David Keenan Postcards From Catalonia
I've been told to be a seer, one must be ruthless
So, I've eaten the yellow text of Paul and Brutus
The soothsayers came and went, now I believe
To be reborn, we first must cultivate a seed
Oh, spit it out
Release that precious piece
Of pebbled ash from your mouth
That's a working-class jewel
Spinning round your hopeless head
It ain't for chewing on
It's for looking through instead
You prefer the common stone to the pearls
Under the plexiglass with the factory girl
Who told her sister all about you
Hanging bedsheets on the clothesline in the sun
She keep you warm, she keep you fed
Now you've gone and lost your bed
On the doorstep of the sick and indignant society
And as Christmas comes
Send word to all the ones
Who watched night disown day
35 days after defection
I am sat in the cheapest of rooms
There's an oil lamp defiantly snapping at the shadows
I've had notions to start playing chess
But the mice, they have stolen the pieces
I have told them to start paying rent or they must leave
I am writing my letters
I am anchored in an arm chair
I intend on shooting the postman
When he passes at dawn
I haven't eaten for 13 days
I've taken the form of a Bosnian beggar
And I'm reason the preachers are screaming and shouting
Tell their mother I'm home
Tell their mother I'm home
And as Christmas comes
Send word to all the ones
Who would love to be remembered
By the ghosts of November
On St. Stephens's Day
In some minuscule way
Across the city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across my city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across the city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across my city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across the city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across my city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across the city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
Across the city, they're sending postcards to Catalonia
I can't get out now
So here's a postcard from Catalonia
