Isn't it funny,
How we use staples for paper,
To save for later,
To organize our thoughts,
In funny colors,
For each other.
Isn't it funny,
They stapled your head,
With similar staples,
Shiny and red.
You tipped your hat to the employee at the entrance,
She screamed,
And we laughed,
Our one and only defense.

A tick and a click are rhyming up in a lame flame,
A thick stick of dry herb is the flame's aim,
That starts to burn and blatter in a burring pain,
Framed by a grey fog, hiding its disdain.


The mere pain of life urges this hateful act,
Looking for more pain pack by pack,
Claiming if there's no stop, I want more of that,
Waiting and feeling and waiting and feeling,
The sniff-by-sniff approaching Death.

The phone goes round and round.
What could this all mean?
And at two o’clock in the morning, really what could dad need right now?
One by one, I see the faces drop.
And the phone goes round and round.

Why won’t they let me talk to him next?
Why won’t they just tell me what’s going on so I can go back to bed?
Why are they all looking at me like that, with fear and worry behind glazed eyes?
Why will no one answer my questions?
And the phone goes round and round.

Oh dear god, just one person away.
I have my guesses as to what this is.
I’m crying already and the phone hasn’t even come to me yet.
The list of people who I think might be it.
Who might be gone.
And the phone passes to me.

Hello?
‘Cancer’
And just like that my life was flipped.
The world fades,
As I pass out from crying too hard.
And the phone goes round and round.

It was worse for me,
Watching someone die is loads worse than them just being dead.
You see them suffer and you see their pain.
It becomes so hard to look,
Because you become too scared to see the death.
And I remember the phone going round and round.

How could it be him?
So strong, so brave, so gallant,
Struck down by cancer.
The one person that never ran through my head,
When I listed people who I expected died.
That awful phone went round and round.

When my time came, a month later,
I had so much to say,
Just in case I never saw him again.
I love you, you’re doing great, keep fighting…
Please.
That awful phone went round and round.
The problem was that I never said anything.
It was too hard to see the pain you were trying to hide,
But I saw it, and couldn’t see past,
So when it was time to leave, I said my love,
Banking on the fact that he’d be there for Christmas.
That awful phone went round and round.

Six months later, the phone came out again.
And my tears fell, last again to get the phone.
I’ll never see him again.
It’s hard to remember that he’s not in pain anymore,
When you see that awful phone going round and round.

Why am I like this?
Constant chaos and pain,
If only I could go back,
There's a lot I would change.

I would never stop dreaming,
Of a brighter and richer life,
I would never stop smiling,
Despite the inevitable strife,

And I swear to ******* god,
Most of this is my fault,
I chose this life for a reason unknown,
With my heart stuck in the vault,

When I feel hurt I hide away,
Caused by my Cancer moon,
Maybe my life would be different,
If trauma wasn't present so soon,

Everything happens for a reason right?
At least that's what I want to believe,
Because I don't know how much more I can take,
Before I set my soul free.

Le Père Labat était grand amateur de pastis
Qu 'il coupait de son rhum guêpes
Bien agricole à 55 degrés
Comme décollage
Avant d'ingurgiter coup sur coup
Un ou deux diablotins de Marie-Galante
Rôtis à point au boucan
Dans les hauts du volcan
De Dame Soufrière.
Le Père Labat pour compléter  aimait sa purée d'avocat et banane jaune bien écrasée à la fourchette.

Or il advint qu'un jour à Pâques le Révérend Père
Plus vorace qu'à son habitude, comme illuminé,
Engloutit douze diablotines afin de rompre le jeûne du Carème.
Vous imaginez  l 'indigestion que dut subir le saint homme.
Cette overdose charnelle se manifesta par une érection phénoménale
Qui prit possession du quidam qui entra en transe perpétuelle.

Il y avait là fort heureusement un docteur feuilles qui habitait dans les parages
Un maître quimboiseur
Fort connaisseur en herbes et onguents
Qui lui fit prescrire une bonne soupe de gombo bien pimentée pour lui éclaircir la bile.
Mais cela ne fit aucun effet. L'homme apparemment était dévôt de Priape.
L'urgence était urgentissime. Il s'agissait d'un cas de vie ou de mort.
Il y avait sur une  goélette qui arrivait de la métropole
Un médicament miracle du nom de képone.
Un médicament miracle qui allait résoudre tous les problèmes
Le bois bandé ecclésiastique qui avait comme effet
Non pas de produire d'intenses érections mais d'avoir des bananes fruits et légumes de haute tenue.
C'était un nouveau médicament du nom français de chlordécone
Non remboursé par la Sécurité Sociale du Roi et du bon Colbert
Mais qui avait été testé sur d'autres cas terminaux comme celui du prélat.
Le saint homme dut suivre un régime de quarante jours et quarante nuits
Qui consistait à gober à longueur de journée des bananes jaunes
Trempées dans du jus de canne arrosé de moitié de chlordécone.
On ne sait par quel miracle mais le Père Labat fut sauvé et rentra illico au pays de ses ancêtres se consacrer à l'étude et à la méditation.
Mais jusqu 'à aujourd'hui encore les terres de la Soufrière et d'ailleurs  sont contaminées.
Les bananes antillaises hantent de leur Chlordécone invisible et inodore les prostates cancéreuses de ces messieurs !

That last Friday I walked in the room
My heart dropped and I knew
Your time with us was wearing thin
I knew that I was losing you.

You held my hand so tightly
When I went to leave
It was as if you knew that this goodbye
Was the last one to me you would breathe

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise
These last three years I've held the shame
Of saying I'd play more violin tomorrow,
But for you, tomorrow never came