I found some old scribblings of mine up in Jämtland over the holidays. I knew I had them there, though I was unsure about what I’d kept. An old essay from my Psychology degree was safely guarded in a plastic folder, which I’ll be blogging (as usual) for future Freya’s amusement.
Stuffed behind the essay, to my surprise, were a few other pieces of paper with my past thoughts legibly written for the now Jon to peruse. The first, a copy of which shall follow, is the lyrics to a never-written song I’d planned to do with Den and Mart in 1993 (?). I think the idea was to speak, rather than rap or sing, the words, most probably because none of us could rap or sing.
Anyway, here is a glimse into my past:
The painted smiles, the miles and miles of
plastic seats and knives and lives,
A fairytale scene, so clinically clean
where all will live the American Dream.
Give me some fries the size of your lies,
I’m going mad for the burger I had,
something to relish, but not to cherish,
a shake to shake the taste.
Malice in Burgerland forcing a hand in how
to keep the industry bland,
The clown of hearts will reach the parts
that others fail to reach.
Whichever you choose, you stand to lose
resign yourself to self-defeat,
When it comes to lunch, when it comes to the crunch:
one man’s murder’s another man’s meat.