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作词 : Jens Lekman |
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作曲 : Jens Lekman |
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October 27th, 2018 |
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I'm writing you one last time Annika Norlin |
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It was nice to see you that morning at the station |
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I'm sure you were a warrior in a previous incarnation |
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Me, I must've been a rabbit or an ostrich |
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Or a pile of trembling leaves sown together with cross stitch |
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My anxiety has been holding me hostage |
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I've developed this problem with a really tough itch |
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I went to the clinic to get a prescription |
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Cried a little in front of the physician |
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Ointments and sedatives and antibiotics |
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Went home with a bag full of legal ********* |
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The best is the sedatives, they work well but softly |
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I don't scratch myself in sleep, I pass out like a baby |
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When I wake up I'm rested, l'm calm and happy |
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The only bad thing is the strange dreams that haunt me |
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I'm deep in the woods, in a village with tipi's |
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The branches from old oak trees hang heavy |
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A woman carrying a baby greets me says she's glad that I came, she's been trying to reach me |
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She shows me around, the villagers are happy |
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they give me some wine and flowers to greet me |
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their society's based on a loose form of anarchy |
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they've dealt with the climate ,injustice and patriarchy |
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Cause this is the future I can tell from their technology |
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But they use it for good and they use it so sparsely |
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They are not but slaves under their own machinery |
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The cogwheels turn only when they think it's necessary |
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And the woman grabs my arm and she looks me in the eye |
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She's contacted me cause she's worried about our time |
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This future is oniy one of many lines |
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That we can potentially walk down |
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you and I |
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When I wake up I giggle cause it seems kinda cringey |
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I think about their village, what abunch of ****ing hippies |
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This must be because I read that book by Marge Piercy |
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Where some people from the future make contact with Connie |
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A woman in a mental institution in the seventies |
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and show her their world that's one of many possibilities |
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And instill in her the hope to fight for humanity |
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I loved that book, but as a document of history |
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Cause now it seems strange to hope for anything at all |
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When every step forward seems infinitely small |
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Save the polar caps from melting by recycling milkbuttles |
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While the CEO's are flying their pets to skilodges |
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How vulnerable it is when someone says what they want |
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Instead of just saying what they don't want |
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How easy it is to laugh at someone's utopia |
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after decades of being spoonfed dystopia |
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I rub my cortison ointment on my eczema |
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I take my sedatives and crawl up to the heater |
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Keep treating the outside, ignoring the inside |
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Keep treating the symptoms, not the root of the problems |
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And in my next dream the woman's back again |
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This time she's shouting cause her signal is fading |
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I wake up sweating, my skin is itching |
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I put some ice on it and sit down in the kitchen |
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And outside the leaves are slowly falling |
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Over pigeons, buildings, CEO's and children |
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I'm gripped by a love for this world that we live in |
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And I think about a quote from Ursula Le Guin: |
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"We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. |
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So did the divine right of kings. |
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Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings" |
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There's a dying Iight in the distance that beckons |
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As the clocks are rapidly running out of seconds |
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This is where I get off I reckon |
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Take care of yourself, your friend |
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Jens Lekman |
