A new song lyric
FinsburyParkCarrots
Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
"Wear a Medal Like Montaigne"
Here’s a practicing semiotician,
armed with spectacular vision
He can judge how a man’s been defeated
by the way that his trousers are pleated
He can tell if you’ve ever sought better in life
by the way that you butter your bread with your knife
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
when the poorest wretch prays as she kneels,
and won’t steal, though there’s sores on her heels:
What price are these signs, free of earthly designs?
Here’s a master of myth and of culture,
a thinker of world-shaping stature
He can judge how our life-weave is woven
from words other ages have given
He will claim, if you’ve ever proclaimed an idea
that’s your own, that you’re grasping and not even near
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
at the sight of a beggar in wheels
playing sounds, far from polkas and reels:
What rhythms are these, as old/new as the seas?
Wear a sign ‘round your neck like Montaigne,
And aim to make light of your brain
For a mind that is measured in stones
Won’t do much for your bones,
For a mind that is measured in stones
Won’t do much for your bones.
Here’s the ultimate rung on the ladder,
and the finest port goes through his bladder
He can lecture on playing with language,
like a starving man bites on a sandwich
He will say that there’s nothing outside of the text;
It’s been done, it’s all gone, no inventions come next
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
at the thought all his letters and seals
mean as much as a farmyard of squeals:
The words can all change, but life stays beyond range …
___
The whole thing came together quickly, with chords. I can't wait to road test it, especially the "language"/"sandwich" rhyme.
Here’s a practicing semiotician,
armed with spectacular vision
He can judge how a man’s been defeated
by the way that his trousers are pleated
He can tell if you’ve ever sought better in life
by the way that you butter your bread with your knife
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
when the poorest wretch prays as she kneels,
and won’t steal, though there’s sores on her heels:
What price are these signs, free of earthly designs?
Here’s a master of myth and of culture,
a thinker of world-shaping stature
He can judge how our life-weave is woven
from words other ages have given
He will claim, if you’ve ever proclaimed an idea
that’s your own, that you’re grasping and not even near
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
at the sight of a beggar in wheels
playing sounds, far from polkas and reels:
What rhythms are these, as old/new as the seas?
Wear a sign ‘round your neck like Montaigne,
And aim to make light of your brain
For a mind that is measured in stones
Won’t do much for your bones,
For a mind that is measured in stones
Won’t do much for your bones.
Here’s the ultimate rung on the ladder,
and the finest port goes through his bladder
He can lecture on playing with language,
like a starving man bites on a sandwich
He will say that there’s nothing outside of the text;
It’s been done, it’s all gone, no inventions come next
But his face won’t disclose what he feels
at the thought all his letters and seals
mean as much as a farmyard of squeals:
The words can all change, but life stays beyond range …
___
The whole thing came together quickly, with chords. I can't wait to road test it, especially the "language"/"sandwich" rhyme.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments
http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/montaigne/
I've heard it!!!!!! and it's fanstastic!!!