ALMOST A DADA Adult Alternative

Apologies for this song being almost 11 minutes ..... but ... good value?  If anyone can learn the lyrics they may win a prize.

This is one of those surrealistic interpretations from Mr Sattler.

ALMOST A DADA song lyrics
by Joel Sattler

based on an extract from "L'Homme Approximatif"
by Tristan Tzara, Grandmaster Dada

woke up Sunday morning bleeding heavy
so I put a lid on the boiling blood
the weekly weight crouching on his muscles
falling in eternal mud

the bells tolling for no reason
bells for no reason trust
we delight in the sound of our chains
we ring the bells inside of us

what is the tongue that whips the light
our nerves are whips in hands of time
and doubt coming without the color white
screwing squeezing crushing find

like crumpled paper package trash
gifted in another age
with landslides of so bitter fish
close the book and turn the page

almost a dada
almost a man
it's so sad
but he does what he can

the bells tolling for no reason
the eyes of fruit watch us so close
everything we do controlled
and nothing hid away at most

the water of the river
has washed her bed so clean
she drags her dear sweet son along
in some nightmarish dream

at the foot of the walls in bars
lives are licked enticing
the feeble with tempting ecstasy
dug deep at last but rising

almost a dada
almost a man
it's so sad
but he does what he can

the bottom in old variants
and freed from captured tears
the sources daily serve up drowned
and sight the hands of fear

the clear product of the day
or skittish apparition
which gives the bothered rich a smile
and serves as ammunition

screwed like a flower in the button
of the morning dew
those who demand voluptuousness
are many but so few

the touch of the electric
makes you jump and dance
adventures of the fire
you take the final chance

the certainty or slavery
the look through thunderstorms
used the city cobblestones
to atone for stingy warms

follow tight round water ribbons
flowing to the ocean
take up on their passage
the garbage of human motion

almost a dada
almost a man
it's so sad
but he does what he can

the water of the river
has washed her bed and shines
so even the light glides over waves
and falls to the bottom lined

the bells tolling for no reason
our concerns we carry with us
like our inner suits
that every morning we clean and dust

defeat the night with the hands
festooned with metal puzzles
purified in panoramas
keeping wolves in muzzles

in cities prepared to offer up
the sacrifice brought in the cup
overlooking or the sea
up on the mountains quietly

in the towns so painful nonchalant
on the head a heavy hand
the bells tolling for no reason gaunt
we arrive with our demands

start out arriving others leave
for no reason dry and harsh
bread nutritious bread conceived
the savory song sung by the parched

colors lay out weight and think
and think or cry and stay and eat
of fruit so light like smoke it hovers
that thinks of heat that weaves the meat

around the pit that we call the dream
the bells tolling for no reason
we walk the back roads escape the traffic
with a bottle of landscape in one season

only one disease death growing
I carry the tune I'm not afraid
I carry death and death unknowing
which will take me in the arms of grave

fine and light like the smell of grass
fine and light go with a cause
without bitterness out of debt
no regret without no laws

the bells tolling for no reason
why seek the end of the chain that links
the bells tolling for no reason
will ring out broken glass I think

the silver monies mixed
with counterfeited bits
the wreckage of the fetes
burst in laughing and in tempest

with doors which open into
abysses we all knew
the tombs of the air the mills
grinding Arctic bones at will

these fetes that put our heads
in the clouds of smoke and dread
and spit upon our muscles
in the night of molten lead

I speak of what I speak
of who I speak I am
I'm just a little noise
but have more noise and damn

almost a dada
almost a man
it's so sad
but he does what he can

a frozen crunch at the crossroads
ice thrown down on the wet
crushed underfoot by hurried men
with coming death and yet

on the face of time I live alone
underneath the hot black sun
the breath of darkest night gets deeper
and I know I've come undone

and along the veins now sing
the flute marines do bring
transposed to octaves of
diverse existence love

the lives so reincarnated
in ever more atomics
and go up so high
we cannot see them parted

we cannot see the ultra
violet tracked parallel
and those we could have taken
slip away and go to hell

and those by which we could
not come into this world
have already been long gone
before the hours have unfurled

one had forgotten time and earth
and sucked at the raw flesh
salt and liquid metals clear
down in the well of death

I think of the heat
the heat that weaves the word
around the pit we call the dream
and wonder what I heard

almost a dada
almost a man
it's so sad
but he does what he can