Текст песни «Ex - Ex Tex»


A+ A-

%% LaTeX document
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%% copied form the lyrics booklet and modified by
%% Peter Berck, 3/x/1993
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%% pberck@kub.nl
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\begin{document}

\title{The Ex + Tom Cora}
\author{typed by Peter Berck}
\date{3/x/1993}
\maketitle

\chapter*{``And The Weathermen Shrug Their Shoulders''}

\section*{Dere geliyor dere}
[instrumental]
\\
\\
{\it Here's another gem coming to us by way of Ismet Siral. Dere geliyor
Dere (``Come, little water, come'') is originally not an instrumental.
Our version is an adaptation of a traditional Turkish piece, a childrens'
song the children learnt at school.}

\section*{The big black}
{\bf A big black descended inside me. It does things there which no-one
sees---neither do I.} Not because it's behind my back, but it is dark
there, and black. And I am certain, that deep down there it studies the
nature and structure of my white omnipotence. First it monkeys with
halfmouldered chests. Then I feel splinters shooting through my
shoulders. Now it reads old forms. This is the most annoying, and with
reason. For too many slaves I had, in the tax-deduction seasons.
\\
\\
{\it based on a poem by Dutch poet/painter Lucebert}

\section*{What's the story}
What's the story?
\\
\\
What's the story? Robber shoots cop. Love \& hate, action \& death. Man
meets woman. Husband leaves wife. Love \& hate, action \& death. Film is
a battlefield: begin, middle and end. The rest is ballony. What's the
story? It will play. Shakespeare not England, Moli\`ere not France. Love
\& hate, action \& death. It Dickens were Russion, would Oliver twist?
Love \& hate, action \& death.
\\
\\
{\it based on an interview with film-director Sam Fuller}

\section*{Lamp lady}
The image: a woman\ldots helpful\ldots , attending, and handling with
care. Imagine: a battlefield\ldots with sparse light at lives lost, a red
cross to bear. The lady with the lamp is what
\begin{itemize}
\item[*] they called her; the country needed heroes, the papers had
\item[*] to sell\ldots The medicines, the lady, the cupboard, the lamp
\item[*] The lock not the key, a light in the hand. The prescriptions,
\end{itemize}
the wounded, the look through the glass. Demand not supply, a pain in the
ass. The soldiers in the sickbay, the cupboard for medicines. Its smashed
front window in demand for supply. The stories from hearsay, the covers
of the magazines\ldots But the wounded, they knew the papers lied.
\\
The lady without glamour is the lady with the hammer is what she was\ldots
\\
\\
{\it about Florence Nightingale, founder of the red cross}

\section*{One-liner from China}
[instrumental really]

\section*{Everything \& me}
I've got my television, and radio, the record-player, the video; and I
also have my trombone, synthesizer, my drumkit and my stampcollection; my
garden, my library and my aquarium; my jet-ski, my waterskis, monoskis;
my speedboat, ultralight-plane and hang-glider; my hedge-clippers,
vacuum-cleaner paper-shredder, stone-grill; answering- and faxmachine and
copier and swiss knife; my motorbike, my guard-dogs, my fret-saw and my
racer; my jogging suit, my mountainbike with triathlon-handle-bar, my
high-pressure spray-gun, micro-wave, my welder; my skate-board,
rollerskates, ice-skates, hometrainer, fitness-bank and pinball-machine;
snooker table, laptop, jukebox, my travel-irons, ohm-meter,
jigsaw-puzzles, pliers-set, dartboard; my telescope and searchlight, my
swimming pool with 3 meter board, and my bungy jumping outfit, and my
deck of cards, and magazines\ldots No, I won't get bored that easily,
when I'm on my own.
\\
\\
{\it based on an extract from ``Swimming with dry hair'', a story by Kees
van Kooten}

\section*{New clear daze}
Progress's present is a one-way travel, with a discount ticket from a
passed station; a trip into the future with no turning back. We go step
by step by step by step by step by step by step by step\ldots (And one
fine day at the new clear plant one of us will ask to him- or herself;
where is everybody?)

\section*{Oh puckerlips now}
Distorted culture of these seething times\ldots it cuts to pieces, like a
blinding knife. Bewildered, bewildering, this sea of flowing flooding
fleeting words, drowning out the voices hurt. Hurray roars the ship in
the street, the state, the
\\
\\
{\sc eager hate}, the world capsizing in spite, in spate. Too late, she
sinks, she sings\ldots the crest of the waves in the mouth, on the
ridges. She reaches for infinite inanity, in vanity, where captains
squeal for new ideals. Illusions delusions disorder, disguised as law and
order. Oh dear, another shape to fear. The loathing-birds, the
\\
\\
{\sc choke-chain} rats, the tight-snared ties, their driveling runs\ldots
in the family. Each rascal with respect for present arms\ldots Present!
arms! about turn! Without mercy, in his face, eat shit all he can, that
gaping, craterjaw off course. Of course, what else you'd think; another
ship to sink. The violence the hatred the greed, a reeking, rattling
disease. A raging wound of pregnant boils it is, this limitless calamity.
False pearlswines, waste-watchers, powersick hurlde-razers, monstrosities
of misery\ldots
\\
\\
{\sc all i want} is to cram \& stamp \& stuff it, into their ugly barking
barfbeaks. The news filled with their stalking heads, with banquets of
voracity; their delayziness at catastrophes; the yes-but lamentations and
power-quests; nodding yessholes with obscene pretence; that bloodshot
sympathy; that creeping cringing villainy\ldots The damn result? Look,
there it is: one more swine once again see that grin, as that puckerlip
snout begins, and then\ldots Oh, will his ever come right again?
Distorted culture of these seething times\ldots Cut to pieces with a
blinding knife. Bewildered, bewildering, this sea of flowing flooding
fleeting words, drowning out the voices heard.

\section*{Empty V}
[instrumental]

\section*{Okinawa mon amour}
It rained in Okinawa, long ago. The rain said she was the umbrella. An
old Japanese proverb perhaps, but not in Okinawa.
\\
It rained in Okinawa, a while ago. And the clouds, they were full of
anger. Too many people got too wet, but the most in Okinawa.
\\
It rained in Okinawa, and when it rained it poured. The weathermen shrug
their shoulders. They never heard of Okinawa. It still rains in Okinawa.
\\
\\
{\it the melody from Okinawa Mon Amour comes from an Okinawan traditional
song called Asodoya Yunta, taught to Tom by Tetsuhiro Daiku, a fantastic
Okinawan singer and shamisen player. It is the story of a beautiful young
woman in Okinawa and a bureaucrat of the occupying Japanese who falls in
love with her. In the song she refuses him. Today Okinawans are de facto
``Japanese'', a condition they were never allowed to refuse.}

\section*{Dear house}
Dear house---why do we have mice? Is it because we love food? Then what
do you do with a mouse in a breadsack? Scream? Dear mouse, why do we have
men? Is it because we love food? Then what do you do with a man in a
bedroom? Scream?
\\
\\
{\it based on an accidental six-line poem by Misri Dey, after finding a
mouse in a breadsack.}

\section*{Conviction going gaga}
``Staphorst \`a go-go! Some chaps are lucky!''
\\
\\
Dutch village of dogma. Conviction going gaga. Breeding-ground of polios.
Who's will? God knows! let them eat godswill\ldots

\section*{Stupid competitions}
She don't care if she's suitable or not. She don't wear high heels\ldots
For the feet or the heart---She won't act weak while she's strong. She
don't care of she's older than young. She don't count calories like
sheep. She likes to eat whenever she likes to eat. She won't smile when
she's feeling bad, to be the likable woman who makes everybody glad. When
instructions for success are written by sharks, unhappiness and grief is
what living marks. So many women went that route before\ldots It's not
worth living for. Stop stupid competitions\ldots Stop stupid
competitions\ldots

\section*{Hickwall}
Hickwall in his withers, the old mule whinced. Till he saw it was a
hickwall, and they both began to dance. It doesn't take one to know one.
it doesn't take one to know anybody. Time flew by for hours, much to her
distress. Till the postman brought a letter, and proposed a game of
chess. It doesn't take one to know anybody. Leaves played with a
windfall, the toys with him alone. Till a straydog came to see him, and
they found themselves a home. It doesn't take one to know one. It doesn't
take one to know anybody. I planned a long vacation\ldots that's what I
should do.

\section*{War OD}
``When did your husband kiss you last?''
\\
\\
If you sink in the mud, and you're clutching at drugs\ldots Well, the
lower your feet, the more you'll need. Opportunity knocks like a ship on
the rocks, there is no such thing as a war on drugs. Now there's some
confusion about the state of illusion. Yet, one man's need means another
man's greed. Opportunities rhyme like the tusks of a swine, there is no
such thing as a war on crime. If you believe what you read at the bottom
of the well\ldots Well, those leaders we'd need\ldots there's so much
more to tell. Opportunities wait like crashing a gate, there is no such
thing as a war on hate. Now there's the same old spill, with resolutions
in the red. Such a waste, when you can kill time with a party instead.
Opportunities score like a boxer's encore, there is no such thing as a
war on war.

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