Nothing Important 歌词

歌曲	Nothing Important
歌手	Richard Dawson
专辑	Nothing Important
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Richard Dawson
	作曲 : Richard Dawson
	I am born by Caesarian section at 9:30 AM
	in Princess Mary's Maternity Hospital
	on the 24th May, sixty years ago today,
	dangled by the ankle, smacked across the bum,
	swaddled in a blanket howling like a wheel.
	My big brother Iain on his tip-toes hisses 'I don't like him'.
	He's Maradona, I'm Peter Beardsley, chasing a ball through the mud
	followed by the kitchen window, bellowing through the fern:
	'Boys! Dinner's ready!'
	Dad is tuning in the telly beyond a heaving mountain of spaghetti hoops.
	I am nothing
	You are nothing
	Nothing important
	Death within a dream
	Petrified on the back of a pedallo in the Balearic Sea off Alcudia
	I can see the ghost of my uncle Derek waving to us from the beach,
	gently drifting out of reach,
	the telephone reciever swinging by its cord,
	a glass of broken beer expanding on the lino.
	My mam slips into the coffin
	a polaroid of his sweetheart
	Clutching Good-Luck Bear I peer gingerly over the side,
	press my nose up to the tide,
	and there behold a barracuda chewing on a chrysanthemum
	and a family of clownfish hovering in the corpse's hair.
	In the scullery of the cub-hut my clarinet falls
	into a sack of flour - a flurry of pins
	squashed into the leather handle
	a crescent moon of stricken fig-wasps.
	Drizzling my fingers with The Magic Sponge
	Dad says 'we'll probably have to chop them off'.
	He collapses like a canvas tent on the floodlit astroturf
	rent with a fibula guide-rod poking a hole through his shin
	There are teardrops in his moustache
	charging a flute of champagne
	down the aisle and out for a throw-in
	A St.John ambulance careers between the sugary pillars of the wedding cake
	A crystal spoon
	A pewter tankard
	these words inscribed upon the base:
	HAPPY RETIREMENT BEST GRANDDAD IN THE WORLD
	A toby jug filled to the brim with curtain hooks
	A sheepskin rug discoloured with tobacco smoke
	within it's braids concealed a rank
	of plastic soldiers set to burst underfoot
	Berwick in oils: a skiff on the swollen tweed
	cradling a false pearl
	a ceramic seraph
	with an ashtray for a brain
	- and I don't care about these things
	Why do they remain so clear while the faces of my loved ones disappear?
	A Rington's plate
	a forking hairline seam of superglue through the Black Gate
	a digital photoframe
	frozen on an blurry orange thumb
	I remember all these things
	Old karate trophies
	I am tethered by these things
	Thimbles and pesatas
	I remember all these things
	A roll of Woolworth's price stickers
	I can see all these things but
	where have all my people gone?
	In the end it wasn't meant to be.
	He was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.
	He survived for seven days
	before he slipped away

	zuo ci : Richard Dawson
	zuo qu : Richard Dawson
	I am born by Caesarian section at 9: 30 AM
	in Princess Mary' s Maternity Hospital
	on the 24th May, sixty years ago today,
	dangled by the ankle, smacked across the bum,
	swaddled in a blanket howling like a wheel.
	My big brother Iain on his tiptoes hisses ' I don' t like him'.
	He' s Maradona, I' m Peter Beardsley, chasing a ball through the mud
	followed by the kitchen window, bellowing through the fern:
	' Boys! Dinner' s ready!'
	Dad is tuning in the telly beyond a heaving mountain of spaghetti hoops.
	I am nothing
	You are nothing
	Nothing important
	Death within a dream
	Petrified on the back of a pedallo in the Balearic Sea off Alcudia
	I can see the ghost of my uncle Derek waving to us from the beach,
	gently drifting out of reach,
	the telephone reciever swinging by its cord,
	a glass of broken beer expanding on the lino.
	My mam slips into the coffin
	a polaroid of his sweetheart
	Clutching GoodLuck Bear I peer gingerly over the side,
	press my nose up to the tide,
	and there behold a barracuda chewing on a chrysanthemum
	and a family of clownfish hovering in the corpse' s hair.
	In the scullery of the cubhut my clarinet falls
	into a sack of flour a flurry of pins
	squashed into the leather handle
	a crescent moon of stricken figwasps.
	Drizzling my fingers with The Magic Sponge
	Dad says ' we' ll probably have to chop them off'.
	He collapses like a canvas tent on the floodlit astroturf
	rent with a fibula guiderod poking a hole through his shin
	There are teardrops in his moustache
	charging a flute of champagne
	down the aisle and out for a throwin
	A St. John ambulance careers between the sugary pillars of the wedding cake
	A crystal spoon
	A pewter tankard
	these words inscribed upon the base:
	HAPPY RETIREMENT BEST GRANDDAD IN THE WORLD
	A toby jug filled to the brim with curtain hooks
	A sheepskin rug discoloured with tobacco smoke
	within it' s braids concealed a rank
	of plastic soldiers set to burst underfoot
	Berwick in oils: a skiff on the swollen tweed
	cradling a false pearl
	a ceramic seraph
	with an ashtray for a brain
	and I don' t care about these things
	Why do they remain so clear while the faces of my loved ones disappear?
	A Rington' s plate
	a forking hairline seam of superglue through the Black Gate
	a digital photoframe
	frozen on an blurry orange thumb
	I remember all these things
	Old karate trophies
	I am tethered by these things
	Thimbles and pesatas
	I remember all these things
	A roll of Woolworth' s price stickers
	I can see all these things but
	where have all my people gone?
	In the end it wasn' t meant to be.
	He was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.
	He survived for seven days
	before he slipped away

	zuò cí : Richard Dawson
	zuò qǔ : Richard Dawson
	I am born by Caesarian section at 9: 30 AM
	in Princess Mary' s Maternity Hospital
	on the 24th May, sixty years ago today,
	dangled by the ankle, smacked across the bum,
	swaddled in a blanket howling like a wheel.
	My big brother Iain on his tiptoes hisses ' I don' t like him'.
	He' s Maradona, I' m Peter Beardsley, chasing a ball through the mud
	followed by the kitchen window, bellowing through the fern:
	' Boys! Dinner' s ready!'
	Dad is tuning in the telly beyond a heaving mountain of spaghetti hoops.
	I am nothing
	You are nothing
	Nothing important
	Death within a dream
	Petrified on the back of a pedallo in the Balearic Sea off Alcudia
	I can see the ghost of my uncle Derek waving to us from the beach,
	gently drifting out of reach,
	the telephone reciever swinging by its cord,
	a glass of broken beer expanding on the lino.
	My mam slips into the coffin
	a polaroid of his sweetheart
	Clutching GoodLuck Bear I peer gingerly over the side,
	press my nose up to the tide,
	and there behold a barracuda chewing on a chrysanthemum
	and a family of clownfish hovering in the corpse' s hair.
	In the scullery of the cubhut my clarinet falls
	into a sack of flour a flurry of pins
	squashed into the leather handle
	a crescent moon of stricken figwasps.
	Drizzling my fingers with The Magic Sponge
	Dad says ' we' ll probably have to chop them off'.
	He collapses like a canvas tent on the floodlit astroturf
	rent with a fibula guiderod poking a hole through his shin
	There are teardrops in his moustache
	charging a flute of champagne
	down the aisle and out for a throwin
	A St. John ambulance careers between the sugary pillars of the wedding cake
	A crystal spoon
	A pewter tankard
	these words inscribed upon the base:
	HAPPY RETIREMENT BEST GRANDDAD IN THE WORLD
	A toby jug filled to the brim with curtain hooks
	A sheepskin rug discoloured with tobacco smoke
	within it' s braids concealed a rank
	of plastic soldiers set to burst underfoot
	Berwick in oils: a skiff on the swollen tweed
	cradling a false pearl
	a ceramic seraph
	with an ashtray for a brain
	and I don' t care about these things
	Why do they remain so clear while the faces of my loved ones disappear?
	A Rington' s plate
	a forking hairline seam of superglue through the Black Gate
	a digital photoframe
	frozen on an blurry orange thumb
	I remember all these things
	Old karate trophies
	I am tethered by these things
	Thimbles and pesatas
	I remember all these things
	A roll of Woolworth' s price stickers
	I can see all these things but
	where have all my people gone?
	In the end it wasn' t meant to be.
	He was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.
	He survived for seven days
	before he slipped away

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