David Sylvian, Franz Wright, Fennesz - There's a Light That Enters Houses With No Other House in Sight lyrics
[David Sylvian, Franz Wright, Fennesz - There's a Light That Enters Houses With No Other House in Sight lyrics]
I was having trouble sleeping
I don't know how long I'd been lying there
And listening to the blizzard when I
Had the most vivid impression
That it was a blizzard in Minneapolis in 1959
And I found this disturbing
I knew it would now have to turn
On it's lamp, get out of bed
And try to write about me
And of course, no matter what it wrote
I would just sound like something
It had made up but in the end, it decided
To stay put, turn over
And keep me to it'self
I think that was the right thing to do
After all
It was only a blizzard in Minneapolis in 1959
How are you supposed to
Describe something like me?
And when you think about it
Why should you try?
Why should you even care?
Be it ever so scarred and unstable
The table you write at
Belongs right in front of a mirror
So spoke the battered master
"To my knowledge, the single other
That magnificent and winged
Lunatic Rambo ever deigned to
Admit admiration for, think of it"
At this time
The poet was fortunate to have the
Use of a table and mirror
Not to mention a room
Where he could concentrate
As he occasionally managed to do
In spite of the distractions involved
In dealing with some
Of the semi-literate individuals who
Then, as now
Were known to enter the literary profession
As if for the sole purpose of
Hounding and tormenting anyone with
The poor judgement to show some
Actual talent for writing
I have a preference for blank walls myself
Though, I certainly never would have
Said so in his presence in his presence
I very much doubt I would
Have been capable of
Articulating opinions and thoughts on
Any subject whatsoever
Windows are out, no windows
I have enough trouble with what I
Can see through the wall
Only a minute ago, I was watching him pass by
And to judge by the look on his face
I am afraid he was going through one
Of his brief stretches of addresslessness
Caught between the gentle
Hospitalities of one
Poetry-loving landlord and the next
The austere amenities of
One unflushing toilet
Of an apartment and another
He was limping slightly
As though he had on two left shoes
Finally stopping to rest
On the vacant apartment
It wasn't raining that hard
Vomiting, tactfully
First in some bushes nearby
Probably nothing
A touch of opiate withdrawal
There'd been no indication
Of alcoholic seizure
And as it was relatively unlikely that food
Had been ingested in a while
He made no mess to speak of
A mere ounce or so of
Some sort of green liquid
Which blended in well with that
Damp and verdant scene
As he did not appear to
Be carrying a notebook
Thankfully, there would be no need to
Make use of his aching knees
Which had so often served quite
Nicely as a desk
That allowed him to hunch his
Thin shoulders and slowly
Bend forward to shield his page
From the various forms of precipitation
So prevalent in his part of the world
Evidently, he'd misplaced his pen
As sometimes happened
So his left hand would not be required
To take the place of stationary
He was spared, as well, the possibility of
Injuring himself as he had once
Unfortunately
During a mild and near-unprecedented
Instance of self-mutilation
Well there had no more than
A few shallow puncture wounds
Resulting from the understandable frustration
That might accompany being
Reduced to recording on his own flesh
With a few lines of
Genuine poetry ever written
He remained on his bench
For an immaculately, inconspicuous
And legal length of time
His somewhat deranged head on the roof he'd
Been enjoying for a while yet
His only mirror a shocking
But swiftly curtailed couple
Seconds of eye contact with an elderly woman
Who happened to turn to him in passing
Her crumpled, thrown-away face
Putting up his collar, he slowly
Got to his feet, staggering in a manner that
Was practically unnoticeable
And doing a marvelous impression
Of somebody not
Crushed by dread as he moved on
Soon lost from sight in the rain
Which was not really falling that much harder
When I am done puking, I get up
From the floor, wash my face, and
Slowly resuming an erect stance
Automatically look in the mirror
Well, in the first place it isn't
A mirror anymore but a window
And on the other side of the window
About ready to poke it's head in
Stands an enormous white horse
Very gaunt, it's gaze electric blue
The color of desert skies shining through
The eye sockets of a skull
Now, we are apparently going to get a
Sort of Mickey Mouse with bloody teeth
So, things do not appear to be
Headed in an especially auspicious direction
And it is with some discouragement
That I exit the bathroom
And walk down the hall toward the living room
Where, after a journey of several years
I switch on the TV with the idea
Of checking out the action on CNN
It's not long before I discover that it is
Possible to weep from sheer
Astonishment and rage i never knew that
The stained glass gold light of the end
Of September falls through the window
Creating the impression of a staircase
A steep and absurdly inviting one
All at once
I am vividly aware of what this room is going
To look like when I am no longer alive
When I am no longer alive
When I am no longer alive when I am
Seagull in the corn
Postage-stamp-sized cornfield in the woods
In the middle of the state
And how you ever got here
Weather of heaven, July, Massachusetts
The blue sky, what an endless goodbye
Give me a minute
Maggot-swarming preview of the future
Give me a moment
You can hone a blade until there is no blade
Or dwell with magnifying glass
So long on a word that
Finally darkened is not
And fire and whitening circles
Consumes the world
For a moment only, stay with me, estuary
Before you change completely
Into something other
Slow cloud, entrance, spell, not
Yet remembered, nay, stay
Tell me what you mean
"A dead bird is not a dead bird"
I was once told by someone who knows
Strange
I suffered from none of these symptoms until
I was so intensively treated for them
Now, I am always freezing and
Have evidently been shattered
Into five or six chattering
Replications of myself
All leaning in utter exhaustion on very
Thin canes made of glass
I remember the night we were torn
Like a page from our sleep
I, your telephone
Command you to report to the ER without delay
The last thing you see is the first
This time it seems I woke
Up with pneumonia, anemia, tuberculosis
Further tests will be required
Crucifixion by toothache, a shadow by night
And so forth
Clearly I will never be the same
Yet you are with me
To your entire satisfaction
Has anyone described the look of love?
Mine neither, but I have seen it
I'm seeing it right now
I'm travelling up the beams of your eyes
I'm slowly being lowered into
A place of light
Beneath the eastern hedge I
Choose a chrysanthemum
And my gaze wanders slowly
To the southern hills
From my cell I was staring at a cloud
A dog decaying in the woods, et cetera
As I took up the long
Awaited sequel to my confessions
By this time, my hand was so far away that
It looked like a small hairless
Spider whose progress I could hardly
Help but follow in the
Corner of one eye as it went
On filling page after page
In notebook with words too small
For anyone to read
I looked up and noticed my
Bars had turned to gold and before I forget
I'd like to be the
First to congratulate everyone
Who has not committed suicide up until now
Camouflaged and candleless congregation
The world will never know your names
Never know that specter you
Or what you suffered iss what I'm
Complaining anguish, you sacrifice the one
Thing I'll hold most dear
Most have in common
The sense of being completely
Different from anybody else
It just vanished at some point
Having attained it's sexually mature
And winged state
You had a great vision about it, but told you
We have misnamed death life and life death
You saw another world and it was
Precisely the same as this one
This time you told everyone
Until someone asked
You very nicely to quiet down
And the weather
Everything you have heard on that
Subject is a serious understatement
The scarlet horrors we're preparing to file
In from my ignominious obsequies
Already they swarm freely over my body
And there was no body
I can't tell you how perfect that was
As it happens
I have been gazing up at the dusk stars as I
Can be found doing more or less day and night
For I like to think they are
Growing younger as I die
Come by sometime, and tell me what you think
Under torture, some atrocious
Form of tickling, for example
I guess I'd describe myself as a
Fairly good egg in hot water
Family motto roughly translates: "April
Wizards Bring May Blizzards"
We tend to be apprehended eventually
After a futile but all-the-more spirited
Attempt at first degree self-impersonation
However, this is not the time for levity
We happen to be speaking of
A serious medical goodnight kiss
Traditionally, we are then detained
At a local mental facility known for
It's celebrated alumni
Though, in recent decades
Secret and permanent socialist elements in
The government have seen
To it that the lowest scum of humanity
Now appear to have open access to those once
Hallowed halls smeared with our
Shit and vomit what I'm getting at is this:
After a relatively brief stay
We are invariably released with some
Deranged doctors or others blessing
A mixture of relief and disgust on
The part of the staff
Now the secret eye signal that will get you
Into any movie house in Milwaukee, free
For the next year
Some of us like to get together once a day
Rain or shine, and gather furtively at the
Picnic ground under those tall
Wavering candleflame pines
Where neither moss nor rust can reach
Nor faintest scream
And exchange ribald tales verging
On satanic perversion
Each drawing his iridescent injection from
The same oceanic martini, very dry
About two tears worth of Vermouth
In an unremembered dream
The small, silver
Crucified man hangs between her breasts like
An arrow directing attention away
From the face and it's nimbus
Of unasked for beauty
All that stands between her and apparition
While pointing away to
The ever-inexplicable V
All that's left of her animal, damp
Like the tip of a painters' brush
Just dipped in darkest blue
She has put the thing on like a necklace and
Gone to admire it in the full length mirror
In muted light, the color of gold shadow
At this late afternoon hour
There's a light that enters houses with
No other house in sight i describe it
But- then there are more important things
To think about than light
It lies on the dresser blackly glowing
The one object that's
Completely self-explanatory here
Just look at you
Child with the sun-colored eyes
Waiting in line with
Loves immemorable patience
And their grievances
At scarecrow-like standstill
How slowly, how badly they mend
Just one more being tested in need
Of two devils a-a-coke bottle glass
Straining in the poor light
To make out the oversized letters
Of their own obituaries
While they're waiting to be born
Soon, soon oon, between one
Instant and the next, you will be well
There is a sound that comes from houses
With no other house in sight
Wysteria rain where is your child mother?
This must be the last bee on Earth
So, you find no more
Grandeur or mystery here?
Perhaps you neglected to bring any
Peddling sparrows
Vast electron cloud of gnats
On windless water
Night-blue volume in a language
That no one reads are we tired yet?
Are you finished debating the blind who
Insist that light doesn't exist
And have proof of it nobody's alone
God is alone if you liked being born
You'll love dying
I don't know how long I'd been lying there
And listening to the blizzard when I
Had the most vivid impression
That it was a blizzard in Minneapolis in 1959
And I found this disturbing
I knew it would now have to turn
On it's lamp, get out of bed
And try to write about me
And of course, no matter what it wrote
I would just sound like something
It had made up but in the end, it decided
To stay put, turn over
And keep me to it'self
I think that was the right thing to do
After all
It was only a blizzard in Minneapolis in 1959
How are you supposed to
Describe something like me?
And when you think about it
Why should you try?
Why should you even care?
Be it ever so scarred and unstable
The table you write at
Belongs right in front of a mirror
So spoke the battered master
"To my knowledge, the single other
That magnificent and winged
Lunatic Rambo ever deigned to
Admit admiration for, think of it"
At this time
The poet was fortunate to have the
Use of a table and mirror
Not to mention a room
Where he could concentrate
As he occasionally managed to do
In spite of the distractions involved
In dealing with some
Of the semi-literate individuals who
Then, as now
Were known to enter the literary profession
As if for the sole purpose of
Hounding and tormenting anyone with
The poor judgement to show some
Actual talent for writing
I have a preference for blank walls myself
Though, I certainly never would have
Said so in his presence in his presence
I very much doubt I would
Have been capable of
Articulating opinions and thoughts on
Any subject whatsoever
Windows are out, no windows
I have enough trouble with what I
Can see through the wall
Only a minute ago, I was watching him pass by
And to judge by the look on his face
I am afraid he was going through one
Of his brief stretches of addresslessness
Caught between the gentle
Hospitalities of one
Poetry-loving landlord and the next
The austere amenities of
One unflushing toilet
Of an apartment and another
He was limping slightly
As though he had on two left shoes
Finally stopping to rest
On the vacant apartment
It wasn't raining that hard
Vomiting, tactfully
First in some bushes nearby
Probably nothing
A touch of opiate withdrawal
There'd been no indication
Of alcoholic seizure
And as it was relatively unlikely that food
Had been ingested in a while
He made no mess to speak of
A mere ounce or so of
Some sort of green liquid
Which blended in well with that
Damp and verdant scene
As he did not appear to
Be carrying a notebook
Thankfully, there would be no need to
Make use of his aching knees
Which had so often served quite
Nicely as a desk
That allowed him to hunch his
Thin shoulders and slowly
Bend forward to shield his page
From the various forms of precipitation
So prevalent in his part of the world
Evidently, he'd misplaced his pen
As sometimes happened
So his left hand would not be required
To take the place of stationary
He was spared, as well, the possibility of
Injuring himself as he had once
Unfortunately
During a mild and near-unprecedented
Instance of self-mutilation
Well there had no more than
A few shallow puncture wounds
Resulting from the understandable frustration
That might accompany being
Reduced to recording on his own flesh
With a few lines of
Genuine poetry ever written
He remained on his bench
For an immaculately, inconspicuous
And legal length of time
His somewhat deranged head on the roof he'd
Been enjoying for a while yet
His only mirror a shocking
But swiftly curtailed couple
Seconds of eye contact with an elderly woman
Who happened to turn to him in passing
Her crumpled, thrown-away face
Putting up his collar, he slowly
Got to his feet, staggering in a manner that
Was practically unnoticeable
And doing a marvelous impression
Of somebody not
Crushed by dread as he moved on
Soon lost from sight in the rain
Which was not really falling that much harder
When I am done puking, I get up
From the floor, wash my face, and
Slowly resuming an erect stance
Automatically look in the mirror
Well, in the first place it isn't
A mirror anymore but a window
And on the other side of the window
About ready to poke it's head in
Stands an enormous white horse
Very gaunt, it's gaze electric blue
The color of desert skies shining through
The eye sockets of a skull
Now, we are apparently going to get a
Sort of Mickey Mouse with bloody teeth
So, things do not appear to be
Headed in an especially auspicious direction
And it is with some discouragement
That I exit the bathroom
And walk down the hall toward the living room
Where, after a journey of several years
I switch on the TV with the idea
Of checking out the action on CNN
It's not long before I discover that it is
Possible to weep from sheer
Astonishment and rage i never knew that
The stained glass gold light of the end
Of September falls through the window
Creating the impression of a staircase
A steep and absurdly inviting one
All at once
I am vividly aware of what this room is going
To look like when I am no longer alive
When I am no longer alive
When I am no longer alive when I am
Seagull in the corn
Postage-stamp-sized cornfield in the woods
In the middle of the state
And how you ever got here
Weather of heaven, July, Massachusetts
The blue sky, what an endless goodbye
Give me a minute
Maggot-swarming preview of the future
Give me a moment
You can hone a blade until there is no blade
Or dwell with magnifying glass
So long on a word that
Finally darkened is not
And fire and whitening circles
Consumes the world
For a moment only, stay with me, estuary
Before you change completely
Into something other
Slow cloud, entrance, spell, not
Yet remembered, nay, stay
Tell me what you mean
"A dead bird is not a dead bird"
I was once told by someone who knows
Strange
I suffered from none of these symptoms until
I was so intensively treated for them
Now, I am always freezing and
Have evidently been shattered
Into five or six chattering
Replications of myself
All leaning in utter exhaustion on very
Thin canes made of glass
I remember the night we were torn
Like a page from our sleep
I, your telephone
Command you to report to the ER without delay
The last thing you see is the first
This time it seems I woke
Up with pneumonia, anemia, tuberculosis
Further tests will be required
Crucifixion by toothache, a shadow by night
And so forth
Clearly I will never be the same
Yet you are with me
To your entire satisfaction
Has anyone described the look of love?
Mine neither, but I have seen it
I'm seeing it right now
I'm travelling up the beams of your eyes
I'm slowly being lowered into
A place of light
Beneath the eastern hedge I
Choose a chrysanthemum
And my gaze wanders slowly
To the southern hills
From my cell I was staring at a cloud
A dog decaying in the woods, et cetera
As I took up the long
Awaited sequel to my confessions
By this time, my hand was so far away that
It looked like a small hairless
Spider whose progress I could hardly
Help but follow in the
Corner of one eye as it went
On filling page after page
In notebook with words too small
For anyone to read
I looked up and noticed my
Bars had turned to gold and before I forget
I'd like to be the
First to congratulate everyone
Who has not committed suicide up until now
Camouflaged and candleless congregation
The world will never know your names
Never know that specter you
Or what you suffered iss what I'm
Complaining anguish, you sacrifice the one
Thing I'll hold most dear
Most have in common
The sense of being completely
Different from anybody else
It just vanished at some point
Having attained it's sexually mature
And winged state
You had a great vision about it, but told you
We have misnamed death life and life death
You saw another world and it was
Precisely the same as this one
This time you told everyone
Until someone asked
You very nicely to quiet down
And the weather
Everything you have heard on that
Subject is a serious understatement
The scarlet horrors we're preparing to file
In from my ignominious obsequies
Already they swarm freely over my body
And there was no body
I can't tell you how perfect that was
As it happens
I have been gazing up at the dusk stars as I
Can be found doing more or less day and night
For I like to think they are
Growing younger as I die
Come by sometime, and tell me what you think
Under torture, some atrocious
Form of tickling, for example
I guess I'd describe myself as a
Fairly good egg in hot water
Family motto roughly translates: "April
Wizards Bring May Blizzards"
We tend to be apprehended eventually
After a futile but all-the-more spirited
Attempt at first degree self-impersonation
However, this is not the time for levity
We happen to be speaking of
A serious medical goodnight kiss
Traditionally, we are then detained
At a local mental facility known for
It's celebrated alumni
Though, in recent decades
Secret and permanent socialist elements in
The government have seen
To it that the lowest scum of humanity
Now appear to have open access to those once
Hallowed halls smeared with our
Shit and vomit what I'm getting at is this:
After a relatively brief stay
We are invariably released with some
Deranged doctors or others blessing
A mixture of relief and disgust on
The part of the staff
Now the secret eye signal that will get you
Into any movie house in Milwaukee, free
For the next year
Some of us like to get together once a day
Rain or shine, and gather furtively at the
Picnic ground under those tall
Wavering candleflame pines
Where neither moss nor rust can reach
Nor faintest scream
And exchange ribald tales verging
On satanic perversion
Each drawing his iridescent injection from
The same oceanic martini, very dry
About two tears worth of Vermouth
In an unremembered dream
The small, silver
Crucified man hangs between her breasts like
An arrow directing attention away
From the face and it's nimbus
Of unasked for beauty
All that stands between her and apparition
While pointing away to
The ever-inexplicable V
All that's left of her animal, damp
Like the tip of a painters' brush
Just dipped in darkest blue
She has put the thing on like a necklace and
Gone to admire it in the full length mirror
In muted light, the color of gold shadow
At this late afternoon hour
There's a light that enters houses with
No other house in sight i describe it
But- then there are more important things
To think about than light
It lies on the dresser blackly glowing
The one object that's
Completely self-explanatory here
Just look at you
Child with the sun-colored eyes
Waiting in line with
Loves immemorable patience
And their grievances
At scarecrow-like standstill
How slowly, how badly they mend
Just one more being tested in need
Of two devils a-a-coke bottle glass
Straining in the poor light
To make out the oversized letters
Of their own obituaries
While they're waiting to be born
Soon, soon oon, between one
Instant and the next, you will be well
There is a sound that comes from houses
With no other house in sight
Wysteria rain where is your child mother?
This must be the last bee on Earth
So, you find no more
Grandeur or mystery here?
Perhaps you neglected to bring any
Peddling sparrows
Vast electron cloud of gnats
On windless water
Night-blue volume in a language
That no one reads are we tired yet?
Are you finished debating the blind who
Insist that light doesn't exist
And have proof of it nobody's alone
God is alone if you liked being born
You'll love dying