* * *
* * *
Here we go, doing nothing again.
You can come if you'd like,
but please don't bring your friends.
(...)
What can you do? What can you say?
They give me disease on the medium wave.
I've got things to do, people to see
I've got no time, please don't bother me...
They put all the books on the bonfire,
Two-thousand years in a flame.
I run like a horse in a fairground,
Rewind me and play me again.
(...)
The Bolshoy "Books on the Bonfire"
(...)
We used to converse, so long ago,
Now we're existing in a personal hell
(...)
I wasn't listening, I didn't know.
Tell me what happened, where did I go?
I'm pulling my hair, I lay on the floor
The paper's aren't funny, not funny no more.
(...)
* * *
* * *
We used to converse, so long ago...