NO GOD NO MASTER
The last cigarette is out
as the usual dawn comes about
the last meal still on your snout
now starts the trembling and the doubt:
there is no priest, no shaman, no pastor
to help you out of this disaster
and scratched into the prison-wall plaster:
there is no God there is no master
Trembling now with the burden of proof
a bitter comedy a darkened spoof
the first casualty was the truth
and maybe there's still stars beyond this roof -
but the highest judge is a spell-caster
and there is no God there is no master
ahh the lawyers got it over as they could
the sacrificial furniture's here for good
the gallows is justice in wood
and Scripture shrugged where it stood
and just so you know there's no surprises
for those society hates and despises
the faithless priests gabble faster and faster
there is no God there is no master
as for all this evangelical graft
just another shipwrecked raft
and only suits those who are daft
and the prophet just laughed and laughed
for the truncheon and the rose
this offer's on the nose
the great lie grows ever vaster
there is no god there is no master.
translated from Leo Ferre
-
A FEW GENERATIONS
He' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree
talks up a whole river meandering nearby -
he knows the ground hereabouts like the back of his hand,
grew a few generations of turnips and grandchildren
( and just so's you don't mistake his work for another's )
he' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree
and as the pig-fat banjos shiver and pop
so another day bubbles and winds
cloud alphabets leaf dialogues
talks up a whole river meandering nearby
a clatter of nouns a wash of adjectives
even the jokes are hand-reared here
there's mountains of song and laughter,
he knows the ground hereabouts like the back of his hand,
and once cut down a whole forest, then grew it back again
there's more stories than pine needles
but the soil's pretty good round here, good for
growing a few generations of turnips and grandchildren
so life floats like an owl feather downstream,
ah yes, he' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree.
-
SWINGING IN AND OUT.
They could never beat it out of us
all them teachers and creatures -
swinging in and out of stories
that were strange and staring
never the best never the worst -
but they could never beat it out of us...
And now, it is your voice that is gone
missing in action left for good,
swinging in and out of stories
how the moon got points out of ten
how the sun outshone 'em all -
but they could never beat it out of us,
so even if you've gone out like the tide
or some faraway land of sleep,
swinging in and out of stories,
it will never be over between us
never lost or found in translation elation :
ah, the never could beat it out of us,
all this swinging in and out between stories !
The last cigarette is out
as the usual dawn comes about
the last meal still on your snout
now starts the trembling and the doubt:
there is no priest, no shaman, no pastor
to help you out of this disaster
and scratched into the prison-wall plaster:
there is no God there is no master
Trembling now with the burden of proof
a bitter comedy a darkened spoof
the first casualty was the truth
and maybe there's still stars beyond this roof -
but the highest judge is a spell-caster
and there is no God there is no master
ahh the lawyers got it over as they could
the sacrificial furniture's here for good
the gallows is justice in wood
and Scripture shrugged where it stood
and just so you know there's no surprises
for those society hates and despises
the faithless priests gabble faster and faster
there is no God there is no master
as for all this evangelical graft
just another shipwrecked raft
and only suits those who are daft
and the prophet just laughed and laughed
for the truncheon and the rose
this offer's on the nose
the great lie grows ever vaster
there is no god there is no master.
translated from Leo Ferre
-
A FEW GENERATIONS
He' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree
talks up a whole river meandering nearby -
he knows the ground hereabouts like the back of his hand,
grew a few generations of turnips and grandchildren
( and just so's you don't mistake his work for another's )
he' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree
and as the pig-fat banjos shiver and pop
so another day bubbles and winds
cloud alphabets leaf dialogues
talks up a whole river meandering nearby
a clatter of nouns a wash of adjectives
even the jokes are hand-reared here
there's mountains of song and laughter,
he knows the ground hereabouts like the back of his hand,
and once cut down a whole forest, then grew it back again
there's more stories than pine needles
but the soil's pretty good round here, good for
growing a few generations of turnips and grandchildren
so life floats like an owl feather downstream,
ah yes, he' s got himself quite a name, like a creaky old tree.
-
SWINGING IN AND OUT.
They could never beat it out of us
all them teachers and creatures -
swinging in and out of stories
that were strange and staring
never the best never the worst -
but they could never beat it out of us...
And now, it is your voice that is gone
missing in action left for good,
swinging in and out of stories
how the moon got points out of ten
how the sun outshone 'em all -
but they could never beat it out of us,
so even if you've gone out like the tide
or some faraway land of sleep,
swinging in and out of stories,
it will never be over between us
never lost or found in translation elation :
ah, the never could beat it out of us,
all this swinging in and out between stories !
