Ah wanna tell ya 'bout a girl You know, she lives in room 29 Why... Why... that's the one right up top a mine Ah start to cry, Ah start to cry
(...)
From her to eternity! From her to eternity! From her to eternity! Cry! Cry! CRY!
She's wearing them bloo-stockens, ah bet! and standin' like this with my ear to the ceiling Listen, Ah know it must sound absurd but Ah can hear the most melancholy sound Ah ever heard! Walk'n'cry! Kneel'n'cry-y!
From her to eternity! From her to eternity!
O tell me why? O tell me why? Oh Why? Why? Why? O tell me why and don't tell me a lie! Why the ceiling still shakes? Shakes! Shakes! Shakes! Why the fixtures turn to serpents and snakes?
This desire to possess her is a wound and its naggin at me like a shrew but, Ah know, that to possess her Is, therefore, not to desire her.
O o o then ya know, that lil girl would just have to go! Go! Go-o-o! From her to eternity!
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Clubs and bells, your servant, dont forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Downy sins of streetlight fancies
Chase the costumes she shall wear
Ermine furs adorn the imperious
Severin, severin awaits you there
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather
Shiny leather in the dark
Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Severin, severin, speak so slightly
Severin, down on your bended knee
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Severin, your servant comes in bells, please dont forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Eman besterik ez daki egiten. Ez du hartzen ikasi. Eman egin dio bere bizia, bere denbora, aitari, ahizpari, etxeari, niri. Etxea garbitu, txukun mantendu, janaria erosi, eraman, jaso, prestatu, soberakinak bota, garbitu, arropa erosi, garbitu, eseki, plantxatu, jaso, josi, umeak erditu, elikatu, hezi, eskolara eraman, ekarri, negarrak isildu, portaerak zuzendu...
Gure amak beti entzun izan du emakume ederra dela. Etengabe aurrea hartzen dion denboraren aurka jardun behar izan du, edertasun hesietatik kanpo ez geratzeko: dieta hiperkonkretua jarraitu, sakrifizioa ongizatea dela pentsatu, beti garbi, ilea beti osasuntsu eta modan, azala beti leun, lixo, arropa apainak erosi eta barruan kabitu, aitaren bizitza sozialaren apaingarri izan, haren sexu-gogoa ase (uste dut).
Ia eskubiderik gabeko betebehar sorta beldurgarria. Injustua dela jakin arren (ze nire ama emea da, ez inozoa) normaltzat jotzen du, ez baitu beste bizimodu bat pentsatzeko eta egiteko astirik, gogorik. Iluntzean, betebehar guztiak bete ondoren, telebista pizten du, "deskonektatzeko". Baina, pentsatzen jarrita, "konektatu" egiten du bere bizimoduan, bere betebeharretan ixteko "iradokitzen" dion sistemarekin: dirua irabazteko konkurtsoak ikusten ditu aitarekin, non emakumeak irribarre eta bular arteko erreten hutsa besterik ez diren. Bere arazoez pentsatu beharrean besteenak jartzen ditu begien aurrean (gaixoak... dio gosez hiltzen diren afrikarrez).
Albistegietan, gizon zahar itsusi bat eta emakume gazte eder bat ikusleen buruak nahastera jolasten dira. Iragarkietan, iraultzarako deia emakumeontzat: zimurren aurkako gerra, zelulitisaren kontrakoa, sukaldeko eta komuneko bakterien aurkako matxinada, altxamendua kolesterolaren kontra, hanketako ileen aurka jo ta ke!, hortz horien eta ile zurien aurkako gerra... Iradokizun itxurako agindu mordoa jasotzen du egunero nire amak, mundu ikuskera etengabe mugatzen eta murrizten dion bizimodutik "deskonektatzen" duenean.