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| BALLAD OF HOLLIS BROWN
Hollis Brown He lived on the outside of town Hollis Brown He lived on the outside of town With his wife and five children And his cabin fallin' down You looked for work and money And you walked a rugged mile You looked for work and money And you walked a rugged mile Your children are so hungry That they don't know how to smile Your baby's eyes look crazy They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve Your baby's eyes look crazy They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve You walk the floor and wonder why With every breath you breathe The rats have got your flour Bad blood it got your mare The rats have got your flour Bad blood it got your mare If there's anyone that knows Is there anyone that cares? You prayed to the Lord above Oh please send you a friend You prayed to the Lord above Oh please send you a friend Your empty pockets tell yuh That you ain't a-got no friend Your babies are crying louder It's pounding on your brain Your babies are crying louder now It's pounding on your brain Your wife's screams are stabbin' you Like the dirty drivin' rain Your grass it is turning black There's no water in your well Your grass is turning black There's no water in your well You spent your last lone dollar On seven shotgun shells Way out in the wilderness A cold coyote calls Way out in the wilderness A cold coyote calls Your eyes fix on the shotgun That's hangin' on the wall Your brain is a-bleedin' And your legs can't seem to stand Your brain is a-bleedin' And your legs can't seem to stand Your eyes fix on the shotgun That you're holdin' in your hand There's seven breezes a-blowin' All around the cabin door There's seven breezes a-blowin' All around the cabin door Seven shots ring out Like the ocean's pounding roar There's seven people dead On a South Dakota farm There's seven people dead On a South Dakota farm Somewhere in the distance There's seven new people born |
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THE LONESOME DEATH OF HATTIE CARROLL
William Zantzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'. And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him As they rode him in custody down to the station And booked William Zantzinger for first-degree murder. But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears, Take the rag away from your face. Now ain't the time for your tears. William Zantzinger, who at twenty-four years Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him And high office relations in the politics of Maryland, Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling, In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking. But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears, Take the rag away from your face. Now ain't the time for your tears. Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen. She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage And never sat once at the head of the table And didn't even talk to the people at the table Who just cleaned up all the food from the table And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level, Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane That sailed through the air and came down through the room, Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle. And she never done nothing to William Zantzinger. But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears, Take the rag away from your face. Now ain't the time for your tears. In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded And that even the nobles get properly handled Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom, Stared at the person who killed for no reason Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'. And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished, And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance, William Zantzinger with a six-month sentence. Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears, Bury the rag deep in your face For now's the time for your tears. |
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| left and right song of
the upper wall by good old bobby zimmerman - "he is every nations refugee"/song
for bob dylan by david bowie!
words in the middle part of the upper wall not by a great poet but by a little man QUICKSAND (wall below) by david bowie. startseite or back to NOPASARAN!PASAREMOS! |
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| QUICKSAND
I'm closer to the Golden Dawn Immersed in Crowley's uniform Of imagery I'm living in a silent film Portraying Himmler's sacred realm Of dream reality I'm frightened by the total goal Drawing to the ragged hole And I ain't got the power anymore No I ain't got the power anymore I'm the twisted name on Garbo's eyes Living proof of Churchill's lies I'm destiny I'm torn between the light and dark Where others see their targets Divine symmetry Should I kiss the viper's fang Or herald loud the death of Man I'm sinking in the quicksand of my thought And I ain't got the power anymore Don't believe in yourself Don't deceive with belief Knowledge comes with death's release I'm not a prophet or a stone age man Just a mortal with the potential of a superman I'm living on I'm tethered to the logic of Homo Sapien Can't take my eyes from the great salvation Of bullshit faith If I don't explain what you ought to know You can tell me all about it On the next Bardo I'm sinking in the quicksand of my thought And I ain't got the power anymore Don't believe in yourself Don't deceive with belief Knowledge comes with death's release |
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| Nebenbei: Bitte sehen Sie uns den Personenkult nach, welcher scheinbar hier betrieben wird, aber in Wahrheit geht es uns mehr um Symbole als um Personen; meinen wir doch, daß wir Symbole brauchen; so also gelte jener Kult hier nicht den beiden Menschen hinter den Poeten Bowie und Dylan, sondern den Symbolen, die wir sie sein lassen: für Nonkonformität und Widerstand - ästhetisch und politisch und psychisch! |