Friday, February 17, 2006

bobain, bobain, bobain air adhairt

Hallo a chairdean, 's fhada on a chuala sibh bhuamsa, ach tha mi air a bhith trang gun dad a dheanamh. Chan eil mi a'dol air ais dhan Oilthigh, tha mi fhathast a' sgriobhadh nobhail, le plana airson fear eile, agus bha mi ann an Lunnainn o chionn seachdain, far an do dh'ith mi ceithir mars bars rosda ann an ola. Nach math sin. A-nis seo dan neo dha dhuibh

It's fitting that you're at uni
Cause it matches all your love
A regular institution
Dispensed with blessings from above
You kiss, I feel, I grow afraid
That there's nothing left for me
I beg you not to be the next
Girl to let go of me
Is there love before tuition
I know and hope and guess there is
But is there love in your position
I'm blessed, could be there is
For if I failed I couldn't break
The bureau of your bed your heart
Where nothing lives beyond the aim
To kiss all those who fall apart
It can't be true, I feel amazed
That your senses are all turned
To gaining power from the weakest
By moving on from those you spurned
You feel enough, you may complain
And you were true to love again
But were you really, may I ask
When all you are is just a part
Of those who're next and next again
To fall for flirting or suffer pain
It's all a plot I say in true
Words that there is less to you
Than your hands, your lips, your thighs
From which I've been desensitised

Agus a-nise, fear eile

A world run by pricks
And death comes in phases
I won't see the turn
My mind's cause defaces
The poetry inscribed
By harpy's minstrels strewing dust
A hard fate ensnares us all
No dreams, no hope, no gust
O where does the wind come from?
And do they know the truth?
My world has collapsed upon itself
Decayed just like a tooth
For the crust we live and die on
Is soon to burst asunder
As mens' minions' bombs
Create a world without wonder
As lava and magma spill forth
Burning flesh and scorching eyes
It's time the regression has come
Back to the farm it's them or us
To build a world without parents
Or masters and servants and slaves
The chance to be free and unhindered
Will be won on top of their graves

Agus sin e bhuainne a-nochd air radio nam boban, latha math dhuibh