Laurie Anderson - Another Day In America | Текст песни

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• Laurie Anderson
• Another Day In America

There are some things you can simply look up, such as:
The size of Greenland, the dates of the famous 19th
century rubber wars, Persian adjectives, the
composition of snow.
And other things you just have to guess at.

And then again today's the day and those were the days
and now these are the days and now the clock points
histrionically to noon.
Some new kind of north.
And so which way do we go?
What are days for?
To wake us up, to put between the endless nights.

And by the way, here's my theory of punctuation:
Instead of a period at the end of each sentence, there
should be a tiny clock that shows you how long it took
you to write that sentence.

And another way to look at time is this:
There was an old married couple and they had always
hated each other, never been able to stand the sight of
each other, really.
And when they were in their nineties, they finally got
divorced.
And people said: Why did you wait so long? Why didn't
you do this a whole lot earlier?
And they said: Well, we wanted to wait until the
children died.

Ah, America. And yes that will be America.
A whole new place just waiting to happen.
Broken up parking lots, rotten dumps, speed balls,
accidents and hesitations.
Things left behind. Styrofoam, computer chips.

And Jim and John, oh, they were there.
And Carol, too. Her hair pinned up in that weird
beehive way she loved so much.
And Greg and Phil moving at the pace of summer.
And Uncle Al, who screamed all night in the attic.
Yes, something happened to him in the war they said,
over in France.
And France had become something they never mentioned.
Something dangerous.

Yeah, some were sad to see those days disappear.
The flea markets and their smells, the war.
All the old belongings strewn out on the sidewalks.
Mildewed clothes and old resentments and ragged record
jackets.

And ah, these days. Oh, these days.
What are days for?
To wake us up, to put between the endless nights.

And meanwhile all over town, checks are bouncing and
accounts are being automatically closed.
Passwords are expiring.
And everyone's counting and comparing and predicting.
Will it be the best of times, will it be the worst of
times, or will it just be another one of those times?

Show of hands, please.

And ah, this world, which like Kierkegaard said, can
only be understood when lived backwards.
Which would entail an incredible amount of planning and
confusion.
And then there are those big questions always in the
back of your mind.
Things like: Are those two people over there actually
my real parents?
Should I get a second Prius?

And you, you who can be silent in four languages: Your
silence will be considered your consent.

Oh but those were the days before the audience, and
what the audience wanted, and what the audience said it
wanted.

And you know the reason I really love the stars is that
we cannot hurt them.
We can't burn them or melt them or make them overflow.
We can't flood them or blow them up or turn them out.
But we are reaching for them.
We are reaching for them.

Some say our empire is passing, as all empires do.
And others haven't a clue what time it is or where it
goes or even where the clock is.

And oh, the majesty of dreams.
An unstoppable train. Different colored wonderlands.
Freedom of speech and sex with strangers.

Dear old God: May I call you old?
And may I ask: Who are these people?

Ah, America. We saw it. We tipped it over, and then, we
sold it.
These are the things I whisper softly to my dolls.
Those heartless little thugs dressed in calico kilts
and jaunty hats and their perpetual white toothy
smiles.

And oh, my brothers. And oh, my sisters.
What are days for?
[...]

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