Yesterday's Clouds Over Our Daily Tomorrow)



I'm a man of habit, I always read the little elevator

signs:how many people it holds, and how many kilos,

then the elevator doors open and I've already forgotten

what the sign says. I'm a man of habit, and if I blow

my nose I have to check what's come out, how many

kilos it weighs and if it might be dangerous for the

elevator.

Sitting in the bath I emit certain bubbles which run up

my back while rising to the surface, making me happy,

once they reach the surface I don't like them anymore.

I'm a man of habit, don't be too quick to judge me,

you're just like me. And now for another happy little

chorus that has sweet fuck all to do with anything, but

which young people enjoy: tell me why, if a moo-cow

goes moo, why doesn't a nightingale go nigh? Our

lives are a charade, at first everything seems to be

xxxxxyx, but then it turns out to be zxxyxz. Tell me

why there's a brown hot-air balloon without a propeller

or a rudder inside of me.

When I've got a date with a girl I always cup my hand

over my mouth and smell my breath, I stay in the bath

for about twenty years, I think I'm going to get laid,

then I don't get laid and I don't wash anymore. I search

my nostrils for some evidence of my roots, but all I

find's a fig and I'll have to wipe it off under a chair or

something, just like when I was a child. These are the

things I do, I sell lampshades too, you are just like

me....And now another little chorus that's got fuck all

to do with anything but which young people enjoy:

tell me why, if a moo-cow goes moo, why doesn't

a nightingale go nigh? Hi, we are Wayne Jackson

and Andrew Love, the Memphis Horns. Hi, I am

the Rararors. Big trouble. Thank you. Tell me why

there's a brown hot-air balloon without a propeller

or a rudder inside of me. Having reached the end

of the day, I look under the blankets in search of

hope, I am abundantly flatulent, I'm no longer

frightened, I drift off happily to sleep, intoxicated

by my own fumes