Boys Keep Swinging (David Bowie)

Boys Keep Swinging
Heaven loves ya
The clouds part for ya
Nothing stands in your way
When you’re a boy

Clothes always fit ya
Life is a pop of the cherry
When you’re a boy

When you’re a boy
You can wear a uniform
When you’re a boy
Other boys check you out
You get a girl
These are your favourite things
When you’re a boy

Boys
Boys
Boys keep swinging
Boys always work it out

Uncage the colours
Unfurl the flag
Luck just kissed you hello
When you’re a boy

They’ll never clone ya
You’re always first on the line
When you’re a boy

When you’re a boy
You can buy a home of your own
When you’re a boy
Learn to drive and everything
You’ll get your share
When you’re a boy

Boys
Boys
Boys keep swinging
Boys always work it out.

— David Bowie, Boys Keep Swinging, © tous droits réservés pour tous pays.

Common People (Pulp)

Common People
She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge
She studied sculpture at Saint Martin’s College, that’s where I caught her eye.
She told me that her Dad was loaded
I said in that case I’ll have a rum and coca-cola.
She said fine and then in thirty seconds time she said, I want to live like common people
I want to do whatever common people do, I want to sleep with common people
I want to sleep with common people like you.
Well what else could I do – I said I’ll see what I can do.
I took her to a supermarket
I don’t know why but I had to start it somewhere, so it started there.
I said pretend you’ve got no money, she just laughed and said oh you’re so funny.
I said yeah? Well I can’t see anyone else smiling in here.
Are you sure you want to live like common people
You want to see whatever common people see
You want to sleep with common people,
you want to sleep with common people like me.
But she didn’t understand, she just smiled and held my hand.
Rent a flat above a shop, cut your hair and get a job.
Smoke some fags and play some pool, pretend you never went to school.
But still you’ll never get it right
‘cos when you’re laid in bed at night watching roaches climb the wall
If you call your Dad he could stop it all.
You’ll never live like common people
You’ll never do what common people do
You’ll never fail like common people
You’ll never watch your life slide out of view, and dance and drink and screw
Because there’s nothing else to do.
Sing along with the common people, sing along and it might just get you thru’
Laugh along with the common people
Laugh along even though they’re laughing at you and the stupid things that you do.
Because you think that poor is cool.
I want to live with common people like you, I want to live with common people like you…

— Jarvis Cocker, Common People, © Tous droits réservés pour tous pays.

Creep (Radiohead)

Creep
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
And I wish I was special
You’re so very special

But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here

I don’t care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I’m not around
You’re so very special
I wish I was special

But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here

Oh, oh, oh, oh…

She’s running out again
She’s running out…
She run run run run…
Run…

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You’re so very special
I wish I was special
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
I don’t belong here

— Radiohead, Creep, 1993

Les téléphériques (extrait) (André Loiselet alias André Loiseau)

Les téléphériques

Les engrenages s’emboîtent les uns dans les autres
C’est la société mécanique dans une âme de métal.
Mais il est comme chez lui, en prison,
habité par cette présence qui l’étouffe
de toute sa routine, par cette éternelle horloge.
On est bien chez soi.
On s’approche une chaise.
On s’installe à une fenêtre,
le regard et le reste tendu.
C’est entendu?
Christ a dit,
dans un moment de colère :

« Les sourds entendent! »

Suivant à la lettre
la ligne d’horizon, du bout du doigt,
il aperçoit ceci :
huit téléphériques se promènent
fantômes carrés
laissant entendre un cliquetis de chaînes.
On peut sentir, dans l’air de rien,
une forte odeur d’huile et de cambouis.
Par les ouvertures,
de fines jambes,
bellement savoureuses,
précieuses jambes animales,
gambadent dans le vide,
cul par-dessus tête.
Des mains énervées les frottent,
les claquent,
les pincent
jusqu’à ce qu’elles en prennent,
les cuisses dodues,
pour leur argent,
une couleur de crabe, surpris,
ventre à terre,
à forniquer comme un lapin.

Une petite fille de treize ans,
depuis hier,
saute à la corde,
puis,
saute par une fenêtre,
piaillant,
comme l’oisillon tombé du nid :

« Au viol ! Ma pureté s’envole, pis moi itou. » […]

— André Loiseau, Le mal des anges, Éditions Parti Pris, 1968 (publié à l’époque sous le nom de plume André Loiselet), © tous droits réservés pour tous pays.

More Than Myself (Anne Sexton)

Woman Looking at Reflection --- Image by © Elisa Lazo de Valdez/Corbis

Woman Looking at Reflection — Image by © Elisa Lazo de Valdez/Corbis

More Than Myself

Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me . . .
I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It’s small thing
to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself.

— Anne Sexton, More Than Myself, ® Tous droits réservés pour la succession de l’artiste.

Sans titre (Jean Yves Métellus)

Le désir est servile
S’il n’élève le corps
Au rang de cathédrale
Où vitrille l’amour

Et le rêve tourment
S’il n’est point volutes
Échappées d’incendie
Dans les ruines éternelles

Il faut sinon
Toute la métamorphose du jour
Sur nos langues mortes
Pour conter une histoire

Je changerai pour toi
L’arc-en-ciel du destin
Pour alléger ton cœur
Puisque tu es traquée
Jusque dans tes secrets

La beauté sera jubilation
Fermentation du silence
Mais quand j’aurai soif de frisson
C’est dans le noir que tu me trouveras

— Jean Yves Métellus, sans titre, juillet 2015

Lune funambule a pu reproduire ce texte grâce à l’aimable collaboration de son auteur.