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Collecting Brel - Vol. 1

by Collecting Brel

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1.
Amsterdam 02:24
In the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that sing Of the dreams that haunt them from the coasts of Amsterdam In the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that sleep Like the banners that drape along the city’s dull banks In the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that die Full of beer and cries at the first morning light But in the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that are born In the tiring heat of a still ocean In the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that eat Glistening fish, their tablecloths bleached. They’ll show you their teeth that have chewed up fortune And hauled up the sails and swallowed the moon. And it smells just like cunt through the heart of French fries, That they scoop up in portions increasing in size. Then, with a laugh like a tempest they rise Start laughing, turn away and they zip up their flies. In the port of Amsterdam where the sailors all dance They rub their guts on the bodies of women. They turn and they dance like chewed up stars To the rancid sound of an accordion waltz. And they turn and they dance and they laugh all at once, ’till all of a sudden the accordion bursts Then, with sullen faces and pride in their eyes They bring their whore to face the port light. In the port of Amsterdam there are sailors that drink And they drink and they drink and they drink once again. They’ll drink to the health of the whores of Amsterdam, Hamburg, and anywhere, in fact they’ll drink to all the women Who’ve given their bodies and have given their virtue For a piece of gold, and when the sailors have drunk well They’ll point their noses to the sky and blow them among the stars And they’ll piss like I cry for unfaithful loves.
2.
Even if one day in Knokke Le Zoutte I become as I dread to A singer for women nearing the end Even if I sing ‘Mi Corazon’ With a voice like the instrument Of an Argentine from Carcassonne Even if they called me Antonio And all my fires I would burn When I gave them some Madam, I expect some in return Even if I get drunk on mead And talk about virility To some old grandmothers that might be Dressed up just like Christmas trees I know that in my drunkography All night pink elephants I’d see They’d sing that gloomy song to me About the time they’d call me Jacky If I could be, just for one hour If I could be, for an hour, every day If I could be, Just for one little hour Cute, but stupid all the same Even if one day in Hong Kong I opened up a gambling joint Surrounded by lusty young women Even if I tired of being the singer I could become the blackmailer And they'd pay to stop me singing Even if they call me handsome Serge And I sold boats of opium Whisky from Clermont-Ferrand Real fags, and fake virgins I’d have a bank on every finger And a finger in every country And every country ruled by me I’d still know where I’d rather be Locked up inside my opium den Surrounded by my chinamen I’d sing my own song again About the time they’d call me Jacky If I could be, just for one hour If I could be, for an hour, every day If I could be, Just for one little hour Cute, but stupid all the same Even if one day up in heaven I sang for all the white winged women Who’d get down on their knees and pray Even If I sang Hallelujah And regretted all my times ‘down there’ When not every day is Sunday Even if they called me god on high And all their prayers I would hear From my landline in the sky Even if I grew a beard 
Even if I did everything just right And gave away my heart and my mind Just to comfort all mankind I’d still know that every night Up here in my paradise The angels, saints and Lucifer Would sing that song that I preferred About the time they called me Jacky If I could be, just for one hour If I could be, for an hour, every day If I could be, Just for one little hour Cute, but stupid all the same
3.
My Death 03:38
My death waits like a maid at night, At the swinging of the scythe, To gather up the time that passes. My death waits just like a princess At the funeral of my youthfulness, To remind me that time passes. My death waits like Maleficent, On the day that we wed, To laugh at us as time passes. But whatever lies behind death’s door, There’s nothing I can do. Angel or demon, I don’t care Because in front of that door there is you. Death waits for me under my bed And stops me rising once I’m dead He counts the clock until the time passes. Death waits for me and for my friends Who come to see me before life ends Who tell me about the time that passes. Death awaits in your cold hands That close my eyes in the circumstance That I’m lost to the time that passes. But whatever lies behind death’s door, There’s nothing I can do. Angel or demon, I don’t care Because in front of that door there is you. Death awaits in the last leaves Of the coffins that were once trees Now nailed together by the time that passes. Death awaits me in the lilies That you lay on top of me That beautify the time that passes. Death awaits me in my bed The sheets of oblivion over my head That shield me from the time that passes. But whatever lies behind death’s door, There’s nothing I can do. Angel or demon, I don’t care Because in front of that door there is you.
4.
From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, All of my friends are now departing. From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, Death’s just a footnote my Dulcinea. From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, Other flowers may try in vain. From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, Men can cry but women rain. I’m here! I came! But really would have liked just one more time Just to drag my bones towards the sunlight To tomorrow, to spring. I’m here, I arrived! But really would have liked just one more time Just to see if the river’s still flowing And the port’s just a port, To see myself once more. I’m here, I came, But why my, why now, why today? Why am I still alive? I’m here, and of course I’ve arrived; I never seem to be able to do anything But arrive. From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, Each time even more alone. From chrysanthemums, to chrysanthemums, Every time the numbers grow. But I’m here! I came! But what I really would have liked Was some more time to take a lover Like you take your train To be alone, to be anywhere, to be content. I’m here, I arrived, But I guess I really would have liked Just one more time to fill a body With starlight and trembles, falling like ashes, Burned from love, I’m here. I came, I arrived, And don’t you think that you’re so great; You’re not ahead of me – I guess I’m the one who’s just late I’m here, I arrived, I never seem to be able to do anything in my life, But arrive.
5.
Mathilda 02:44
Mamma, the time has come To pray for my salvation Mathilda has returned Bartender, put away the beer Tonight I’m gonna drink my tears Mathilda has returned Ask the maid if she hear what I sad Tell her to change the sheets on the bed Mathilda has returned My friends, please don’t leave me tonight Tonight I’m going back to fight Wretched Mathilde’s in sight My heart, my heart, stop beating so Act as if you didn’t know Mathilda has returned My heart, please stop repeating That she’s prettier now than in spring Mathilda has returned My heart, my heart, please just stop Remember how she once tore you up Mathilda has returned My friends, don’t go away Tell me, tell me, that you’ll stay Wretched Mathilda’s here today And you, my hands, please stay down It’s a bitch that’s come back to town Mathilda has returned And you, my hands, put down your fists And hope to god it won’t come to this Mathilda has returned And you, my hands, please don’t shake Remember all of our heartache Mathilda has returned And you, my hands, don’t allow And you, my arms, don’t open out Sacred Mathilde’s coming now Now… Mama, stop your prayers as well Your baby boy’s gone back to hell Mathilda’s returned to me Bartender, bring us champagne The one you’ve saved for a special day Mathilda’s returned to me Ask the maid if she hear what I sad Tell her to change the sheets on the bed Mathilda’s returned to me My friends, don’t look for me anymore I’m up here spitting at heaven’s door Now that Mathilda’s here once more Once more
6.
Clara 03:11
I love you so, Clara I love you so I love you so, Clara I love you so At the carnival of Rio You’re always the same At the carnival of Rio You never change And, me I died in Paris A long time ago I died of boredom Waiting for you At the carnival of Rio You always sing At the carnival of Rio But you can’t change a thing Me, I died in Paris But I still feel the same I know you too well But only by name At the carnival of Rio You always dance At the carnival of Rio I haven’t got a chance I died in Paris For being so wrong I died feeling bruised But still feeling strong At the carnival of Rio You can push me At the carnival of Rio You feel so free I died in Paris Shot with a flower I died long ago Drowned by your laughter At the carnival of Rio You always shout At the carnival of Rio I’m always struck out I died in Paris Where there are one million nights One million lovers One million fights At the carnival of Rio You might as well get pissed At the carnival of Rio I won’t be missed Because I died in Paris And I was buried there For one million nights I was drunk there At the carnival of Rio You’re always carnavaling At the carnival of Rio You can’t change a thing Me, I died in Paris And I went straight to hell The Devil I met there Speaks Espanol
7.
You come of age at 20 years When you think you're gonna starve But when your one and only fear Is that you'll never clean your heart. When you bite off more than you can chew And think you're getting a head start But you're only just a fool Whose greed is bigger than his heart. But the sweet smell of Lucerne On your body clings to you It's the smell of lovers spurned For the beds of little virtue. But when you drink you tell the truth, You've still got your youth. You come of age at 30 years When your stomach starts to grow When your belly starts to show As it nibbles at your fears. When your eyes grow heavier And your wrinkles start to frown Since they know that 30 years Is the start of the great countdown. So you send the old ones to the cave And put a dunce's cap on God But it's in the evenings that you crave a little A little fire to warm your heart. But when you drink you tell the truth, You regret your youth. You come of age at 60 years When your belly rolls around When your belly bloats around Since it's eaten all your fears. When your eyes begin to fail When your eyes are out of tears When your sight is growing dim Because you've burned up all your years. All of the pains of love will show With every woman that you see As they fall away like snow And you realise love's not free. But when you drink you tell the truth, You miss your youth. The golden age is when you're dead And when they put you in the ground And when they all huddle around The stone they've placed above your head. When your hands protect your chest And you're laying, facing the clouds And you're finally put to rest Just to appease the crying crowd. The age of gold comes after hell It comes after the age of wealth When your bones are turning to dirt In the belly of the earth. The golden age is just the truth, You've lost your youth.
8.
The Bulls 02:21
On Sundays the bulls get bored When they’re asked to run for us Here’s the sand, some sun and a sword A little mud, it’ll make a little blood It’s the hour that the grocers think that they’re Don Juan It’s the hour that the English think they’re Henry de Montherlant - ahh Who can tell just what it’s thinking A bull that’s turning as it’s dancing Suddenly seeing that it’s all alone Who can tell just what its dreaming, A bull that’s eyes are slowly sinking When it realises it’s got the cuckold’s horns On Sundays, the bulls get bored When they’re made to suffer for us On his horse here comes the picador And the toreador, whose swords’s gonna plunge It’s the hour that the grocers think they’re Garcia Lorca It’s the hour that the girls think that they’re Carmen Citra On Sundays the bulls get bored When they wait to die for us The crowd’s here for the sword And it’s cheering at the sight of the blood And now the grocers think that there Nero And now the English think that they’re Wellington - OH I wonder if, as they fell The bulls dreamt of a hell Where men and bullfighters are all out run Or in the moment that they die Do they pardon you and I And think of Carthage, Waterloo and Verdun Verdun

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released March 1, 2019

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Collecting Brel Bristol, UK

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