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baba brinkman - mosquito كلمات الأغنية

once upon a noontime dreary, while i rested, weak and weary
half the day was done and hunger pains had won me o’er
in a truck i sat while eating, with my stomach still entreating
me to eat my fill, depleting all the food i had in store
“i’d best save something yet,” i thought, “and not eat all i have in store
for later i may hunger more.”

ah, distinctly i remember, ‘twas six months since last december
and now summer’s radiant ember left few shadows to explore
vainly i had sought to borrow from hard work surcease of sorrow
knowing well that no tomorrow resurrects the day before
nor can any year to come return to me the year before
a memory now, forevermore

then this silken, sad, uncertain sound closed round me like a curtain;
it thrilled me, filled me with an angst i’d felt a thousand times before
so that now, to still the beating of my heart, i sat repeating
“‘tis some insect bent on eating of my blood and nothing more
some small starving insect, merely one of countless thousands more.”
and at that, i shut the door

presently, my soul grew stronger; fearing the insect then no longer
“mosquito,” said i, “or black fly, truly your forgiveness i implore
but the fact is i was eating, and was startled by your greeting
and no doubt sent you retreating from the slamming of my door
enter now though, you are welcome.” here i opened wide the door;
silence there, and nothing more

far into that silence listening, fearing, perspiration glistening
doubting, awakening to anxieties i had never felt before
but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token
and my thoughts, though still unspoken, hastened to the year before
it was a year of pure enjoyment all too fleeting to endure
unrivalled yet, and evermore

thus i then returned to eating, as my unease was fast and fleeting
i turned my intent unto an apple and soon ate it to the core
then to dispose that core i threw it, caring little what or who it
struck upon its course, though to it glancing, up and out the door;
and there hovered a mosquito just outside the crew-cab door
hovered there, and nothing more

startled then and struck by panic, i reached out and with a manic
motion, closed my hand around the handle and drew shut the open door
but my effort was not heeded, for the insect, unimpeded
flew into the truck and speeded to the handle of the door
and there it perched upon the handle of my foreman’s crew-cab door
perched and sat, and nothing more

this mosquito then was steering my sad fancy into sneering
by its nature and intent and by the countenance it wore
so i said, “though you’ve gained entry, surely i’m no royal sentry
admitting only insect gentry through this stately crew-cab door
tell me what thy lordly name is, that thou dare disturb my door.”
quoth the mosquito, “nevermore.”

much i marveled this ungainly bug to hear discourse so plainly
though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore
for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
ever yet was blessed with seeing on the handle of a door
bug or beast upon the handle of his foreman’s crew-cab door
with such a name as “nevermore.”

but the mosquito, sitting lonely on that handle, uttered only
that one word, as if its soul in that one word did it outpour
nothing further then it uttered, not a wing it fl!cked or fluttered
‘til i scarcely more than muttered, “other times have flown before
in a moment it will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
then the bug said, “nevermore.”

startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken
“doubtless,” said i, “what it utters is its only stock and store
found through some freakish mutation, or perhaps hallucination
or my mad imagination conjured up that ‘nevermore.’”
my reason dared me to discover how i heard that ‘nevermore.’
my sanity this burden bore

but no answer still was given, and as i was fixed and driven
i puzzled further at the nature of this insect on my door
farther then from reason sinking, i betook myself to linking
fancy into fancy, thinking what this insect on my door
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous insect on my door
meant in saying, “nevermore.”

this i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
to that bug whose beady eyes now burned into my bosom’s core
this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
on the head-rest’s plastic lining, and as they had moments before
my fancied thoughts soon wandered back to that elated year before
which would return, ah, nevermore!

then, methought, the air grew denser, as my excited nerves grew tenser
as in my mind i cultured malice for that insect on my door
“wretch!” i spat, “what god has made thee? what silver coin the devil paid thee?
get thee from my sight and fade thee, like my memories of before!
take with thee this crippled quandary and forget the year before!”
quoth the mosquito, “nevermore.”

“prophet!” said i, “thing of evil! prophet still, if bug or devil!
whether tempter sent or whether coughed up from this clear-cut’s core
desolate yet all undaunted, in this forest-land enchanted
in this truck by horror haunted, tell me truly i implore
will that year ever return? tell me, tell me, i implore!”
quoth the mosquito, “nevermore.”

“prophet!” said i, “thing of evil! prophet still, if bug or devil!
by this nature all around us, the only god we both adore
tell this soul replete with sorrow if upon another morrow
i will be able to borrow bliss from memories of before
memories of that rare and radiant, lovely, lost, and thus lamented year before
quoth the mosquito, “nevermore.”

“be that word our sign of parting, bug or fiend!” i shrieked upstarting;
“get thee back into the wreckage of this tortured clear-cut’s core!
leave no red welt as a token of the lie thy soul has spoken
leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the handle of my door!
take thy proboscis from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
quoth the mosquito, “nevermore.”

and the mosquito, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
on the l-strous chrome handle of my foreman’s crew-cab door
and its eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming
and the sunlight o’er it streaming throws its shadow on the floor
and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted – nevermore

- baba brinkman

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