Most of Santi's music is annoying. Well it's fun with Santi, but I would never put them on my ipod. This song is different. I always hit repeat when it comes on. Love it. Have no idea what the words mean though. Who cares, right?
aka 'the chamberlains'
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November
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November
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1 comment:
well . . . according to google . . .
When I get home, she often tells me
I have a head for burial and she's right.
I work the graveyard is indisputable.
I let my head to the locker room and I sit at the table.
Must not be daunted, I have a hungry wolf.
I eat like four and I drink like a fish.
Then I return to my cemetery work better
Digesting my pot of beer and my croque-monsieur.
During the prayer of the priest
I have a little hollow
Me, I think of my chop
In my pot-au-feu.
For the first wreaths
I already have the tooth
My stomach is crying
At each funeral.
As one side of the graveyard is uninhabited
I planted potatoes in privacy.
And in my black jacket, between two services
I give a quick watering and I run to the office.
I scrape, I bine and I tail, what a happy surprise
When I find a worm for fishing, I put my socket
In a tin box, the weather is superb.
This is an amazing area for lunch on the grass.
Now the hour has struck
Time to brush
I think my boiled potatoes
In my broth.
And when the first drops fall
On my top-hat
This is my belly gurgles
My stomach growling.
Sometimes I bite an onion, sometimes a clove of garlic.
Sometimes even a mushroom is a food.
It should be done with, it is not rich
Because these prayers of the priest, we do not see the tail.
The wind drives the clouds, it is providential.
A large disc of cheese turns in the sky.
Hunger rushes to my head, I swallow my hat
A button of my jacket and a poor field mouse.
I'm not on my plate
I'll give up the ghost
When I think about my meatballs
In my croque madame.
It's been too long as it lasts
I lie a little
On the green carpet
And I close my eyes.
It's been too long as it lasts
I lie a little
On the green carpet
And I close my eyes.
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