martedì 13 giugno 2017

Art Brut


Honey, undress me
These cloudy years
A sandwich at the swing
Orange-green,
Who knows it?

In the middle of the night
I’m crunchin many stones
& hide the mountains in the pocket
                      Of my jacket

You know I sing badly
But I work a lot worse
You know I write badly
But I can’t wait on the doors

What I can not do i leave it to Dan
Take off the school and we can be friend

What I can not do I leave to Dan
He doesn’t understand
 & slaps spiders in the pub
  Then runs

I have the feelings of a brown tv that drizzle timelessly the chewed slops
That’s the reason cause I don’t work hard, don’t wanna run, just wanna stop.
I hate those bloated ones with the plane, talking ‘bout the women’s silhouette
 & the arriviste girls hidden by make-up, that buying designer’s pochette

You know I write badly
But I live a lot worse
Nut,  if you touch my nose
I can really laugh
And I swear, it’s enough.


Il cane che non ho     Mi lecca a bassa voce
La zia fabbrica torte dinamite e tutto tace

La gente tira sassi e fa le foto mani in tasca
La nebbia viola elettrico mi balla nella testa
Ribalto gli ideali e me la vivo a testa in giù
Strofiniamoci un po’ il naso che poi ridi pure tu

And it’s enough
I think it’s all.


What I can not do
I leave to Jim
What I do not want
Has taken by him
What I can not eat
Has already eaten by a non-friend
The fatty one, he spits on my back
And cleans his mouth
         on the scented flowers
                     that I kept for you.

And that’s enough
Somebody have to stop
It,
   I’m sick and tired of his lies
So in front of you I declare:  
                                          “Well
He just deserve to die,
I will do it with my hands.

          Bye!

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