1. |
Another Place To Be
04:59
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She was a pretty good-looking, married woman
And I lived down the block with a cat by my side.
Oh, I can tell you, every single night was long.
I wandered through the darkness without any hard word one.
They bought a car and immediately she gave birth to a son.
I thought about what light he’ll add to the life of everyone.
You know, it’s kind of funny, I used to know her once a time
When some of our friends had to fight Afghanistan.
She had a view – razor-sharp indeed.
A strong hand at your side helping you to sleep.
So the end of the story, to make a long one short,
She grabbed the ring, she took the keys a thousand miles abroad.
There she stayed at this French hotel, no doubts, but quite alone.
She waited for old Jimmy boy to carry her back home.
He’s a better cook, he’s a better dad, he’s a better man, and he was never sad.
He did not forget to hope, not even during the war times.
So here they are and here am I. It was a long way back to fly.
She used to paint, I see it now. Do it again.
There she was going to another place to be.
Maybe there’s she’s happy, maybe there she’s free.
And if she’s still as clever as in the first night when we met,
She’ll raise her hand and say a word and kick me in my back.
Yes, she was a tough one, I know it by my heart.
Sometimes she didn’t sleep for days and then began to carve.
Yes, she made some sculptures, too, and jewelry with wire.
I never saw her doing it with less than pure desire.
I told you she had hands, she made you realize
That life is such a bitch when you look into its eyes.
There she was going to another place to be.
Maybe there’s she’s happy, maybe there she’s free.
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2. |
Shine A Light
04:27
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Come shine a light,
You see them going.
Come shine a light
Or maybe two.
Come shine a light
For Roosevelt, Franklin.
Come shine a light
For the devastating truth.
Come shine a light
For Old Jerusalem
With its hills and its valleys and its burden to take.
Come shine a light
For every single night.
Come shine a light,
Sit down and pray in grief.
Come shine a light
For she who cries.
Come shine a light,
Abandoned are its thieves.
Come shine a light
For Old Jerusalem
With its hills and its valleys and its burden to take.
Come shine a light
For a home, yes it shall be.
Come shine a light,
Don’t be and sacrifice.
Come shine a light
For plain infinity.
Come shine a light,
Always it will arise.
Come shine a light
For Old Jerusalem
With its hills and its valleys and its burden to take.
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3. |
For Only We Know
05:20
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We met this morning, at the airport you and me.
You headed first to Paris and then to Mexico.
I saw you with your bag and you didn’t really see.
I called your name and then you stopped to go
And then you recognized.
First to Paris and then to Mexico.
You bought two cups of coffee and passed me one around.
We went outside to smoke, next to the cabs we sat.
“Milk is not important”, chatting on the ground.
Henna made your black hair red
And we began to laugh.
Outside to smoke, next to the cabs we sat.
For only we know.
And I don’t have much more to say.
You were there and I was, too.
In the night and it was good.
You watched my eyes and smiled, you smiled and watched again.
I’ll never miss that picture, in my head it is still now.
We thought of your guitar, how they will pack it on the plane.
I wished they’d have allowed
Me to join you on this trip.
I'll never miss that picture, in my head it is still now.
You spoke of change and said a beginning it will rise.
When you come back next month you might have an acting job.
You said you want to work for the good stuff, which was nice.
I asked how you would feel
To smoke a cigarette.
When you come back, then you'll have an acting job.
For only we know.
And I don’t have much more to say.
You were there and I was, too.
In the night and it was good.
When you will move, I come, I said, my little human ashtray.
Your songs and jewels and nana in your house in Abu Ghosh.
This memory keeps me going on every single day.
In Jaffa one day we’ll have a loft,
The night in Nachlaot.
Your songs and jewels in your house in Abu Ghosh.
Now you are in Israel, I’m pretty sure about it.
I’d kiss you on your lips with lipstick or without.
What would I give to hear your voice for five or seven minutes?
Keep it in your mind
And let it go.
I’d kiss you on your lips with lipstick or without.
For only we know.
And I don’t have much more to say.
You were there and I was, too.
In the night and it was good.
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4. |
Sentences Of Disbelief
03:45
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Yesterday I wrote a new song,
I wonder: Did you guess?
I held the bottle up and down
- a refugee's full time blast.
Man, what did we count?
Oh girls, what did we count?
On the empty stage is calling
A person I didn't see
For some time
Here on the scene.
She pulls something out of what she says
It must owe to a Lord in Perth.
I immediately recall a song.
Listen to it, it's quite worth.
Oh all the things,
Oh all the things I thought you were.
"No", she says, "it's not alright
For you to stay any longer
At this place
Instead you want to confront us."
So I packed my stuff and I took it home
To mother earth we all embrace.
There I'm living for a couple of years
- no heat, no hills, no haze.
Think of what there was:
A life I could retell.
And now fetch that storybook
By the eighteen-years old son,
Who's name was
Pedro Antonio de Alarcón.
Gil Gil was a man
Not like you and me at all.
There was misfortune and pain and love
And poison and a call.
Time and space. He watched.
Insight. Yes, he watched.
The death he took him by the hand,
Said 'Man, let it go,
Because all your life
Was set by the here and now.“
Like Gil Gil I was not aware
Of what was happening and what was not,
But I'm sure my life was truth and love
In every single part I got.
Oh, Lord, I can affirm.
It was right and good. It was.
I didn't see him lately,
But tell him I do not agree
With his "why" and "how" and "when" and "where":
His sentences of disbelief.
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5. |
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We were both overly sensitive and needed shelter from the storm.
Cruelties of human society covering my mind every morn.
She stood up and was questioning that friendly laughing foe.
As I said hello, I’m a troubadour.
As folks were talking about religion and finding all their paths in jail,
The wind of all destruction was crying loudly that I'll fail.
Although the music and those letters reported welcome miseries,
I dreamt of all-night discussions with candlelight philosophies.
Time passes like a sonata when dropping down to b flat,
As empty phones recall and fake the senses like a painter's color palette.
All homesick hilltop groups of towns send troops of people who alienate,
While travelling to a person who’s a good talking to in our all-time fun parade.
I sing trivial, harmonical in our lost and found saloon – and arguing about silly profs –
When I imply that four letter word phenomenon of one person I want plenty of.
That weight is balancing chaos and cunning change of values.
The creek is heading for the ocean, isolation gives a deeper blue.
All-day similarity by planet sun, it flickers, chimes holy gloom,
Monotonies of scrambling thoughts like you never had before at afternoon.
Increasing nonsense compilations of your feelings you forget to make aware,
You figure out true senses and desire, a compelled standing pair.
Chromatic down the stairs like black-filled notes which are falling down the system,
While conscience tortures joyfully and tragedies include those words of Dylan.
Lousy creatures grasp and scorn those ramblers who are begging for salvation.
The endless difference is a stone which waits tongue-tied for depletion.
You sit there with your sad-eyed view captured by a midwinter’s thought.
And the person on the road is drifting more to the one he does applaud.
Imagine you’re behaving like a ragged leaf that's blown through its damaged place.
The western winds are praising the idea of true relationship widespread over your face.
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Eric Petzoldt Germany
Improviser-composer-songwriter Eric Petzoldt is a musician and scholar, who interrogates the guitar and saxophone in various formats and contexts in Europe and North Africa.
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