Marianne Faithfull: Comrade

Little months little smokesand oblivion in a wool dressin a door opens tenderlynear a wall where the wind is bornnear the jolly gardenwhere saints and angelsare afraid of the seasonsthe alleys have no namesthey are the hours or the yearsI stroll leisurelydressed in a cement overcoatand a hat of black strawI don't rememberif it's nice outI walk smokingand I smoke walkingeasilyevery once in a while I tell myselfit's time to stopand I continue walkingI tell myselfI have to get some airI have to look at the cloudsand breathe in a lung fullI have to see the flies flyand take a little exerciseI shouldn't smoke so muchI tell myself alsocalculateI tell myself againI have a headachemy life is a drop of water on my eyelidand I'm no longer twentycontinuethe songs are songsand the days daysI no longer have one shred of respect for myselfbut I see no hoodlumswho smoke the same cigarettes as meand who are just as stupid as meI'm pretty contentwithout really knowing whyit doesn't suffice to speak of the sunthe starsthe sea and riversblood eyes handsit is necessary quite oftento speak of other thingswe know that there are very beautiful countrieswith very handsome menwith no less charming women,but all that isn't really sufficientbut dizzying voidwhich rings and baysmakes the head bowwe look and we seeagain many other thingswhich are always the sameinnumerableidenticaland over there simplysomeone goes bysimple as helloand everything starts all over once againI read in the stars the good will of my friendsin a river I love one handI listen the flowers singthere are the goodbyes of birdsa cry falls like a fruitmy God my GodI will be accordingly always the samemy head in my handsand my hands in my head