Subject: Re: Whatcha listening to...? Mon Mar 19, 2018 3:08 am
Alt J ∆ A surprisingly beautiful song about a wartime photographer being killed, (video is also beautiful and is more like slo-mo Nat Geo shots than anything to do with the song)
Indo-china, Capa jumps Jeep, two feet creep up the road To photo, to record, meat lumps and war They advance as does his chance, oh, oh Very yellow white flash! A violent wrench grips mass, rips light, tears limbs like rags Burst so high finally Capa lands Mine is a watery pit Painless with immense distance From medic from colleague, friend, enemy, foe, him five yards from his leg From you Taro Oh, oh, oh Do not spray into eyes I have sprayed you into my eyes Three ten Pm Capa pends death, quivers, last rattles, last chokes All colors and cares glaze to grey Shriveled and stricken to dots The left hand grasps what the body grasps not oh, oh Le photographie est mort Three point one four one five, alive no longer my amour Faded for home May of ‘54 Doors open like arms, my love Painless with a great closeness To Capa, to Capa Capa dark after nothing, re-united with his leg And with you Taro, oh, oh, oh Taro, oh, oh, oh Do not spray into eyes I have sprayed you into my eyes Hey Taro!
___________________________________________________ Our "We Hate Sonny Strait" song only has one verse, but it's sung to the tune of Hava Nagila
PCoquelin
Posts : 1901 Join date : 2012-07-14 Age : 56 Location : St-Michel/Orge - France
Subject: Re: Whatcha listening to...? Sun Apr 08, 2018 6:40 am
Posts : 1901 Join date : 2012-07-14 Age : 56 Location : St-Michel/Orge - France
Subject: Re: Whatcha listening to...? Sun Jun 17, 2018 8:57 am
The accordionist
The prostitute is beautiful Over there on the corner She has a client Who fills her stockings up When her job is done She goes on her way Looking for a bit of dreams At a dancehall in the suburbs Her man is an artist He's a strange, little guy An accordionist Who can play the java She hears the java But she doesn't dance She doesn't even look at the dancefloor And her loving eyes Follow the vigorous playing And the wiry, long fingers of the artist It gets under her skin From the bottom, from the top She has the urge to sing, it's physical All of her being is tensed Her breath is held She's crazy about music
The prostitute is sad Over there on the corner Her accordionist Left to be a soldier When he comes back from war They will have a house She will be the cashier And he will be the boss How beautiful life will be They'll be true big-shots And every night for her He'll play the java She hears the java That she hums softly She looks again at her accordionist And her loving eyes Follow the vigorous playing And the wiry, long fingers of the artist It gets under her skin From the bottom, from the top She has the urge to cry, it's physical All of her being is tensed Her breath is held She's crazy about music
The prostitute is alone Over there on the corner The girls who brood The men don't want No matter if she dies Her man will never come back Farewell to all of those beautiful dreams Her life is ruined Nevertheless her tired legs Take her to the dancehall Where there's another artist Who plays all night long.... She hears the java She listens to the java... She closes her eyes... Those wiry, vigorous fingers It gets under her skin From the bottom, from the top She has the urge to yell out, it's phyisical
And so, in order to forget She begins to dance, to turn To the sound of the music...
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