Oct 2016
-on seeing Yves Marchand's pictures of an
abandoned miners island near Nagasaki
What will remain of us,
industrious ants,
when all that we work for
comes to an end?
A dusty cupboard
in a murky corner.
Two empty bottles,
one for wine, one for apple juice.
No trace of our names.
Gone are the honours.
All that we strive for...
just thin air on an empty shelf.
It's peace again,
peace at last.
It's what we deserve,
our just reward.
abandoned miners island near Nagasaki
What will remain of us,
industrious ants,
when all that we work for
comes to an end?
A dusty cupboard
in a murky corner.
Two empty bottles,
one for wine, one for apple juice.
No trace of our names.
Gone are the honours.
All that we strive for...
just thin air on an empty shelf.
It's peace again,
peace at last.
It's what we deserve,
our just reward.
In honour of the workers of Gunkanjima. Conditions were spartan, the work was exhausting, and several of them performed forced labour. Once on the island, they had no option but to be human ants in the hell of industrialism.
I wrote this little song with the athmospheric silence of those 'cosy' abandoned buildings in mind. The real melancholy of the site only occurred to me as I learned a bit more about the history of the place. That's the true weight lying on the empty shelves.
I wrote this little song with the athmospheric silence of those 'cosy' abandoned buildings in mind. The real melancholy of the site only occurred to me as I learned a bit more about the history of the place. That's the true weight lying on the empty shelves.
