Get all 4 Collecting Brel releases available on Bandcamp and save 50%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Aria Of Stupidity - Single, The Good Lord (Le Bon Dieu) - Single, Collecting Brel - Vol. 1, and Collecting Brel - Vol. 2.
1. |
Amsterdam
02:24
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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.
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2. |
The Song Of Jacky
05:03
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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
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3. |
My Death
03:38
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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.
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4. |
I'm Here (J'Arrive)
04:03
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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.
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5. |
Mathilda
02:44
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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
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6. |
Clara
03:11
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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
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7. |
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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.
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8. |
The Bulls
02:21
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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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