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jerome pradon - weidmann كلمات الأغنية

you whose slow breathing moves
your breast to rise and fall
you who sleep sweetly deep
within you peaceful room
why can’t you sense
beneath the paper on the wall
forgotten faces of assassins darkly brood?

on the old newspaper wedged
in the window frame
lining the closet shelves
and in the fire place
lighting the fire that will swallow up their names
aren’t you afraid to catch a glimpse of weidmann’s face?

can’t you tell from the creases in thеir sharp pressed suits
therе’s much more to these k!llers
than the stories tell
when the police were running hotly
in pursuit
those kings of thieves
knew how to hide their tracks too well

for their eyes were much too soft
and their wavy hair was oiled sl!ck
their fedoras were brushed off
and their pinky rings were too big
they kept order on the streets
judgement was quick and efficient
ill_strating the mob scene
for the new special edition
they could always quite outrage
journalists who loved sensation
and who wrote on the front_page
of psychotic deviation
i who never could stomach
so_called honest people like them
fine criminals, poetic
i prefer someone like weidmann

like jeans genet dreaming
within his prison cell
i also cut out weidmann’s blue_jawed baby face
stifling my sobs
i can imagine all too well
to think the exploits of this warrior once took place!

beside the stage door
i am waiting in his car
to greet the nude dancer he’s chosen for the night
i’ll follow on the trail of his pallid silk scarf
from the bar to the villa
keeping them in sight

the dawn breaks on a bleak abandoned city lot
the only traces of the dancer to be found
are shreds of flesh
which somehow seem to have been caught
in shreds of ladder proof black stockings
on the ground!
but the velvet eyed monster
is not there to be discovered! ah!
and the very best rumours
cannot help betray his cover!
there he is near the water
by a fishermen’s market
is he there throwing flowers
to the late dearly departed?
or has he returned back to
his beloved and old mother
waiting patiently for him to
come and tell her that he loves her
he was always a good boy
according to the neighbors
mother’s little pride and joy
always willing to do favors!

a note is missing to make my story complete
it’s just as well this way i don’t have to believe
this wild cat ends up in the hands of the police
confessing in exchange for sandwiches and tea
i will not tremble like those upper_class ladies
whose blond permanent waves stand suddenly on end
when on the evening news they can’t believe they see
the enterprising dancer of the latest one night stand
if i could only have a seat by the window
that overlooks the shady execution square
to greet the evil hour when pink just barely shows
the hour of final cigarettes and final prayers

then his eyes that were too soft
suddenly are filled with terror
see the blade waiting aloft
pitiless!
his neck is severed

it’s the hour when most men
taking their leave of the party
sure that justice has been done
are self_satisfied and hearty
it’s the hour when someone
bravely daring as the gods would
in ecstatic necrophilia
dip his handkerchief in the blood
it’s the hour i let go
give in to my full pretend dreams
and admit that my hero
is named weidmann!
eugene!!!!

- jerome pradon

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