The Room

"Everyone carries a room about inside them. This fact can be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say at night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall."

Franz Kafka

No sleep

No sleep
I haven't slept for a week
And I'm cold
Yeah, I'm so cold
She's right
I should do something with my life
But I'm old, I'm old
I'm getting old

Those eyes
She said they don't recognize me
Those lips
They never call out my name, my name, my name

It feels so heavy
It feels so heavy
Heavy
I'm waiting for a Saturday
I'm waiting for a Saturday
And I'm too young to be old

Une fille
Jolie
Passe tout pres de moi
Elle arretait le temps
A coin de St. Catherine et St. Laurent

It feels so heavy
It feels so heavy
Heavy
I'm waiting for a Saturday
I'm waiting for a Saturday
And I'm too young to be old

Elle me regardait
Et elle souriait
Elle m'a fait penser
A rien en ce moment
Et comme le vent
Elle s'en allait
Et moi j'suis reveille
Ouais moi j'suis reveille

It feels so heavy
It feels so heavy
Heavy
I'm waiting for a Saturday
I'm waiting for a Saturday

It feels so heavy
It feels so heavy
Heavy
I'm waiting for a Saturday
I'm waiting for a Saturday
And I'm too young to be old

Sam Roberts

The second coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

W.B.Yeats