1. |
It's Raining In My Lungs
03:24
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It’s raining in my lungs today.
My body woke me and said it’s not okay
to keep on living according to your sermons of joy.
To pretend you never get ugly,
to pretend you never get old.
No bluebird has flown to dissect you in your pain.
It’s raining in my lungs today.
I woke up and I knew my choking was in vain,
I got out of bed and spit some blood at the furious sky.
My generation will die with black wayfarers on its eyes.
This very morning they’ll be the cloud and I will be their rain.
It’s raining in my lungs today.
Water falling freely till the dawning of the day.
I suffocate the paleness of the intellectual crowd,
none of them will ever dare to look a dead man in the eye.
However it’s not a numerous crowd anyway.
Today it’s raining in my lungs.
It’s raining a woman’s hidden tears for no love,
raining for the shallow,
raining for the blessful fraud,
that i recently became.
No make up shall paint those lungs
darker than they already are.
No promises I broke for no promises I’ve made.
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2. |
A Fisherman's Meal
03:24
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My great grandfather died ice skating the lake.
They told me that he turned 96 that day,
he whould’ve told me not to bend, nor to go astray
and not to mind the bastards as they are here to stay.
The old man spent his life on thin ice,
collecting thorn bushes and two wives the same time,
he was the hero of the nation and than a corpse with a smile,
he never minds the bastards though they stay for a while.
I never said it’d be easy,
and I never said it’d be fine,
I’d never live off eating
a fisherman’s meal for a dime.
He cooked the best fish soups on the lake where he lived,
never shrugged his shoulders from the liquors he distilled,
he held a record both in marriage and in divorce,
though he never have settled with the one he loved the most.
He got himself in trouble as often as it got,
they stomped his head and it turned hard as a rock,
he fed both of his families,
he was a man turned into a wild beast.
I never said it’d be easy,
and i never said it’d be fine,
i’d never live off eating
a fisherman’s meal for a dime.
My great grandfather died ice skating the lake.
They told me that he turned 96 that day.
He whould’ve told me not to bend, nor to go astray
and not to mind the bastards as they are here to stay.
He got himself shot in both world wars,
he grew up being pissed up at all Habsbourgs,
still he had a heart, still he had a hand,
he did not even lose it when they put him in the sand.
I never said it’d be easy,
and i never said it’d be fine,
i’d never live off eating
a fisherman’s meal for a dime.
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Zanzinger Budapest, Hungary
Budapest-based singer-songwriter Daniel Micsoda dealing with the tough side of being human.
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