Turn the lights down /way down low
Turn up the music /hi as fi can go All the gang’s here /everyone you know It’s a crazy scene (hey there just look over your shoulder..) Get the picture? No, no, no, no … (YES) Walk a tightrope ( your life-sign-line) Such a bright hope (right place, right time) What’s your number? (never you mind) Take a powder (but hang on a minute what’s coming round the corner?) Have you a future? No, no, no, no … (YES)
Well I’ve been up all night (again?) / Party-time wasting is too much fun Then I step back thinking of life’s inner meaning and my latest fling It’s the same old story / all love and glory – It’s a pantomime If you’re looking for love in a looking-glass world it’s pretty hard to find Oh mother of pearl I wouldn’t trade you for another girl Divine intervention – always my intention, so I take my time I’ve been looking for something I’ve always wanted but was never mine But now I’ve seen that something just out of reach – glowing very Holy Grail Oh mother of pearl, lustrous lady of a sacred world Thus even Zarathustra, another-time-loser, could believe in you With every goddess a let down, every idol a bring down – it gets you down… But the search for perfection, your own predilection
goes on and on and on and on… Canadian Club love: a place in the country – everyone’s ideal But you are my favorita, and a place in your heart, dear
makes me feel more real. Oh mother of pearl – I wouldn’t change you for the whole world You’re highbrow, holy with lots of soul melancholy shimmering… Serpentine sleekness was always my weakness; like a simple tune But no dilettante, filigree fancy, beats the plastic you Career girl cover, exposed and another slips right into-view Oh looking for love in a looking glass world is pretty hard for you Few throwaway kisses, the boomerang misses, spin round and round Fall on featherbed quilted, faced with silk softly-stuffed eider down Take refuge in pleasure- just give me your future, we’ll forget your past… Oh mother of pearl, submarine lover in a shrinking world. Oh lonely dreamer your choker provokes a picture cameo Oh mother of pearl, so-so semi-precious in your detached world. Oh mother of pearl – I wouldn’t trade you for another girl
O happiness! O happiness! Would you sing, 0 my soul? You are lying in the grass. But this is the secret solemn hour when no shepherd plays his pipe. Refrain! Hot noon sleeps on the meadows. Do not sing! Still! The world is perfect. Do not sing, you winged one in the grass, 0 my soul – do not even whisper! Behold still! – the old noon sleeps, his mouth moves: is he not just now drinking a drop of happiness, an old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? It slips over him, his happiness laughs. Thus laughs a god. Still!
“O happiness, how little is sufficient for happiness!” Thus I spoke once and seemed clever to myself. But it was a blasphemy: that I have learned now. Clever fools speak better. Precisely the least, the softest. lightest, a lizard’s rustling, a breath, a breeze, a moment’s glance – it is little that makes the best happiness. Still!
What happened to me? Listen! Did time perhaps fly away? Do I not fall? Did I not fall – listen! – into the well of eternity? What is happening to me? Still! I have been stung, alas – in the heart? In the heart! Oh break, break, heart, after such happiness, after such a sting. How? Did not the world become perfect just now? Round and ripe? Oh, the golden round ring where may it fly? Shall I run after it? Quick! Still! (And here Zarathustra stretched and felt that he was asleep.)
“Up!” he said to himself; “you sleeper! You noon napper! Well, get up, old legs! It is time and overtime; many a good stretch of road still lies ahead of you. Now you have slept out-how long? Half an eternity! Well! Up with you now, my old heart! After such a sleep, how long will it take you to – wake it off?” (But then he fell asleep again, and his soul spoke against him and resisted and lay down again. ) “Leave me alone! Still! Did not the world become perfect just now? Oh, the golden round ball!”
“Get up!” said Zarathustra, “you little thief, you lazy little thief of time! What? Still stretching, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells? Who are you? 0 my soul!” (At this point he was startled, for a sunbeam fell from the sky onto his face.) “0 heaven over me!” he said, sighing, and sat up. “You are looking on? You are listening to my strange soul? When will you drink this drop of dew which has fallen upon all earthly things? When will you drink this strange soul? When, well of eternity? Cheerful, dreadful abyss of noon! When will you drink my soul back into yourself?”
Thus spoke Zarathustra, and he got up from his resting place at the tree as from a strange drunkenness; and behold, the sun still stood straight over his head. But from this one might justly conclude that Zarathustra had not slept long.
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Walter Kaufmann translation from evankozierachi.com
And Zarathustra ran and ran and did not find anybody any more, and he was alone and found himself again and again, and he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude and thought of good things for hours. But around the hour of noon, when the sun stood straight over Zarathustra’s head, he came to an old crooked and knotty tree that was embraced, and hidden from itself, by the rich love of a grapevine; and yellow grapes hung from it in abundance, inviting the wanderer. Then he felt the desire to quench a slight thirst and to break off a grape; but even as he was stretching out his arm to do so, he felt a still greater desire for something else: namely, to lie down beside the tree at the perfect noon hour, and to sleep.
This Zarathustra did; and as soon as he lay on the ground in the stillness and secrecy of the many-hued grass, he forgot his slight thirst and fell asleep. For, as Zarathustra’s proverb says, one thing is more necessary than another. Only his eyes remained open: for they did not tire of seeing and praising the tree and the love of the grapevine. Falling asleep, however, Zarathustra spoke thus to his heart:
Still! Still! Did not the world become perfect just now? What is happening to me? As a delicate wind dances unseen on an inlaid sea, light, feather-light, thus sleep dances on me. My eyes he does not close, my soul he leaves awake. Light he is, verily, featherlight. He persuades me, I know not how. He touches me inwardly with caressing hands, he conquers me. Yes, he conquers me and makes my soul stretch out: how she is becoming long and tired, my strange soul! Did the eve of a seventh day come to her at noon? Has she already roamed happily among good and ripe things too long? She stretches out long, long-longer. She lies still, my strange soul. Too much that is good has she tasted; this golden sadness oppresses her, she makes a wry mouth.
Like a ship that has sailed into its stillest cove – now it leans against the earth, tired of the long voyages and the uncertain seas. Is not the earth more faithful? The way such a ship lies close to, and nestles to, the land – it is enough if a spider spins its thread to it from the land: no stronger ropes are needed now. Like such a tired ship in the stillest cove, I too rest now near the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, tied to it with the softest threads.
Thus Spoke Zarathustra: Part IV
Walter Kaufmann translation from evankozierachi.com
CONNECT/HOOK 