Marc Seberg - 83
Jour après jour
Jour après jour de verre en verre,
et puis de bars de nuit en d'autres verres.
Les rêves s'évanouissent sans bruit
au bout d'un comptoir ivre d'ennui,
ivre de vin, ne plus se mordre les mains.
Tourne et tourne, à l'envers, à l'endroit,
dans des draps sans odeur qui restent toujours froids.
Me détourne, me retourne, à l'étroit, mal à l'aise,
dans des bras sans chaleur qui restent toujours raides.
Le rythme régulier des vagues
ne t'a jamais emmené nulle part.
Ces maigres filles que tu entraînes
dans des hôtels de bord de mer,
pour un naufrage en solitaire.
En rage d'en être encore là,
toujours au même endroit.
Sans attache, mais toujours là
ancré au même endroit du rivage
un grain de sable.
Le sable qui coule entre mes mains
sur cette plage, j'espère, enfin
que la marée vienne et m'emmène plus loin.
Tourne et tourne, à l'endroit, à l'envers
dans des bras sans chaleur qui restent toujours raides.
Me détourne, me retourne, à l'étroit, mal à l'aise,
dans le flux d'une écume trop légère.
Et tu enrages d'être encore
toujours au même endroit de la grève.
Sans attache mais toujours là,
ancré au même endroit... Que se lève
le vent du large!
Philippe Pascal
Surabaya Johnny
Personalities
Leave me, love me,
leave me something.
Something to believe in,
a word to repeat to the walls
that enclosed my world,
any word...
Up from the start, I swear,
I suspected the worst.
Facts didn't disappoint me,
I always acted like a whore.
So now the time has come
to pay the price of crimes :
of never giving anything,
of always begging on my knees
for a
personality
as bright as yours.
Leave me, love me,
leave me something.
Anything you please,
a word, a curse,
a sword, a nurse...
To tell me how to join
the creatures of the twilight zone
So now the time has come
to pay the price of crimes,
but all the bites on my skin
were like to play at hide and seek.
It's a strange game with yourself
when you're pulling out your eyes,
without no suffer and no pain
the pressure's got a bit too high
for a
personality
on the border
personality personality
personelity out of order
now fading away...
I'm fed up with screaming
now I'm whispering
like the chirpings of the birds,
like the leaves on the trees.
But remember the child
lost in the white room.
No strength left to die.
No strength left to survive.
You were wrong, you were wrong
to try to change him into another personallity
oh change
oh change me
Creatures of the twilight zone
Creatures of the twilight zone
Creatures of the twilight zone personalities
Creatures of the twilight zone PERSONALITIES
Personalities
Personalities
Philippe Pascal
Sylvie
Sur un fil en équilibre, et le vide sous ses pieds.
Il est tombé par erreur dans les bras de celle qui passait par là,
par hasard;
réunis sous la pluie.
Par manque d'espoir on se laisse toujours faire.
Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie /
avait fui dans la nuit.
Marc n'a plus la même allure, il apparaît si sûr !
Aucun souffle, aucun remous
ne vient rider la surface tranquille
du bonheur.
Il étouffe, trop d'amour...
Et de nouveau se sentir prisonnier!
Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie...
Je sais, mes images sont faibles et mes mots trop naïfs.
Tout juste bon à fredonner les mêmes rengaines :
" la solitude me pèse, la vie à deux m'oppresse ".
Ni tragique, ni comique,
je ne sais plus, je ne sais rien
mais je crois, j'ai besoin de toi.
Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie...
(est partie dans la nuit)
Les lames s'émoussent,
même le plus bel acier rouille par abandon.
Et de funambule très vite on devient somnambule,
sans y faire attention.
Alors les heures s'écoulent, un lent goutte à goutte,
de longues secondes tombent et l'éclaboussent.
Les yeux fixés sur la porte refermée,
Marc est là, tout juste bon (sans cesse) à répéter :
Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie / si seulement Sylvie /
était restée dans sa vie.
Philippe Pascal
Don't fall
The morning rain removed the stains,
don't fall.
The morning light chased the rain,
don't fall.
in love with...
in love woth her,
don't fall.
The halls were filled with hissing ghosts,
don't fall again.
right into sweet illusions traps,
don't fall again
in love with past,
in love with traps,
I fall.
And the same old vision dressed in the past,
don't call it.
It won't be back for a long time,
don't fall again.
in love with pictures,
in love forever,
I fall.
I hold on to her pretty face
there is nothing else to think about.
I hang on to her pretty arms
there is nothing else to do to night.
To night,
I fall.
Wake up to the real thing, don't fall asleep.
Her smell, her taste, they linger on in vain.
Wake up to the real thing, don't fall asleep.
Someday, someone will call your name again.
I hold on to my idle frights
there is nothing else to think about
I fall.
Philippe Pascal
Sans mémoire
Dans le brouillard des idées vagues,
sans larme ni un regard.
Effacée, la plus petite trace d'avant-hier, sans un regret.
Au hasard seul, en quête d'un sanctuaire :
que désormais ses mains s'apaisent.
Garder les lèvres closes,
lorsque s'annonce si proche
la métamorphose.
Les entrepôts en ruine à l'est du port, de longs corridors.
Les couloirs déserts où se traîne l'insecte solitaire...
Et prier dans le noir
pour rester sans mémoire.
Je suis le même, tu sais.
Rien n'a vraiment changé.
Toujours le même, tu sais,
tout près, tout près de tout recommencer.
Et la craie laisse sur mon imper
M pour Meurtre, pour Misère,
La preuve que la plaie reste ouverte.
S'asseoir là, ne plus rien faire
ne rien dire, juste se taire.
Au hasard seul en quête d'un sanctuaire :
le calme d'un moulage mortuaire.
Garder les lèvres closes,
lorsque s'annonce l'aube.
Je suis le même, tu sais.
Rien n'a vraiment changé.
Toujours le même, tu sais,
Tout près, tout près de tout recommencer.
Le chant des enfants morts
hier (un jeu de courtes lames.)
Le chant des enfants morts
hier (Berkert, Ann Beckmann.)
Le chant des enfants morts
hier
une prière
pour rester sans mémoire.
Philippe Pascal
No way
No way, I'm dead.
So stuck to a muddle of thoughts,
not even mine.
No change in the weather
that could break my frame of mind,
and no telephone.
Philippe Pascal
Tricks of mind
" There is no whisky in this town,
no pub, no club to sit me dowm. "
Useless prayers of a bewildered crowd,
down by the Gange, I watch them drown.
I'm buried in Benares,
waiting for the Monsoon.
I told you once, but I can tell you twice :
for a glass full of Red-eye, I could sell my hide.
I won't go to Benares,
even if the sun shines.
Remember,
there is tricks,
tricks to fill up a life,
like empty words mixed with a bottle of wine,
and a girl, a girl just like you.
Entangled in a tune,
my words are sucked up into their shells.
The sound of broken glass
reminds me their uselessness.
Enslaved souls in their funeral piles,
down by the shore, I hear them cry.
I can't stay in Benares
cause I don't have a dream
to realize
to realize
Remember,
there is tricks
to fill up a whole long life,
like empty words mixed with a handfull of rice,
and a girl, a girl
just like you.
Oh give me a girl
just like you,
A simple girl
all dressed like you,
and eyes of blue.
I call your name,
there is no telephone.
I scream myself hoarse,
waiting for the Monsoon,
and no telephone.
Well I call your name hoarse
in the sweltering heat.
I scream myself hoarse
but there is no telephone.
Philippe Pascal
Strikes
No noise nor silence
but echoes of violence
Always on the search for any stranger's hand,
reaching down to me take from the quicksands.
The mud's too slippery, my fingers couldn't grope.
I allowed myself to sink by cowardice and sloth.
Because I thought that I was dreaming,
I found myself crushed in a Schiele's Embrace,
in security, crucified on its picture frame.
I was shooting so high
and diving so low
shooting so high
diving so low.
Someone came and broke the glass to pieces,
changed the rythm, set the insect free
from its stiff attitude into a waving misery,
something like a slug...
Always on the search for an ultimate hand
to put me back in my picture frame.
My life drags on between the light and shade
of the electric tones of my TV set.
I'm dragging on and on between the light and shade.
I'm never too close to the receding screen
but always too far from a new color scheme,
I'm running on and on wild and wild in an endless line.
I was shooting so high
and diving so low
shootinf so high
diving so low
I did it slow...
Put me in my picture frame, leave me in my own embrace
put me in my picture frame
and leave my own embrace.
Philippe Pascal
The shriek
Facing the rising of my fears,
watching them crawling inside of me.
Slowly collecting in one hand
that grabs the other by surprise,
pulling me along
for I'm blind
for I'm blind...
Someone outside is talking much too loud,
his angry call starts hurting in my ears.
I'll tear them off to get rid of all the sound
of wasted days, the shriek of stifled years.
All the faces that I wore on the back of my illusions.
All the lies I used to tell to lead a sheltered life,
forever weathered in the air
and only left with shame and despair.
The sky is crying out for the afterglow,
streaks of red and light splashes of gold,
burning down on the drunken crowd below :
a final burst before the coming of the cold.
I'll stay here waiting for the fall
of an angel's wing.
I'll stay here waiting for the slow
and be carried
by the wind.
Just one more chance for evidence
to show itself at the first glance,
at the very first glance.
I was so glad to meet you, son,
I hope I'll meet you once again,
once again.
But all the things I've done,
I'm sure I'll do it once again,
once again.
And I rise, I rise...
And I hope someday, you'll forgive me son
for the things I've said and the things I've done.
And I rise, I rise...
But I'll hope someday, you'll forgive me son
for the words untold ant the things undone.
I rise, I rise
on the wing of an angel...
Oh Lord, my son.
What have I done ?
I was so glad to meet you son
I hope I'll meet you once again,
once again.
But all the things I've done
I'm sure I'll do it once again,
once again.
And I rise, and I rise
on the wing on an angel.
I tell you that I rise,
but it's a lie.
Oh it's a lie.
Oh it's a lie.
Such a lie!
Philippe Pascal
Venus in furs
Bonus sur la réédition CD, extrait de la compilation "Les Enfants du Velvet".