Music Monday- October 20th 2014

And some Serge Gainsbourg, inspired by a great article in the Guardian last Friday, and a nice conversation with a fellow enthusiast.

Basically, he’s doing Morrissey’s shtick about 20 years before Morrissey did it. I’ve stuck Mick Harvey’s Anglicised  lyrics after the video, as I don’t parlez Le Francais too bien.

I’m the ticket puncher at Lilas.
To me the passengers pay no regard.
There is no sunshine in this Metro station.
Strange vacation.
To kill the boredom, in my vest,
I have extracts from Readers Digest,
And this book says to me,
That life is just a ball in Miami,
All the while I’m working like a slave,
Down in this cave,
They say work’s better than the dole
But all day long I just make holes
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
I make second class holes
And punch first class holes
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
Invalids you change at Opera
I live down in the bowels of this here planet
I have in my head
A carnival of confetti that even gets between my sheets.
Under this white tile sky
The only things that shine are insect’s eyes.
Sometimes I dream, I go into a daze
And in that phase
The railway platform is a quay
A boat is coming to get me
From this hole, little hole where I make little holes
From this hole, this little hole where I make little holes
But the boat is sailing
My daydream’s always failing
In this hole, in this hole, punching little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
Little holes, little holes
Little holes, little holes.

I am the ticket puncher at Lilas
Arts and Metiers direct by Lavallois
I’ve had enough,
I’ve had it with this bullshit
Down in this cess-pit
I’d like to get out in the trees
They can keep their cloakroom keys
One day will come I am sure
When I will get away to something more
Take a car, a plane, a train (something that rhymes with “what”)
No matter what
But if the time I have is cursed
I’ll have to leave this place feet first
I punch holes, little holes and more little holes
Little holes, little holes, always little holes
I think I will trifle
with a great big rifle
and make a hole, little hole, one last little hole
make a hole, little hole, one last little hole
and then they’ll put me in a hole
where I will hear no more of holes
Never again make little holes
Those little holes, those little holes.

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