Friday, September 07, 2007

Being a tribute to George Brassens

I heard him play,
I heard him say -
All those words -
All those chords.
But it's the song he sings that enchants me.

Umbrellas and women, lost in the rain,
Little boats - losing their way
And bigger battles of heartless pain.
And the swinging evening on the quay.

Gorillas that sodomize grown men,
Girls that don't come home
Uncles lost in a lion's den
And a meeting of two children grown.

He's sung it all - written it all
Straining from June to May.
He sleeps quietly with all wherewithal
But he lives, to this jolly day.

He sings - through electronic means
And through little boy-birds.
I sit here enrapt, speechless.
Speaking only through my words.

He enrages, stupifies, offends.
What if he lived! I'd smack his face.
Then kiss him - but alas he mends,
His ways - and vanishes without trace.

Leaving behind that hateful smirk
Like the Cheshire cat - in form.
And of course, those haunting songs
Springing now - from the lips of a new born.

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