Nanotech

Evolution

https://myckalmarcovic.bandcamp.com/track/le-sommeil-du-matamore
translation above
Texte et voix de Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel
Musique de Myckaël Marcovic
Illustration d'Annie Madec

Le sommeil du matamore

Messieurs, mesdames, mon moi et moi
Vont vous chanter leur oraison
Que j’ai vécue, enfant de chœur,
Dans mon sommeil de matamore

Je moissonne des capucines,
Des mandragores de couleur
Les soirs de brume sur la colline
Sur des losanges de sept lieues

Je pense à des mots de saisons
Comme l’amour jamais cassé
Comme l’extase des matins
Comme la pitié un vendredi

Je traverse des macadams
Dans des souliers de carabin
Rouges qui exhalent la mort 
Comm’ les bottes de Saint-Pierre

Les moralistes, parlons-en !
Ils nous tartinent le melon !
Allez pointer, mais allez donc
À vos comptoirs de xénophobes

Les prophètes ont signé un pacte :
Ces fous de Dieu qui puent de l’âme
Et qui refoulent du malheur,
Sonnent les cloches de leurs blâmes

Ils sont tous là comme des loups
Fumant des pieds sur leur empire
Pour Dieu, la mort c’est l’habitude
De nettoyer ses souvenirs

Quand la lumière se fait courage
C’est toujours l’autre qui a tort
Il n’aime que ce qu’il ignore
Ses essuie-glaces sont en panne

Tous leurs couloirs cassent la vie
Avec leurs portes colmatées
Surtout la nuit, elles me font mal.
Et j’entends ricaner les hyènes

Messieurs, mesdames, mon moi et moi
Vous ont chanté leur oraison
Que j’ai vécue, enfant de chœur,
Dans mon sommeil de matamore

Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, 25 07 2024
Musique : Myckaël Marcovic, 7 août 2024

The matamore's sleep

Gentlemen, ladies, me and I
Will sing you their oration
That I lived, choirboy,
In my matamore sleep

I harvest nasturtiums,
Colored mandragores
On foggy evenings on the hill
On seven-league rhombuses

I think of seasonal words
Like love never broken
Like the ecstasy of mornings
Like pity on a Friday

I cross macadams
In red shoes
Red with the smell of death 
Like Saint Peter's boots

Let's talk about moralists!
They're spreading the melon!
Go and punch the clock
To your xenophobic counters

The prophets have signed a pact:
God-fearing fools who stink of the soul
And repress misfortune,
Ring out their bells of blame

They're all out there like wolves
Smoking their empire with their feet
For God, death is the habit
To cleanse one's memories

When light becomes courage
It's always the other who's wrong
He only loves what he doesn't know
His windshield wipers are out of order

All their corridors break life
With their clogged doors
Especially at night, they hurt me.
And I hear the hyenas cackling

Gentlemen, ladies, me and I
Have sung their oration to you
That I lived, choirboy,
In my matamore sleep

Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, 25 07 2024
Music : Myckaël Marcovic, August 7, 2024

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

Le sommeil du matamore (Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel / Myckaël Marcovic), feat Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel

Syskky - Renegade

Trying out harmony vocals plus a little bit of whammy bar from a new for me Ibanez (1995)
Burning My Roots Behind Me* – lyrics by Nicholas R Fuller

We had lots of memories
We had a lot of Joy 
We had some sadness 
As our love was the real McCoy

But you can’t take that with you
And that life is in the past
I can’t let that be my life
My life’s future mold is not yet cast.

On, Onwards I go
Every step on a new path I don’t know

Burning my Roots behind me
With every mile I walk
Burning my Roots behind me
Seeing which way the path does fork

Our lives together are over
The past is set in stone
But my horizon is far away
And I don’t want to be alone

On, Onwards I go
Every step on a new path I don’t know



Burning my Roots behind me
With every mile I walk
Burning my Roots behind me
Seeing which way the path does fork
Burning my Roots behind me
With every mile I walk
Burning my Roots behind me
I still want to fly as a hawk

On, Onwards I go
Every step on a new path I don’t know

Your love I’ll take with me
Everywhere I go 
I'll probably talk to you as a ghost
Through the highs and lows
On, Onwards I go
Every step on a new path I don’t know

Burning my Roots behind me
With every mile I walk
Burning my Roots behind me
Seeing which way the path does fork
Burning my Roots behind me
With every mile I walk
Burning my Roots behind me
I still want to fly as a hawk




*line from Laurie Lee’s as “As I walked Out One Mid-summer’s Morning

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