfect picture; that was his most inspired thought. He thought himself out of happiness a million times, but never once into it.

Of course you ran out of his atelier, only mildly impressed. Sure, his master piece grabs the attention for a fleeting moment, but it isn’t captivating, hardly spell binding, mind blowing, not nearly soul capturing. It’s nothing to hang above your fireplace and contemplate on during those long winter nights. A must-see, granted. But just for the gimmick. No long term investment. Sotheby’s will not be coughing up for this one.

But think about this: maybe the artist hoped to find in you a restaurateur. Someone who’d peel away the layers, scratch the surface. Someone willing to search the splendour hidden beneath. Someone to restore the ancient masterpiece to its full wonder.

Then again, the artist should have provided a manual, a catalogue, some sort of clue. He didn’t, you didn’t and that may well be the end of it.

Thinking is overrated

Does it break my heart? Of course, every moment of every day, in more pieces than my heart was made of.

I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent. I never thought about things at all. But then everything changed, we changed, you changed or was it me.

The distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings. It was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go.

Is ignorance bliss? I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me: What did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

I had to start thinking again…

What we want

Mr. Sensitive liked Miss Offensive
She always said what she meant at expense of
Saving the feelings of those in good company
It lead him close to the edge of a precipice

Miss Offensive, she liked Mr. Sensitive
He was so quiet and thoughtful and dignified
But she furrowed with each disapproval
‘Til the girl dutifully said less and less of the
Things she felt inside

What we wanted

Soon some weeks into their ill-fated love affair
Came the disastrous and inevitable day
Offensive collided with Sensitive
Sparking a scene of unpleasant defensiveness
Oh, oh, no

What we want and what we need
What we want and what we need
Are not always agreed

I don’t know why but it feels like I’m doomed
To be always thinking and always confused
Try get my mind around me and you
But all I achieve is a stew
Of memories

What we wanted
What we wanted
What we want and what we need
What we want and what we need
What we want and what we need
Are not always agreed

Fool says

hey, I ain’t never met anyone like you before
I ain’t never met anyone like you before
I thought all the good ones were gone
you’re here to tell me I was wrong

hey, you ain’t never met a fool like me before
you ain’t never met a fool like me before
they told you all romantic fools had died
I’m here to tell you that they lied

you can’t be always right my friend,
come on and tell me I got it wrong again!

hey, I ain’t never seen anything like this before
I ain’t never seen anything like this before
I thought all the mystery was gone
you’re here to tell me I was wrong

you can’t be always right my friend
come on and tell me I got it wrong again

hey, you ain’t never met a fool like me before
you ain’t never met a fool like me before
they told you all romantic fools had died
I’m here to tell you that they lied

Wrong

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong ascendancy
I took the wrong road
That led to the wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time
For the wrong reason and the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day of the wrong week
I used the wrong method with the wrong technique

Wrong

Wrong

There’s something wrong with me chemically
Something wrong with me inherently
The wrong mix in the wrong genes
I reached the wrong ends by the wrong means
It was the wrong plan
In the wrong hands
With the wrong theory for the wrong man
The wrong lies, on the wrong vibes
The wrong questions with the wrong replies

Wrong

Wrong

I was marching to the wrong drum
With the wrong scum
Pissing out the wrong energy
Using all the wrong lines
And the wrong signs
With the wrong intensity
I was on the wrong page of the wrong book
With the wrong rendition of the wrong hook
Made the wrong move, every wrong night
With the wrong tune played till it sounded right yeah

Wrong

Wrong

Too long

Wrong

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong ascendancy
I took the wrong road
That led to the wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time
For the wrong reason and the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day of the wrong week
I used the wrong method with the wrong technique

Wrong