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Pages of Gold

by Rene Caron

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1.
Once, if my memory serves me well life was a feast. Where every heart revealed itself and every wine flowed endlessly. I wish I'd given it more thought when I was young, when the dew dropped and I licked it to get drunk. Hadn't I a youth, glorious and bold? Something to write down on pages of gold. As I ran I slept out most the time, stars rustled through the sky. I followed you, muse beneath you spell glorious loved dwelled. I wish I'd given it more thought when I was young. All I hear now is a distant happy hum. Hadn't I a youth, glorious and bold? Something to write down on pages of gold. I tore my shirt and threw away my tie. In dark and scary places I made rhyme. Like a guitar, I plucked my worn out shoes as fading sunlight turned a golden hue. I wish I'd given it more thought when I was young, shivering joy in the kisses of the sun. Hadn't I a youth, glorious and bold? Something to write down on pages of gold.
2.
A tearful tincture washes Cabbage-green skies; Beneath dribbling bushes Your raincoats lie; Pale white in moonlight, Like round-eyed sores, Flap your scabby kneecaps apart, My ugly whores! We loved each other in those days, ugly blue whore! We ate boiled eggs and weed. You made me a poet, Ugly blond whore. You tried to unstring my guitar. Some of my dried-up spit, Ugly red whore, Still stinks in the crack Of your breast. O my little lovelies, I hate your guts! Go stick big blisters On your ugly tits! Break the cracked bottles and jars Of my feelings; Come on! Be my ballerinas For a while! Your shoulder blades are twisted back, My masterpieces! Stick stars in your snatches and Shake them to bits! It was for you hunks of meat I wrote my rhymes! My love was sticky self-deceit And games! Dumb bunch of burnt-out stars, - Against the walls! Go back to God, croak in corners Like animals! Shining moonlight, Like round-eyed sores, Flap your scabby kneecaps apart, My ugly whores!
3.
My weeping heart on the deck drools spit, They soil it with cigarette butts. They spatter it with slop and shit, My weeping heart on the deck drools spit. The soldiers drink and laugh at it, The sound of laughing hurts my guts. My weeping heart on the deck drools spit, They soil it with cigarette butts. Soliders cocks are a black burlesque, They rape my heart with what they say. In scrolls on masks grotesque, Soliders cocks are a black burlesque. Ocean abracadabrantesque, Takes my heart and wash it away. Soliders cocks are a black burlesque, They rape my heart with what they say. When they are done and all worn out, How will I act my stolen heart? All I will hear is a drunken shout, When they are done and all worn out. I'll throw up and then pass out, I know with my heart torn apart. When they are done and all worn out, How will I act my stolen heart?
4.
On the square by spots of lawn, Where all is orderly, the bourgeoisie, Down through the trees below, Where flowers grow, They strangle in the heat, To the beat, Of an army band, Playing, helmets jiggling, To "Lady of Spain" And on the benches in the front, The dandies parade, And dangle from watch chains. By the bandstand, Railroad Square. I don't do much, I just stare. At backs and backs and shoulders bare, Necks and tousled hair, And whats beneath the Silly dresses they wear. Retired bourgeoisie blink through their glasses at the noise, While fat stuffed clerks, Drag their fat stuffed wives, While others scurry by, Fussy elephant boys, That flap like signs, With naught to advertise. And on the bench, grocers poke the sand, With knob topped canes, And talk of wars and treaties then move close Take snuff, then begin "Which means..." By the bandstand, Railroad Square. I chase the girls in My messy hair. Ah, their eyes on me, See what I can see, And cannot hide the things I know that they want. Flattening his butt on a bench, A shiny buttoned gut, Flemish, not French, Sucks his smelly pipe, Whose tobacco overflows, And says "Its real, imported stuff you know". While on the green, Slum kids throw stones, While fresh faced lads, Feel sexy at the Sliding of trombones. They wink, soldiers, At babies on pretty Nurses shoulders. By the bandstand, Railroad Square. I see a shoe then stocking there. Shoulders backs and hips, They laugh and whisper it They think that I am strange My brutal wishes bite their little lips! By the bandstand, Railroad Square. I don't do much, I just stare. At backs and backs and shoulders bare, Necks and tousled hair, And whats beneath the Silly dresses they wear.
5.
Paean 01:55
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Dead of '92 03:45
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Red Wagon 02:27
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For Sale 04:45
13.

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Rimbaud Poems adapted to song by Rene Caron

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released November 1, 1998

Lyrics: Arthur Rimbaud translated by Paul Schmidt. Piano, Vocal, Piano, Guitar: Rene Caron. Percussion: Sam Vainola. Bass: Ned

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