Nothing Sacred

Everything crumbles and falls
I can tell it by my eyes
Every baby weeps
And everybody lies.
It is no wonder at all
as everyone can see
I don’t care that it’s cruel to you
‘Cause for sure it is cruel to me.
I deny beauty as beauty denies me
I spit on everything I can’t get
When that miserable feeling comes up
There’s nothing sacred, better forget.
I’m selfish and almost blind
I’ve learned to complain so well
So listen to me when I say
There’s nothing sacred down in hell.
What’s wrong with being what I am
What’s good with being like you
There’s no kind of reward in the end
By the way, that’s the last turn of the screw.
There’s nothing to get, nothing to save
There’s nothing worthwhile anymore
You must be strong and keep on waiting
But there’s nothing left to wait for.
The muses are dumb, the angels are dead
Your promises of today will soon disappear
And, well, you know, it’s not that bad
There’s nothing sacred down here

Ravens At My Window

The priest is on the stairs, Death is at the door
The glass is on the table, the bottle’s on the floor
The cat’s lost on the roof, he’ll be never coming back
The sun’s buried behind the hill, the sky is dressed in black.

The Devil’s in the kitchen, my angel’s gone instead
The skeleton’s in the closet, the boogeyman’s under my bed
The river is going wild, it’s tearing down the bridge
So I can’t go outside, and there’s no beer left in my fridge.

The landlord is in the yard, my lawyer is long gone
Those ravens at the window just won’t let me alone
A grudge is in the sink, a regret is on the chair,
As for my girl, oh dear, she can’t be found anywhere.

Za pó?no na piosenk?

Instrumental

Silence Is Not Pure

Silence is not pure
It hides creaks, whispers,
Coughs, moans,
Betrayed secrets and sighs of wind.
At the first lights,
Which are as pale as sickness
And as hollow as hope,
Birds seem to tell the morning off.
In the hour of the dying and the drunken
I wish I was as dead as the night
Or as dumb as the sun.
Silence is not pure,
It is a grey rustling of distances.
Nothing is pure.
What a beautiful silence.

The House Of The Rising Sun

Traditional

Unanswered Letters

All my unanswered letters
Make me think that I’m a bad writer And that’s sad since I write far better Than I talk, better than I smile, better than I live.
All my unanswered letters
Like questions with no reply,
Left back in time like old scars…
And if a reply comes,
It’s usually way too late
And the worst thing is
That it’s better off that way.

Trop tard pour une chanson

Instrumental

Old Shirt

Life takes more than it gives, that’s why in the end you die
My necktie doesn’t ?t the world and the world doesn’t ?t my tie
My old shirt would look great with the hat that I lost
Someday we all lose the things we love the most.
They had both the first and the last laugh, indeed.I can lie about what I love, but not about what I need.
Some things are unforgettable still they slowly fade away,
That’s the only good thing of every yesterday.
Sometimes the journey is better than the destination
But when it’s Calvary, you see, it’s a peculiar situation
I can’t leave you the icy plains of Russia, you’ll understand
I died there, long ago, though I never walked the land.
Life takes more than it gives, everything is but a descent
The little we have, should be carefully spent
So if I shall work I’ll work, I’ll do what I must do
And if I need a kiss, I hope you’ll let me kiss you.
Don’t you like my old shirt?
Don’t you like my old shirt?
Don’t you like my old shirt?

Wanderer's Curse

The heart is kind of homeless
and the soul is a stow-away
My right hand finds sanctuary
Only when it’s held in my pocket,
Where I keep a picture of you
That I stole
From the drawer beside your bed

I bought this hat in Paris
I bought this coat in London
I bought this knife back home.

Someone stole my wallet in an alley
Someone stole my heart one night
Someone gave me comfort in a backstreet
Someone got me ready for a fight

I wore out my shoes in the country
I spent my money downtown
I chased a million different lights
Pretty soon they all let me down

I bought this hat in Paris
I bought this coat in London
I bought this knife back home

Someone killed my faith
In a road without a name
They tried to hide everytime
But I always know who I have to blame

I lost my hat in London
I wore my coat in Paris
I’m going to bring my knife back home.

Once At Least

Instrumental

Just Like Asbestos

Cats come to a bad end, dogs come to a bad end.
They all come to that: loves, bottles, hopes,
Friendships, atoms and planets, flowers.

Rust and ashes. Powder the colour of bones
Is banked up between Never and Nevermore.

Days come to a bad end, so do butterflies and flies,
all the shoes, the old photographs,
grandparents and childhood friends.

The colourless wind of the grey days
Settles accounts with every springtime.

But sometimes, something remains
Like a subtle, bitter poison.

Regret and menace,
a memory comes back
and returns the echo of a song
So I will remain, as you remain, after the end
Just like asbestos.

It's A Pity

It’s a pity you don’t like my shirt
When I wear it, I’m at my best
It’s a pity you don’t like my face
It’s a pity you don’t like the rest

It’s a pity you don’t like my hat
It’s a pity you don’t like my shoes
I thought you could have liked my style
Since you told me that you like the blues

It’s a pity you don’t like my shirt
When I wear it, I’m at my best
It’s a pity you don’t like my face
It’s a pity you don’t like the rest

It’s a pity you can’t see my singlet
It’s a pity you won’t meet my tongue
It’s a pity you don’t like my fingers
It’s a pity you don’t like this song

It’s a pity you don’t like my shirt
When I wear it, I’m at my best
It’s a pity you don’t like my face
It’s a pity you don’t like the rest

It’s a pity you don’t like this song!

Tarde (Cloe's Theme)

Instrumental

All Those Things

(…)
All the things that you were the one
To love and to like and to see –
All the things that only you wanted
They are no longer with me.
Since your eyes don’t look at them
Those things are no longer with me.