M/Mili/Salt, Pepper, Birds, and the Thought Police
Bamboo basket, reflector, working brakes Never forget your helmet, trusty Mips See ya, I'm off to the morning market Thirty-three lemons A healthy-looking chicken And a dozen of free-range eggs Thanks, keep the change Whistling a tune, pffhw I'm home
What a perfect day I hanged the sheets out in the yard Oiled up my baking tray Thinking about you, Mother To recite her famous words All you need are salt and pepper To taste the happiness of life forever
Then the moon rosе And creamed lemon chickеn roasted in the oven Men in black kicked down my front door Hey! Who? What? Why? “You violated act 617 – Illegal Thoughts” “You're under arrest” We all know the real answer was “You shouldn't have been born the way you are”
Du-du, du-du-du-du, du-du-du Du-du, du-du-du-du And we're packed in a cargo choo choo train Squeezing against the bodies similar to me With tears rolling down our faces We began to sing “They can never take anything from our souls” Louder and louder “They can never take anything from our souls” Louder and louder They shaved off my hair Fed me a foreign language Looking on the bright side (Yeah), I'm alive I still remember all the people I love So come at me, and do your worst All this pain and suffer Don't stand a chance against our iron hearts
As the morning came and went (Ah) And the people stayed and left (Ah) And the earth went ‘round and around The stars never looked so kind (Ah) The wind ever so fragrant Through the tiny slit on the wall Every night I was invited to watch A theater played by moonlit birds They spread their wings Carrying our silenced voices Singing our historic songs Letting everyone in the future know That we existed
What a perfect night I felt the urge to write a book Pass down my life Until recently, time didn't feel so fast With my bloody fingertip All I needed were sticks and paper I started to write, poems after poems Then the moonlit birds came to meet me They stole the key and opened the gates We're finally free I picked up my bicycle Riding home to Mother Writing my delusion world I saw a version of heaven Where I sat in my yard Reading a paperback print of my book
On a hillside, your little fist clutching sweat Walking to the memorial park You put down freshly cut white chrysanthemums A former Thought Police lowers her hat Children lying on the grass Singing to poems written by me Du-du-du-duTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
