paroles de chanson Repetition - Edit - Max Cooper

This where I begin
Our garden is overflowing
But on the road there is no sign of life
All sprayed relentless away, grey black dust soot
But no mind as within a minute
Our four feet are upon the moss of the curved basin rocks
And there is too much life to take in here
We climb past the petrified tree, sat like a giant's badly thrown pot
Discarded but hanging on, lopsided.
Climbed upon by generations and generations
And hardly an obstacle for you at all, now.
We creep down the slide of the ashen grey glass; careful, careful
As the water rushes to meet our further neighbours
The secret beach is exposed
And this is where we shall go, twice a day
Passing the igneous and the sandstone
The rock pools and the idiot yellow forests
Slowly drying in the sun but sleekit still
You can hold my hand yet you run off to the heights
I call out warnings
Terrified of the ending of my world in a few moments time
Should you slip
Or focus on a maroon red shell-less snail just a little too closely
And here the sand is a renewed virgin
Here my feet slowly sink
The water creeping to my toes reminding me of my own childhood
The grit under the nail, a blink and I am there
Charcoal in my hand, decorating the rocks with evil lunged faces
The skull and the cross bone
And then a yelp, and I'm back to you and your calls for attention
I watch the waves the gulls, the guillemots and you, I watch you
I breathe the air and I momentarily confuse
A trickle of water with a fat broken heel
I lift and I pop seaweed
For a scent achievable nowhere else but my memory
And soon my son you will be me, and I will be gone
And when I die, lay my body down, far far along this furthest strand

We cannot control the longlines
At best I can skim a stone seventeen steps, with luck
But after that, I have no control of the trajectory
The weight, the ripple of the water
So it is important we throw with grace and precision
The collapse of the flight, the illusion
And I teach the curl
Explain my understanding of the cup of the base of the stone
A traditional black weight slate coin
Perhaps not the best, for me
And every few moments, we will hurl a brick and laugh
For it always works to hurl a brick, for us

I tire, you skip, I nudge a discarded crab
And with a shard I remember a friend
Battered by life's slow easy tide
And his own life changing harbour wave
His own tiny tsunami
Three nine three nine
What a life to live, for that fellow
What a time to realise that this surge will be the last
That he cannot survive this swell
A crash and a panic and a struggle to breathe, perhaps?
He did not find his nook in which to shelter
Now, just give me a minute

Like warmth you return, holding a soap shaped stone
Curved and perfect and "Look, I can use it to draw with"
And you carve swift shark marks; one two three
And will it be here tomorrow?
We shall see