Testo Beyond The Son - Koop
Testo della canzone Beyond The Son (Koop), tratta dall'album Koop Islands
Dear, thanks for your letter
Sounds like you're living life the way you wanted
And that makes me smile
No, I hadn't heard Björn Borg retired
Thank God one of us has a finger on the sporting pulse
No records left to collect you complain
Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer released something recently
No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld can source that gem
Got back the other day to find the
Pub on the corner had been burnt down
A dark London street story that I won't burden you with now
Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit
And not drag you on a regular trawl
Through the night seas to see what crawls
Yeah, I know they cast in their lots
To see who can get the old pub's lease
And turn it into more luxury flats
Brick by brick the infiltration has begun
I feel moved enough to take a spray
Can in hand and step to the boarding
But as yet I can't think of anything
Witty or on point enough to be up there
Yet the drunkards still own the park
D's still there in your old flat making beats and still owns the night
While this street can still shape shift and make
You quicken your pace on a late night return
So I suppose we still have time
But make no mistake my friend
I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started its calling
I'm so sorry we missed each other when you last came to town
I heard from Minda you sat with her telling stories for three hours
As she put some extensions in a client's hair
She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums
Of arguments and bars, Dante, the
Colour of Christ and the only true poet
The South China Seas
Remembered Fayang, the Buddhist master
How can we obtain truth through words?
When she quoted your "immature writers
Plagiarise, mature writers steal"
I was back in a bar in New York, Lower East Side
When you shouted that out
Maybe it was yourself
Maybe I wasn't there
Maybe it slipped down between the years
My memory is exactly that now
But my friend, you definitely have a convert there
If you ever need your hair braided and I know that's a long shot
Then she's your girl
As my man Scratch or maybe it was Rakim, no Monk
Or more probable all of them
As some sage said, you gotta check the new style
I'm assuming you are still running an
Old Testament blades to hair ratio
And it hasn't fallen rudely out on you
If that's the scenario, then my sincerest apologies
Saw Mr Brennan in the Holloway Road yesterday
Walked past with a bag of potatoes on his shoulders
I didn't stop him, he wouldn't have had a clue who the hell I was
He didn't back then
Even when we used to spend months sleeping on his sofa
Explaining every morning which one of his son's friends we were
I guess that's the price you pay for any more
Than six children around the Holloway Road area
I think of you often
And hope we see each other as soon as is possible
Until such time, may the winds be at your back
The dice be kind and the gods turn the occasional blind eye
Sincerely yours
Beyond the clouds
Beyond the sun
The rebel without a cause
Credits
Writer(s): Magnus Zingmark, Oscar Simonsson, R Gallagher
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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