“they were digging a new foundation in manhattan
and they discovered a slave cemetary there
may their souls rest easy
now that lynching is frowned upon
and we’ve moved on to the electric chair
and i wonder who’s gonna be president, tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?
and who’s gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?
how about we put up a wall between houses and the highway
and you can go your way, and i can go my way
except all the radios agree with all the tvs
and all the magazines agree with all the radios
and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go
maybe i should put a bucket over my head
and a marshmellow in each ear
and stumble around for
another dumb-numb week for another hum drum hit song to appear
people used to make records
as in a record of an event
the event of people playing music in a room
now everything is cross-marketing
its about sunglasses and shoes
or guns and drugs
you choose
we got it rehashed
we got it half-assed
we’re digging up all the graves
and we’re spitting on the past
and you can choose between the colors
of the lipstick on the whores
cause we know the difference between
the font of 20% more
and the font of teriyaki
you tell me
how does it make you feel?
you tell me
what’s real?
and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they’re as dry as my lips for years
even when they’re stranded on a small desert island
with no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder
is he different?
is he different?
has he changed what’s he about?…
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?
am i headed for the same brick wall
is there anything i can do about
anything at all?
except go back to that corner in manhattan
and dig deeper, dig deeper this time
down beneath the impossible pain of our history
beneath unknown bones
beneath the bedrock of the mystery
beneath the sewage systems and the path train
beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
beneath everything i can think of to think about
beneath it all, beneath all get out
beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
there’s a fire just waiting for fuel
there’s a fire just waiting for fuel”
ani difranco – fuel
It’s a fire,
These dreams they pass me by,
The salvation I desire,
Keeps getting me down
(je m’interroge sur le sens de “half-assed”, aidez-moi)
Digne de Bob Dylan, cette pi?ce!
Boultan, l’expression “half-assed” est assez difficile ? traduire, mais il y a une notion de je-m’en-foutisme. “To do a half-assed job” ≈ “Ne pas se donner la peine de faire un job convenable”. J’esp?re que ?a t’aide un peu…
oui, j’adore ce texte, et c’est pas le seul de la miss difranco qui soit dans cette veine…je devrais pouvoir en trouver d’autres bien saignants aussi..
et merci pour la trad’, j’avoue que j’avais des doutes et que je voulais v?rifier avant de dire n’importe quoi.
apr?s v?rification, Robert (le dico) dit “foireux, nul”
Pfff comment ce texte est transcendant. Merci merci de l’avoir mis en ligne, on oublie parfois de citer Ani DiFranco. Qui a beau ne pas s’?piler sous les bras, reste une songwriter compl?tement unique.
thanks boultan !
elixie : oui..elle a des textes assez ?normes..
tiens, un autre tr?s long mais qui est hallucinant aussi :
self evident