| Lyrics |
Little months little smokesand oblivion in a wool dressin a door opens tenderlynear a wall where the wind is bornnear the jolly gardenwhere saints and angelsare afraid of the seasonsthe alleys have no namesthey are the hours or the years
I stroll leisurelydressed in a cement overcoatand a hat of black straw
I don't rememberif it's nice out
I walk smokingand I smoke walkingeasilyevery once in a while I tell myselfit's time to stopand I continue walking
I tell myself
I have to get some air
I have to look at the cloudsand breathe in a lung full
I have to see the flies flyand take a little exercise
I shouldn't smoke so much
I tell myself alsocalculate
I tell myself again
I have a headachemy life is a drop of water on my eyelidand I'm no longer twentycontinuethe songs are songsand the days days
I no longer have one shred of respect for myselfbut I see no hoodlumswho smoke the same cigarettes as meand who are just as stupid as me
I'm pretty contentwithout really knowing whyit doesn't suffice to speak of the sunthe starsthe sea and riversblood eyes handsit is necessary quite oftento speak of other thingswe know that there are very beautiful countrieswith very handsome menwith no less charming women,but all that isn't really sufficientbut dizzying voidwhich rings and baysmakes the head bowwe look and we seeagain many other thingswhich are always the sameinnumerableidenticaland over there simplysomeone goes bysimple as helloand everything starts all over once again
I read in the stars the good will of my friendsin a river I love one hand
I listen the flowers singthere are the goodbyes of birdsa cry falls like a fruitmy God my God
I will be accordingly always the samemy head in my handsand my hands in my head
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