Vragen

Zij hebben zwaar water gedronken
en zitten te wachten als spijkers
op baldakijnen en tronen waar
nog anderen zich later op neerlaten.
De avond is een vale spiegel
van een zeer betrokken dag.
- Heeft iemand hier nog vragen ?
Neen. Want dit is droom noch daad.


1989.

What love is for

Thinking way back
makes me feel sad
oh I could do so much better
like I told you in that letter

I remember
last september
you and me we walked these streets and
I feel time just cheats us and

        our footsteps on the pavement
        are something we should save and
        cherish for all time
        knowing you'll be mine
        and I will be yours
        that's what love is for

I know the wall
between us all
oh I can't touch anybody
'cause I know no one that's got it

got what it takes
and is not fake
oh can't touch anybody
'cause I know no one that's got it


      refr.


                on the bridge there is a clown
                but the king just frowns
                on the bridge there is a clown



1989.

Full of life (like a little prince)

I am staring at the world
and I'm praying for a girl
beyond the formula of wishing
that defines all that I'm missing

I am drinking what I drink
I am thinking what I think
within the mystery of being
that defines all that I'm feeling

    all this life is artificial
    night life is so sacrificial
    oh forget what you have been
    and believe in what you've seen
    every lie
    is full of life
    all you try
    is full of life

Contemplating every sound
measuring the things you've found
against everything you think you know
against everything you think that shows

repeat 2nd verse

        refr.


1989.


            coda/bridge
           
            and everyone is like a prince
            making their own way inch by inch
            like a little prince
            a little prince.

Sweet tough love

No getting away from it
the road we're walking on
is all that's meant to be
so better be a champion

talk of options baby
go for eternal night
talk of options lady
go for eternal light

       nothing to be frightened of
       we live in the brightness of
       tough love sweet love
       sweet love tough love
       nothing to be frightened of

try praying to the mother
get close to the father
get closer to the son
talk to the daughter rather

repeat verse 1

      refr.


1988.

Golden girl

She will be like X-mas
she'll be my pass-over
nothing will be what it was
when we're rolling in the clover

She'll be like new Year's Day
a birthday on cloud nine
it will not be like they say
when you'll finally be mine

        You don't need no scarlet woman
         when you're searching for a golden girl
        when the whole world is in bloom and
         you're just searching for a golden girl

End of purgatory
end of trial by fire
when you're just one more story
called out by the town crier

An end to lonely nights
and to the rainy days
where every word that you might
say sounds like what strangers say

      refr.


1988

Bar

Wie zich dompelt in het drijfzand
van de doorzopen ogen aan een toog
die wankelt onder ongericht gewicht
en ladderzatte lippen die niet vloeken
maar letter na letter vergeten.
Wie zich drenkt aan deze voze stroom
van labyrintisch leven na lafenis
kan ook een waarheid vinden
als hij geen puist krijgt van Bukovski
en zijn metafoor hier.
De werkelijkheid is weer naakt
en ook elders in dat ander lijden
is er kans op kundig vinden.


1988.

Lamento 17

I've got no more tears for personal pain, loss or gain. I may be breaking apart outside, inside, all over the place, I may be shattered to pieces and be damned, I may encompass all evil and waste, I may have lost all taste for happiness and strength, I've got no more tears, I'm dry and broke and I'll never cry. But that world, that fateful globe of all of us, that totality of suffering and torture, that universe of ill-will, of little people crushed by the weight of absurdity and totalitarian fancy, of stupidity and cruelty still breaks me up and then I'll cry that river, that private stream of pity, useless compasssion that don't do no one no good, that sucks you into the vortex of pointless longing, of powerlessness, but the world seems to be going, destroyed by cupidity right before our very eyes and we can't act, stupefied by sterile dogma and the law of averages. Oh for to go, to go into limitless light or deepest darkness, whatever, away from rampant rage destroying the destitute and despairing. Abject and without purpose in a supermarket world of willful nothingness. We all experience our personal hell, do battle with our demons but unlike the indians who'd go on vision quests, we won't be received by a nurturing tribe if we came out of it with a enlightening dream or even a sullen disappointment. So if you manage to gain some precious little form of sanity you're still all at sea, society rages on outside your door bent on some incredible suicide course, some superhighway to nowhere, some daredevil venture of utter self-defeating contradiction. The pope will dress up and bless you, the presidium will press your hand, the imam will chastize you, the general wil ostracize you when you're out of step and what else could you be if you've still got a smattering of wholesomeness somewhere in your battered system. So find a way the stand upright in the shitstorm, the tornado of tears, the vale of venality. The elements may bless you, lightning might mercifully strike before you finally give in. Goodbye.


1981.