Monday 22 April 2013

Gainsbourg


Gainsbourg I am for Appolinaire and Stephane Marllarme, I am for Rimbaud, the one that got away, Baudelaire, Jacques Vache and Boris Vian, Mine's a slower suicide than Thomas Chatterton's, One more pastis, one more gitane, Verlaine, Verlaine, Verlaine, Verlaine, Guarding my modesty, girding my loins, With the kind of profile you see on Roman coins, A Jewish Russian Frenchman, but you cant see the joins, Everybody knows me, from Descartes to Desmoines, I staged a little riff on Bach called "Je'taime moi non plus", The Vatican banned it and that was quite a coup, In terms of sales specifically, cause, between me and you, Anyone outside of France thinks that's all that I do. I am of the infinite In the Champs Elysée, Strumming on a harp and drinking holy wine all day, The women here are beautiful but lack a certain grist, I find I'm more a gourmand than an ornithologist, You would think a canon was a pretty heavy thing, But my canon moves the angels, god wants me here with him, So while I serenade the seraphim with celestial song, They know that down below is where I truly belong, My house is painted black like Goya's dining room, I find I'm thinking dirty thoughts in the blue of noon, One more pastis, one more gitane, Again and again and again and again, They used to call me Lulu its nothing to shout about, I like the ladies but I'm never quite devout, In the movies I never come up trumps, Who casts a villain wearing women's ballet pumps, I'm under-studied and I'm ill prepared, Hope you dont notice that my words are slurred, My fingers tremble as I flick the catch, And Marie Curie turns into ash, I'm always shivering though you couldn't call it cold, How's an "enfant terrible" get to be so old? One more pastis, one more gitane, Again and again and again and again, Looking out the windows at ticket punchers and mackem girls, I pull my trousers down and the tricolor unfurls, One more pastis, one more gitane, And again and again and again.