FLORIO­GRAPHY

Rubbles

These rivers are rain from a summer gone by
dragging the rubble to sea
they’re pointing their guns towards a northern sky
still none of them call themselves free

afraid to collide, you fall out of your mind
to kiss concrete ground with your teeth
but with two cigarettes and your letter combined
this air is too heavy to breathe
this air is too heavy to breathe

in order to stop them you cry out a spell
that withers in rubbles overseas
"take all your fluid words, kiss me farewell
and give me peace
give me peace”

Magpie Eggs

Looks like you’ve been eating magpie eggs again
‘cause your face is a stamp
that’s rejecting the little red marks to comprehend
what’s not that good, and what’s bad
so first I’ll have a day off to recover
and then another week to make my plans
and if you’re not back when that first day's over...

looks as if your eggs are all rotten,
and now is the time to rely
on the spellbinders hat and his magic blue tie
as our oceans run dry
the first day’s when you’ll get your toothbrush back
and the second ones made to compare
as you put the lotion in your backpack
I am already there...

there’s no longer no one asking for your name
at the beach house grill on the fourth floor
and when you go out for a swim
you’ll probably leave that face indoors
looks like the eggs are ready hatched now
and like you chose wrong when you went for tails
but how am i to forget you’re there
with your skin under my nails?

and it’s always the same,
and a calendar wouldn’t help that much,
it is always the same

Ardennes

...but I still find cracks in this thin crust
small stains of paint that's been spilled
children awake out of sawdust
wrapped in a black-spotted film
as I try peeling it strikes me
('cause still some things come from within)
the feeling of being human
from wearing animal skin

done up to dive into tar sands
you are thrown back on your arms
muscles that tense as you wring hands
because you're built to do harm
and when you cut loose from their fear march
the pounding paws of your kin
there will be no way to feel human
outside your animal skin

A Sense of Grey

Don’t ask if you don’t wanna know
there’s no one else here who do
and don’t rise if you don’t plan to go
or know where you’re going to

and don’t jump when you know you can’t fly
at least you don’t seem to have wings
that can bring your head higher than mine
I have my plane to settle in
you have your thoughts
that’s where I win

don’t dream if you can’t make it real
they’re only fictions anyway
and don’t love if you really want to feel
the spiking sense of grey
our spiking sense

Smoke

It’s there, it’s where it begins
and it's calling your name
you've been down there all night
in a state that I cannot explain
behind grey curtains of ash
from a word it was born
now smoke rises high from your head,
morning mist laying dead on naked shoulders
no flowers no thorns

hey, love, stay the fuck out of my home
I’ve told you a thousand times
‘cause my brain tells me you’re dangerous
and my belly says you’re just too hard to find
a kiss from swollen lips of ashes
will probably blow this whole winter away
but something tells me this is just not real
something tells me this smoke is here to stay
it was supposed to be an endless day

Poetry

I'll bury my downcast hours in transparent ink,
tie myself to the mast and wait here for the ship to sink
though I know I've set sail on a wishing well

the daylight is dimming out slowly with every breath I take
gasps of air become roaring rivers keeping me awake
it gives me no time to think things through
I know words always come before you do

but I can't find no poetry left in these lines
I've been trying too hard, too long, too many times

is this what a biochemist would call happiness?
is it part of some unmade promise I thought I could forget?
is it time that I let som air come through?
for now strangeling love is all I can do

yeah, I know you have mountains of poems in mind
all explaining how all wounds will heal given time
but these days are no longer my time to spill
and I know that by waiting, I'll make them stand still

I kept it as close as I could through those winter nights
but the ropes only tighten round me as I try to fight
there's no worth throwing stone in a wishing well
now I'm out of black ink and true tales to tell

and I know it's all poetry, know they're just lies
but I'll still scavenge on what I find inbetween those lines
I'll pretend there was happiness, fake to have felt pain
just to feel there's a reason to read it again

Stuck in the Waltz

I knew i’d heard it before as i fell to the floor
and lost sight of the books on the shelf
there is no hard debate there’s no time to wait
when you’ve no one to blame but yourself
you know it’s all arranged the seasons will
change ‘cause the sun is in endless decay
there’s no one in control the earth will revolve
a little slower for every day

we’re all stuck in the waltz

forgive me, i failed to ignore your depressions once more
and i failed to ignore that you’re here
it’s just that when we hold hands any brief romance
turns a little to fast into fear
and all the quiet words that we’ve ever heard

are the sum of the noises around
written with glitter glue on a high-heeled shoe
is a note praying ‘let me be found’

face it you’re stuck in the waltz
face it you’re stuck in the waltz

under the microscope, where we all find hope,
you’ll see nothing but your last defeat
and as the silence grows only silence knows
it gets greater for every beat
I hear the pulse of the drum like dead bones against stone;
he’s been caught stealing it from a friend
now every single tone is a haunting moan,
repeating the same tune again

face it, you’re stuck in the waltz, stuck in the waltz
face it you’re stuck in the waltz, we’re all stuck in the waltz

7!

That your friends hid beneath the same flag as your foes
was a blessing to fire at will
and out of the trenches a new day arose
there’s strength in these broken arms still

so burn all the poems and rip up the books
the words will white out as you sing
to carry the weight of the lives that you took
because life was a beautiful thing

now I cannot recall mountains risen to fall
one day we must awake from this sleep

what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain

the weaver’s hands tell me how your mouth has spun
all the promises left to fulfil
but you’ve chosen your weapon, the duel is on
and there’s truth in unspoken words still

what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain
and though they all look the same, every drop has its number and name
what’s left of your plans will all drown to the sound of their hands
this might be your last chance

what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain

Krokstav-emne

Words by Helge Stangnes, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Det fauk ikkje alt av frø
dit lendet va best
nokken slo rot
der berget bratna som mest

alle så ville dem opp
drømte seg stor
lagnaden ga ikkje alle den same jord

nokken blei rake teina i solskjenns-lia
andre krøyktes i flågan på skygge-sia

mange slags gagneved kunne eg nemne
leit ikkje i solskinnsli når du treng krokstav-emne

SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE

Heim / Heim igjen

Kanskje va det nån som ropte og kanskje va det berre vind
men eg svor eg va åleina, eg tok av støvlan og gjekk inn
der i kjøken koktest kaffi førr aller siste gong
førr eg va kommen heim

kanskje va det nån som ropte og kanskje va det berre vind
kanskje finnes der ei glea der alle tomme ord kryp inn
og kanskje e det greit å fare når heile fjorden tar kvelartak
men eg gjor ingen feil
nei eg gjor ingen feil

ja, kanskje va det nån som ropte, kanskje va det er som skreik
kanskje finnes der ei nåde når all din styrke gjær deg veik
men det søng imella planken og det står i støvelspor
at eg e kommen heim

House by the Sea

They say home is the place where your heart is
then I am home now though I am far away
for so long I’ve let deep forests guard it
and now it’s begging me to stay
and I’m trying my best to be tough
to pretend I am strong and can siphon it off
but I’m not who I wanted to be
in my heart I belong in a house by the sea

they say home is a place where you’re needed
then I am home now but I am leaving
to feel my feet being kissed by the seaweed
and I’ll be silent and kiss it back
this is not who I want you to see
it’s just adding on weight to the darkness in me
and from the little I have understood
I believe that a house by the sea would do good

they say home is a place you can choose to be
and I’ve decided to carry home inside me
so it’s not really as if I am leaving
it’s more like something pulling me

because behind everything that I do
I just want to forget, want to carry this through
fill my lungs with the sweet summer air
in my heart in my mind I am already there
yeah behind everything that I do
I just want to come home and lay down beside you
and then I’ll be who I wanted to be
in my heart I belong in a house by the sea

Let the Spider Run Alive

As you wake up the lights are all out
the air is dead but the blood leaves no doubt
you’ve been drowning, you’ve been burning with thirst
now you’re cold clay and a steel web’s spun
around a brave, careless world

pick an apple and watch it rot
feel the fire from the things you forgot
while you weave yourself into a tight silver web
go to sleep now and tomorrow you will both wake up dead

because we’re all one of a kind
sleeping in the line of fire
now if you want to live and thrive
let the spider run off – run alive!

may you wake up without anger or doubt
and may your eyes burn in snow-white, flourescent light

Soon you'll be somebody else!

If you keep changing yourself
then soon you’ll be somebody else
and the end of the string
would be a rose, is a rose, it is a dying thing
while all I can promise is to stay like this always
and by all other names just as sweet

I wish all you would wish
was a house with a yard full of flying fish
and the bell that I’d ring
would be a rose, is a rose, it could be anything

while all I can promise is to stay like this always
and by all other names just as sweet

I will crack you open just to keep you closer
‘cause without you a rose is just a rose
and I will swallow the vomit just to keep you
coming ‘cause without you I’m so hollow

For an Unborn

If it’s part of the plan that we add up in twos
then it comes to a point where you cannot choose
with the world at your feet you’re all set to explore
but grow weak as you’re there
and you don’t know in whose lines to enroll
without a name, a god, a goal

you don’t know how you got there or who was there first
were you there just to please her or to quench your thirst?
was it will or an instinct run out of control?
‘cause today everything's brought back
by a picture that you can’t recall:
lovers on a brass bed feeling nothing at all

someone should stand behind to catch the fall
at the end of the day you were once just as small
and like your father you’ll suddenly find that you’ve grown
today you wake up
to take the blame for what can’t be undone
and with every step you are hauled back home

‘cause the smallest of lies can turn black with ease
what you thought was the cure turned into a disease
and you gave her your heart only to help her grow
a tumor inside her patiently waiting for the first snow to fall
lovers on a brass bed doing nothing at all

The Architect

My god where have you gone?
I’ve been looking for you everywhere but find myself alone
through woods and fields, churches and halls
but no one’s there to hear my prayers or answer when I call
my god where have you gone?
you left without a warning and with so many things undone
a king shall come when morning dawns if history’s repeating
and I’m not sure if I’m the one to keep this pulsing heat in

my god what have I done?
I didn’t choose to turn into this creature I’ve become
and I don’t know this strength I’ve found
although I have understood it’ll do no good for kicking dust around
so hold me back if you still can
before I’m pissing rivers, spatter storms, drawing valleys in the sand
now my left is crying for intent while my right begs for a spin
is this all just another test, this mess you’ve left me in?

I don’t know where the light will fall
I only see myself as shadows and as paint upon the walls
if I could learn from your mistakes where your architecture grew with every error that you made
I’d only wish for a quiet night
to close my eyes and dream awake like a candle that’s blown out
but I am all set now and want to let go
and with endless opportunities I am off to build my world alone

Run to the Water

Words and music by Pål Moddi Knutsen and Lena Anderssen.

Fast as you can run to the water
cool as I am I’ll give you shelter

this place is built to make you smaller
to keep your face out of the light
around the city’s growing taller through the night
and then a symphony of laughter
cuts though the air of foreign tongues
and you are back at where you started: all alone

so fast as you can run to the water
safe in my hands I’ll bring you home

there’s nothing I can do,
there’s water coming through, I can sense it
and I swim the whole night through
but in spite of all I do I’m defenceless
so I’ll try to pretend I was always alone
and with a handful of pills I’ll divide us
‘cause with millions of miles between arrow and bow
it is easier to kill it with silence

so to hide from our hundreds you went underhill
where the treeroots grew into your bones
I tell all my friends you are living there still
in the teeth of the chaos above
hammer hits head but the nail doesn’t move
though the blow’s throwing sparks all around
it is never too late but today is too
soon, so for now you must stay underground

so fast as you can run to the water

Silhouette

...and then came the waves on our boats
the loudest laugther no one knows
a helpless child you are on your own
can you feel how it brakes on your bones
the loudest laughter no one owns
silhouettes in the sky, dancing ghosts
a helpless child you are on your own

One Minute More

“One step, you’re just one step from perfection”
she held out her hand
and so life spreads from fingertips and through my veins,
a beast is born within a man
and it whispers of all I’ve ever hoped for
and everything that is wrong
slowly now all the words add up and somehow they crack
and slip from my tongue

and as if singing a psalm I am down on my knees
I am singing for love from the top of my lungs
but the louder I cry the less I believe
that this moment we’re in will be more than just now

silently I’m replacing what she lacks
with the things that I love
and though I know I might be torn all around the edges
behind her perfect shell’s a rotting soul
so incomplete but wholer still if I am able to just let her go

and if this is the end then at least it was worth it
‘cause I swear it was love or something just so
and I know love will come to the one who deserves it
I’ll try closing my eyes and give it one minute more

but I’m not of your kind
someone as stupid as me should be easy to find
so I will treat you like statistics until it drains this love from me

this is no psalm, it can’t take me deeper
what’s only just passed seems so long ago
and the harder I try the less I believe you
when you’re standing here now asking for one minute more

Northern Line

The ink wouldn’t dry and the snow didn’t melt
so I set the house on fire to explain how I felt
‘cause all that I am is only things that will be
afraid to let go, afraid to move on, afraid to be free
now I gather all the things I left behind
I’m still here fast asleep on the northern line

we stayed up all night and slept through our days
now I’m tired of the lies and the hours gone to waste
and all along the thought of this has scared me so
but if I fight it, if I never try I’ll never make it out I’ll never grow

now the night comes on and no one wonders why
I’m still here fast asleep on the northern line
I’m all yours fast asleep on the northern line

KÆM VA DU?

Mannen i Ausa

Words and music by Ola Bremnes.

Yst utpå yttersia av Senja bodde to feskarbrør
dem hadde en hjelpar i båten han va blind men våken og før
en dag dem dregde garnan sine utaførr Gryllefjorn
hørte han, den blinde mann, nokka tungt som dumpa ombord

det va et lik dem hadde fådd, med sødvest og støvla på
men brørn sa at det va en kobbe sånn at han ikkje sku førrstå
så rodde dem inn med fangsten sin tel ei hula som heite Ausa
og gjømte han, den døe mann, mella storstein og kvasse knausa

hu hei se en anna vei
tungsjyen maule og male
mannen i Ausa betale

så skar dem betta uta mennskekjøtt og hekta på kver en krok
og havet som rett førr va stilt og dødt stod no i en hemmelsk kok
no hadde dem agn tel hjuksa og stang frå morra tel seint på kveld
fesken beit, nappa og sleit, og snart så hång han på hjell

hu hei se en anna vei
tungsjyen maule og male
mannen i Ausa betale

om kveldingen satt dem på kroa og spanderte tel krana va tom
men om korsen løkka va kommen dit ville dem ikkje prate om
men bygdefolket spurte og grov, ga ikkje den blinde fred
han kveskra at “kom i morra natt tel ausa, så kan dokker se”

neste natt i ausa låg heile bygda og såg
et frøktelig syn: at kroka bei sett i kjøttet på han som der låg
då storma dem fram med økse og ljå, lot brørn i båten sin gå
batt dem fast, drog båten med hast opp i lia og tente på

hu hei se en anna vei
tungsjyen maule og male

i Bleiklia står tia stille, der vil ikkje gresset gro
og fesken som brørn hadde hengt bei sur og svart som jord
på yttersia, yst på Senja, søng både vind og vêr
om brødre to som tel Helvete dro på grunn av en blind passasjer

Blå kveill

Words by Arvid Hanssen, music by Tove Karoline Knutsen.

Se, no stijlne aille båran
og det skjømmest mens æ ror.
Det bli blått ruint begge åran
førr en kaillkrok i en fjord.

No kjem skarven òg te skjærre.
Det e han, og det e æ
som e eillst i detta værre.
Skarven ror i lag med mæ.

Kveillen spørr, og kveillen svare.
Gjer mæ mangt å tenke på.
Tru kor lenge vi ska fare.
Derom vijl Vårherre rå.

Trygt å trø i lainn av båten
på et berg æ kaille mett.
Godt å høre godverslåten
og gå heim med glae skrett.

Togsang

Words and music by Vashti Bunyan.

Leite mot nord, imot nord førr å finne deg
vind som hyle langs et dunkandes tog
veit ikkje heilt ka eg finn når eg kjem tel deg
men håpe at du e på leiting, du og

det e så mange mil, og d’e så lenge sia,
veit ikkje om du e bidd bedre med tia,
men endelig veit eg korhen eg kjem ifrå
det e mange hundre mil men eg har ikkje tenkt å gå

det e ikkje en sang eg har tenkt å sønge,
berre lyden av et dunkandes tog,
ingenteng veien heim hit har lært meg,
men veien heim va det einaste eg såg

det e så mange mil og d’e så lenge sia
veit ikkje om eg e bidd bere med tia,
men endelig veit eg kor ferda mi går hen;
det e mange hundre mil, men ikkje langt igjen

men ka om du ikkje lenger e der åleina?
ka om nokken er der på besøk?
korleis ska eg då ta tel å førrklare
at du fann kjærligheit på første førrsøk?

det e så mange mil og d’e så lenge sia
veit ikkje om hjerta kan gro litt med tia
og tvilen tar tak og tære litt førr kvær perrong
men hundre mil e ikkje langt i ei jernbanevogn

Vi slakta sau

Words by Helge Stangnes, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Vi slakta sau vi tappa blod.
Eg stramma tau mens far min slo.
Eg grudde meg, men lærte fort:
Det va førr maten det blei gjort.

Vi slakta sau. Det måtte te.
Vi spretta skank og knekte lé
og tomma skinn til dyret hong
som naken skrott i tau og stong.

Vi slakta sau. Vi lærte ord
som marlake og bottlangsbror.
Kver innmat-del, kver pølsetarm
som kunne nøttes, hadde namn.

Vi slakta sau på fløan sjy,
rundt Vinterdag, ved måne-ny.
De gamle hadde trua på
at kjøttet drygdes meire då.

No slaktes sau på transportband.
Så glømmes ord og arbeidsgang,
og en kultur fra gammel tid
kan skrives ned til null verdi.

Noens ark

Har du hørt historia om gamle Noahs ark
om då fast fjell og en ny dag steig av havet?
hemmelen sett tåreregn sku vaske altteng bort
men nån få fækk fare trøgt igjønna kavet

kom, ska eg førrtelle om det underet dem såg
om då jorda gjor seg mjuk og lot seg forme
namnelaus og naken ska du dit en dag du og
og som fløktning ska du seile gjønna stormen

kan du høyre dønningen av torevêr i vest
kor Drømmen gror i urett du må tåle?
her kor rike ska bi rikar og kor kver dag e en fest
imella høghus som ska gro tel dem fell over

så knepp nevan og søng salma
om regnet som ska komme
søng om babylon og kvite elefanta
du e førrtapt allikavæll når dagen e omme
idet vatn velte inn frå alle kanta

alle her har fådd en plass ombord på noens ark
der va åpent førr enkver som va heldig
vi som prisga regnet mellom fjelltoppa i nord
og stod lagelig tel då løkka traff telfeldig

og sjøll om du bær bud om fred i hjertet innerst inne
må du fare der kor åpen sjy fråde
førr deg ska tåreregnet bi et sjøllopplevd minne
førr du føddes der kor ondskapen må råde

dørren går igjen ombord på noens ark
idet båra bryt mot bord igjen, det e noens verk
og av båran bi alt vi va førrtært
kanskje neste gong har noen lært

Grønt lauv i snyen

Words by Arvid Hanssen, music by Georg Blichfeldt and Eirik Vildgren.

Æ har en liten åkker
en åkker der æ sår
men lang e våres vijnnter
og sein e våres vår
no e det medt i sommarn
og æ sår mens bjørka står
med grønt lauv i snyen

det græle grått i fjorden
og nordavijnn rår
og nabbon min, han Tomas
kjem ruslandes og spår
at ailldri bi det grorver
når bjørkeskogen står
med grønt lauv i snyen

æ e vesst sjøl en Tomas,
så lite som æ sår,
så lite som æ eie
av tru på goe år
å je æ va som bjørka,
som bjørka der ho står
med grønt lauv i snyen

Kjerkegård ved havet

Words by Helge Stangnes, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Sola flyt som gull i disen der vi styre inn mot land
og finn ly førr nattebrisen ved ei lun og sørvendt strand.
Her gror skjørbuksurt i sanden lenger opp enn floa når,
og fra støa finn eg stien mot en gammel kjerkegård.

På ei stille midnattsvandring i ei nordnorsk natt i juni
ser eg kors med navn og årstall mellom reir med egg og dun i.
Her går livet mot førrnying mellom gamle, glømte grave
i en kort og hektisk sommar på en kjerkegård ved havet.

Hit kom de som stormen sparte, her ligg de som gjekk og venta,
de som fall førr tæringssotten, de som spanskesjuka henta.
På de gamle, morkne merkan kan eg endå namnan lese,
og eg spør meg sjøl: Kem va dem, de som søv her under greset?

Kem va du, Elfrida Angel, som så kort ei liv fekk låne?
Fekk du dansa før du døe, 17 år og knapt en måne?
Eller du, Andreas Hansa, e du av et folk eg kjenne?
- Og med handa mot et gravkors høre eg en båt som lende:

Mannemål i sommarkvelden, lyd av tunge åttringsåre,
folk som dreg en kjøl mot sanden, løfte opp ei svartbredd båre.
Og i sus av nattebrisen kan eg ane enkegråten
der et likfølge passere etter stien ifrå båten.

E det ekko av en salme? Bibelord til trøst i nøa,
vigsla mold mot kistelokket, steg som fjerne seg mot støa?
Synet kverv og tankan klarne der eg våkne opp av transen,
mens en flokk med svarte skarva segle inn i nattsolglansen.

På den gamle kjerkegården, vendt mot ver og vinterstorma,
ligg historia begraven om et folk som havet forma.
Her søng vinden sine salme i en hardfør, arktisk flora
som slår rot og pine næring av den magre skjellsandjorda.

Men der lys tiriltunge bak herakleum og karve,
som ei helsing til de unge som en vedhard kyst fekk arve.
Og i nord, mot nattsolbrannen, mumle havet sine minna,
som en mollstemt orgelfuge under bratte gråsteinstinda.

Krokstav-emne

Words by Helge Stangnes, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Det fauk ikkje alt av frø
dit lendet va best
nokken slo rot
der berget bratna som mest

alle så ville dem opp
drømte seg stor
lagnaden ga ikkje alle den same jord

nokken blei rake teina i solskjenns-lia
andre krøyktes i flågan på skygge-sia

mange slags gagneved kunne eg nemne
leit ikkje i solskinnsli når du treng krokstav-emne

En sang om fly

Eg vil se verden, sånn som alle ainner:
heller gjere nån feil enn å leve i anger
så om eg klare å bære kvileslaust fare
kan eg ha én fot i nuet og én i alt det samme gamle
og ta ett skrett telbakers førr kvert ett eg går fram

eg vil leve som dem gjær det på teve
der kor alt e et spell, men der alle i det minste ser det
og når hemmelen gjer oss snystorm i juli
så kan eg sei eg gjor det einaste man kunne den gång alt va mulig
då vi tok ett skrett telbakers førr kvert framskrett vi gjor

ta ett skrett telbakers, ett skrett nærmar no

UNSONGS

June Fourth 1989: From the Shattered Pieces of a Stone it Begins

Words by Liu Xiaobo, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

This place begins to cave.
These are a madman’s days.
A trembling land must play a murderer’s game.
The blind man’s flickering eyes.
A flame as black as night.
The unborn children die before me now.

But from the soldier’s broken bones,
from the mothers’ silent song,
from the pieces of a shattered stone it starts.

We learn and then forget
the screams and silhouettes.
In time you’ll find we’ll make the same mistakes.
So ruins are reborn,
an ever blood-red dawn.
The palm-lines turn to cracks beneath our feet.

But from the silence of the tombs,
from the broken, barren wombs,
from the pieces of a shattered stone it starts.
From the parted lovers’ lips,
from the nailless fingertips,
from the whispers of a silenced voice it starts.

A Matter of Habit

Words by Alona Kimhi, music by Izhar Ashdot.

Learning to kill is a matter of habit,
the more you have done it the better you’re at it.
It starts in the alleys of Sechem at night.
The borderlines blur in the evening light.

A rifle butt bangs on an old, rusty door,
‘Where is your father? Get down on the floor!’
Soon it gets serious. A curfew’s declared.
The city falls silent, there’s death in the air.

Cocking his weapon with shaking fingers,
grits his teeth as he’s hugging the trigger.
Young blood rushes, his heart pounds.
He knows it gets easier the next time around.

They’re just objects and shadows, not women and men.
Learning to kill is a natural thing.

Learning to fear is a matter of habit,
the more you have done it the better you’re at it.
News from above reaches the street.
There’s no hope of living, the end is so near.

Tidings of terror, a raven’s crow:
Shutter your windows, lock up your homes!
We’re just a handful, a tiny country
surrounded by evil. They won’t let us be.

They have hate in their hearts and in all that they bring.
Learning to fear is a natural thing

Cruelty is a matter of habit,
the more you have seen it the better you’re at it.
Every boy has a tyrant’s desire.
Hands behind the head, legs spread wide!

These are times of danger, times of despair.
No room for compassion, a soldier can’t care!
Our neighbours are vermin; they’re used to the blood;
how can they feel pain when they live in the mud!

Through cruel routine a soldier is born.
Ignorance soon turns to evil in war.
Israel’s land is for Israel’s kin.
Cruelty comes as a natural thing.

Learning to love is a natural thing,
it will find a way if you just let it in.
It’ll be strange at first, but then you will see it,
that learning to love is a matter of being

Being human is a matter of habit,
a few baby steps, then you get better at it.
To be for one minute, just now, just recall
the opposite side of the towering walls.
But our hearts have hardened along with our skin.
We live in a bubble and let no one else in.

We’ll be staring in wonder as the angel falls,
then being human will be a matter of course.

Punk Prayer

Words and music by Pussy Riot.

Prayers crawl towards the cross,
golden marks upon their frocks.
Freedom’s ghost has left these lands.
Help us if you can!

KGB have turned to saints.
Gay parades sent off in chains.
Blessed limousines congest the streets
to hail their saint-in-chief.

Holy Mary, drive Putin away.
Drive away this darkness from your halls.
Drive away the ungodly souls.
Our Lady tear the eagle off your walls.

Father Gundyayev pays back
from his bag of holy crap:
‘Woman, keep quiet and love your man
your fate and fatherland!’

Holy Mary, be a feminist.
Pray not for the mighty but the meek.
Drive away the lies that they speak.
Our lady, hear our prayer unto thee.

Gundy never cared for God.
All that dickhead wants is power.
Mary, your belt should bring us hope
now it’s used as rope.

Damn their lies, deliver us!
Pry the copper from the cross!
Mary, our hands are tied in prayer.
Help us if you’re there!

Holy Mary, drive Putin away.
Drive away this darkness from your halls.

Open Letter

Words and music by Lounès Matoub.

What’s the point waiting for the doorman to drop the key?
You’ll be gone long before this evil falls asleep.
What’s the point waiting for a better day to come along?
They will bow to their dogs before they see our reign come.

First the French decamped and left us with the garbage.
Then our flag was dyed with Islam and Arabic.
They forgot to whom this country once belonged.
There is always someone here to take the throne.
Traitors, traitors, traitors.

Did you believe that they would listen just because they said they would?
How naïve! They’ve always been too righteous for their own good.
For you know, power is addictive to the one it wields.
They have sown with evil hands and harvest our tragedy.

First the French decamped and left us with the garbage.
Then our flag was dyed with Islam and Arabic.
They turned a blind eye to Algeria’s free men.
We could have it all but were enslaved again.
Traitors, traitors, traitors.

All the same we will never let them have their filthy ways.
We remain! These are our mountains; this is our place.
We will break through the the door and have what’s ours all along.
For without us Algeria is suffering on her own.

So come the rain, come the wind come the hunger.
We won’t sit and wait for freedom any longer.
We must sacrifice the arm to save the heart.
We will split the land before it falls apart.

First the French decamped and left us with the garbage.
Then our flag was dyed with Islam and Arabic.
But our roots go deep and our will is strong.
We will cling onto the land where we belong.
Traitors, traitors, traitors.

Army Dreamers

Words and music by Kate Bush.

Our little army boy
is coming home from B.F.P.O.
I've a bunch of purple flowers
to decorate my daddy’s hero.

Mourning in the aerodrome,
the weather warmer, he is colder.
Four men in uniform
to carry home my little soldier.

What could he do? Should have been a rock star,
but he didn’t have the money for a guitar.
What could he do? Should have been a politician,
but he never had a proper education.
What could he do? Should have been a father,
but he never even made it to his twenties.
What a waste – army dreamers.
What a waste of army dreamers.

Tears over a tin box.
Oh, Jesus Christ, he wasn’t to know.
Like a chicken with a fox
he couldn’t win his war with ego.

Give the kid the pick of pips,
and give him all your stripes and ribbons.
Now he’s sitting in his hole.
He might as well have buttons and bows.

What could he do? Should have been a rock star,
but he didn’t have the money for a guitar.
What could he do? Should have been a politician,
but he never had a proper education.
What could he do? Should have been a father,
but he never even made it to his twenties.

What a waste – army dreamers.
What a waste of army dreamers.

Our Worker

Words and music by Víctor Jara.

Our labourer who art beneath the dark sky
Thine is the toil, the peril and despair
You who can tame the forces of the river
You who can shape tomorrow with your hands

Our labourer who art among your brothers
Thine is the day, the power and the soil
Glory be sown, and harrowed be the acres
Reach out your hand to see a new day grow

Lead us not to misery, deliver us from domination
Kingdom of fairness and justice for all, kingdom come
Blow like the wind through the blossoming quebradas
Scour like the fire from the mouth of my gun

Finally, your will be done in factories and farmyards
Give us this day the strength and the courage to fight
And blow like the wind through the blossoming quebradas
Scour like the fire from the mouth of my gun

Our labourer of quarries, quays and chimneys
Reach out your hand and see a new day grow
We’ll go together, this is the blood that binds us
for ever and ever till death do us apart

Amen!

Parrot, Goat & Rooster

Words by Los Tucanes de Tijuana, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

My parrot, my goat and my rooster,
the finest of pets that you’ll find.
With them I bring joy wherever I go
and make some to make things go round.

To New Mexico and Arkansas
and even to Illinois’ shores.
I sell off my kids to the highest bid
and then I return home for more.

I grew up to thrive among horses,
and I do not deny I was poor.
Now my name is known throughout the plains
and among the gueros in the north.

Death rides ever by my side
and the high lords far behind,
for where there’s will there’ll be a way
and my ways are hard to find.

Money’s a treacherous companion,
and that’s why I spend mine with ease.
On women and friends, to smoothen the bends,
I keep just the little I need.

They say that my pets bring but pain and regrets,
and then they ask me to pass them a booster.
It’s the greatest of men who come again and again
to my parrot, my goat and my rooster.

The Shaman & the Thief

Traditional Sami text. Lyrics by Maren Skolem, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Thief:
Frost in the air. Northern lights brought me here.
Where I walk, God walks with me.
I only eat what the earth has offered me.
No one owns the berries or leaves.
Now you’re in my house, and you call me a thief?

Shaman:
You don’t understand
what it means to be of this land.
You have to learn how to read marks on the trees,
for the laws that you know, they don’t apply here. 

Such mighty words!
Are you God? I hadn’t heard.
Are you the one who made the wind blow?
You must be great! A creation that can create?
The grass isn’t yours, and you don’t make it grow.
You are a sham.

Don’t you know who I am?
I do not fold my hands.
I’ll never pray to your precious God.
All that I need

are ways to feed your greed / is earth beneath my feet,
to have it all / to have it all.

Shaman, you’re a fraud!

So leave and leave me be, I’ll drive you away.

So leave and leave me be, I’ll drive you away.

Shaman, old fool.
Times change and so shall you.
They will burn your house down and spit at your name.

But thief beware: My song will linger here
and in time you will be sorry you came.

My friend, save your breath. You’re chanting in vain.

Eli Geva

Words by Richard Burgess, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

The dogs of war are loose again
Cold blows the wind to me
And widows weep for fallen men
for fallen men they weep again
Cold blows the wind to me.

Again the ravens rule the skies
Cold blows the wind to me
With hacking beaks and hungry cries
With hungry cries they wheel the skies
Cold blows the wind to me.

We heard the march of army boots
Cold blows the wind to me
Until they stopped outside Beirut
Outside Beirut we heard them shoot
Cold blows the wind to me.

But then up spoke a colonel bold,
the finest in the land
Said: ‘If orders come to take the town
I cannot obey their command,
I cannot follow them.’

So when at last the order came
Cold blows the wind to me
The world knew Eli Geva’s name
The world knew Eli Geva’s name
stood up against that cold, cold wind
come blow his name to me.

Strange Fruit

Words and music by Abel Meeropol.

Southern trees bear strange fruit.
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root.
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze.
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south.
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh.
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
for the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
for the sun to rot, for the trees to drop.
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

Where is my Vietnam?

Words and music by Việt Khang.

My Vietnam, I have known you for so long.
Lately I’ve become aware of all your sorrow.
People are hungry and afraid, while hundred miles away,
their leaders pig on pork chops and champagne.

My Vietnam, there is rust upon your star,
and your wealth is with those who are in power.
They have betrayed your mountains and your rivers.
They have all failed you and sold your land away.

Where are you now, my Vietnam?
Where are your daughters and sons?
You must wake up and raise your voice as one.
And though we deal but little strokes, in time we will fell great oaks.
Who’s with me now? Ask “Where where is my, where’s my Vietnam?”

My Vietnam, how many young and brave
must sleep beneath the waves, must fall before the cannons?
On Paracel and Spratly’s bloody shores our name will stand or fall,
a thousand years of darkness still remain.

Our own have invited China in,
they are cowards and lackeys of Beijing.
Where are the heirs to your mountains and your rivers?
They will be here when they hear your call to arms!

So where are you now, my Vietnam?
Where are your daughters and sons?
You must wake up and raise your voice as one.
And though we deal but little strokes, in time we will fell great oaks.
Hold your fist high, together we’ll fight for a new Vietnam.

Oh my Father, I am Joseph

Words by Mahmoud Darwish, music by Pål Moddi Knutsen.

Oh my father, I am Joseph,
one who walks upon the earth.
I am hated by my brothers,
they throw stones and spiteful words.

They have robbed me of my vineyards
and have set my fields afire.
They would rather see me hanging as a saint
than by their side

for I saw eleven stars, the sun and the moon
kneeling before me, my lord.

Oh my father, I am Joseph
just the way you had me made.
Heaven’s birds rest on my shoulders
and the wheat bows my way.
And for being like you made me
they have thrown me in the well.
For the dreams that I’ve had lately
seem too real not to tell

that I saw eleven stars the sun and the moon,
kneeling before me, my lord.

What did I ever do? Did I displease you?
What have I got into and why me?

Tell me what have I done? Did I upset you?
Did I do someone wrong when I said…

OTHER RELEASES

Vær hilset, fru Bjerkås

Words by Harald Lorentzen, music by Ola Bremnes.

Vær hilset, Fru Bjerkaas! Velkommen her nord,
du første Præstinde i Præstelig Chor,
Velkommen Guds ord at prædige!
Hav tak for din Styrke og mandige Mod
At trodse al fordom og rycke ved Rod
Hiint Vilnis, saa Mørket maa viige!

Hvem sagde at Quinden ei duger til Præst?
Hvem sagde: Skomager, du blive ved Læst?
Hvem sagde at Paulus er Frelser?
Hvem var det som bragte oss Frelseren ned?
Hvem var det som sørged’ da Frelseren led?
Hvem var det som salved’ hans Fødder?

Hvem var det som fødte den levende Gud?
Hvem var det som bragte Opstandelsens bud?
Hvem var det som ”gjemte i Hjertet”?
Hvem vidned’ om hvor vi skal sørge og be’?
På Garizin eller i Nordlandets snee?
Hvem var det som bede dig lærte?

Gaa trøstigt til Kaldet og frimodig vær!
Guds Ord maa forkyndes blant Øer og Skjær
Uagtet al Motstand og Hinder!
Dend tid er nu nær da en Biskop på Stand
Ei altid kan siges at være en Mand,
Og Hundretals Præster er’ Quinder!

Nordnorsk julesalme

Words and music by Trygve Hoff.

Velsigna du dag over fjordan. Velsigna du lys over land.
Velsigna de evige ordan om håp og ei utrakt hand.
Verg dette lille du gav oss den dagen du fløtta oss hit.
Så vi kjenne du aldri vil la oss forkomme i armod og slit.

Vi levde med hua i handa men hadde så sterk ei tru
og ett har vi visserlig sanna: vi e hardhausa vi som du.
Nå har vi den hardaste ria. Vi slit med å karre oss frem
mot lyset og adventstida d'e langt sør til Betlehem.

Gud fred over fjellet og åsen. La det gro der vi bygge og bor.
Guds fred over dyran på båsen og ei frossen og karrig jord.
Du ser oss i mørketids-landet du signe med evige ord
husan og fjellet og vannet og folket som leve her nord.

Little by Little

Sometimes it feels like one makes no difference at all.
That no matter what you do, it will always be too small.
But if you just go on and never stop
in the end all the small things will add up.

Little by little, day by day, the sun will melt the winter away.
Little by little is all it takes.
Little by little, day by day, a ripple may grow into a wave.
Little by little is all it takes.

Sometimes it feels like things have never been this bad:
an ocean full of waste, a president gone mad.
Sometimes all you can do is to pretend
that you really believe these wounds can mend.

Little by little, day by day, the sun will melt the winter away.
Little by little is all it takes.
Little by little, day by day, a ripple may grow into a wave.
Little by little is all it takes to make a change.

Maybe you've felt it too? That change is in the air.
If you want to play your part,
it has to start somewhere to start somewhere.

Little by little, day by day, the sun will melt the winter away.
Little by little is all it takes.
Little by little, day by day, the river will wash the bedrock away.
Little by little is all it takes to make a change.