Beth Sbresni - Magny | Текст песни

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• Magny

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Magny

Far away where the dew hack bristle

And the tear-catch North wind blows

There was a tiny taciturn maiden

Near wed to a boy with a whiffling nose

Her late mother returned to her

Through a phantom nun called Vin

In a towering tortured swan wimple

She paved her fate in Latin

Are you not still in the womb, child.

If you’re so kicking to get out?

Accept then a graceful curse

So you may stand tall before your ten bell-blackout

Never confuse ceiling for sky

Nor let your finger come shackled with gold

Take heed or forever crawl like a babe

Yes your sweet feet I will scald

I’m pretty sure abiding ghosts means madness, muttered Magny

Yet how typical of mother to dragoon her daughter into liberty

And now come these dreadful sights of dying in a bed that isn’t my own

So pelt little pins, far far away from this box I call ‘home’.

If a wanderer’s what I am

Then a wanderer’s what I’ll be

All splendour ‘neath the sky

Fill me

With a veil stuck to her heel

She eloped with the light of aurora

And steeled herself to meet such horrors as

The dreaded Gin Fin Frank of Gun-Gora

Since billowing sands and bosky trails

She had found many a fragile place

And a handsome convict strictly condemned

To forever stare at his own face

Her voice came to him as a gurgle

For so lost we he that he

Mistook his nose for a mightiest mountain

And his spittle for the grandest sea

Magny perceived a plump misery threshing against his eyes

It grieved her then to consider the derision that would make his slow demise

So from his gut she unravelled his bitterness in the form of finest wool

And knitted, so all that had froze him would keep him warm as a winter shawl

“Razors on the wind

Riff-raff in the water

Raucous shadows long

Do not harm my daughter!”

Some great, godly eye’s gone blind

For for some reason unknown

Goodness begets misfortune:

The girl who only bore bundles of stones

Southerly winds bring stranger things

Four sisters sharing the same heart

Ten they were but jealousy

Had torn the other six apart

"See now, ladies, this carnage

Cannot be good for your mental health

There is just one way to plug this bloodbath

You must learn to love yourself”

If a wanderer’s what I am

Then a wanderer’s what I’ll be

All splendour in the skull

Comfort me

As stories must draw to an end

So must stockings pale with old age

Magny took to peeling potatoes

To ease the bump of falling down the final page

Old girl, stop this lorn fiddle-faddle,

Warned a passing sea breeze,

Look sharp, here stand the spruce

The most intelligent of all the trees.

They’ve learnt the fate of their kin

Bound for pleasure on library shelves

So bookish picnickers beware where you pitch

They’re plotting to reclaim all literature for themselves

"Strangers in the soil

Little lads to the slaughter

Tears in wishing wells

Do not break my daughter!”

Then it happened, Magny beheld

Every woman’s blackest nightmare

Supporting his bulbous, greasy belly

He emerged flossing his teeth with flaxen hair

"What luck, another succulent spinster,

You are as shy and soft as a Sophie

I will have my fill of a certain thrill

Then strip your bosom for a trophy!”

"Your threats have no power

Save the foul breath on which they ride

Smiled Magny, digging her needle in his side

Fool are you to be so blindly proud

And to doubt how deep runs a woman’s supple hide.”

Now Magny hobbles happily,

Having dodged boredom’s oiled jaw,

But still she hears the sobs of womenm