Expatriate, that you may call me
Labels, well I've had my share
Mark me a fair weather soldier
The weather's not been quite so fair
Take all your labels and slogans
Burn them and ashes remain
Pack them in empty pop bottles
And send them to pentacott lane
I was born in the heat of Korea
I'll die in the heat of the sun
Fed on the rose of illusion
Whose petals have withered and gone
There's days that I question the motives
There's days that I think I'm quite sane
Take all your petals and mail them
In care of pentacott lane
The streets of this city are silent
The cobblestones spit back the rain
The eyes of shopkeepers are violent
And I sit in sidewalk cafes
Allow me espresso and rosé
If someone should mention my name
Tell them inquiries are welcome
Somewhere in pentacott lane
Tie them all up with a ribbon
And send them
Why don't you send them
|
|
³ ¿ÜÁöÀÎÀ̶ó°í ºÒ¸®±âµµ ÇÏ°í
¿©·¯ °¡Áö ²¿¸®Ç¥¸¦ ´Þ¾Æ¿Ô¾î
³¯ ±âȸ¸¸ ã´Â ±ºÀÎÀ̶ó ÇÏÁö¸¸
ÁÁÀº ±âȸ°¡ ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Íµµ ¾Æ´Ï¾ß
±× ²¿¸®Ç¥¿Í À̸§À»
¸ðµÎ Å¿ö À縸 ³²À¸¸é
ºó À½·á¼ö º´¿¡ ³Ö¾î¼
ÆæŸÄÚÆ® °ñ¸ñÀ¸·Î º¸³»Áà
³ Çѱ¹ÀüÀïÀÌ ÇÑâÀÏ ¶§ ž°í
ÇÞºûÀÌ ÇÑâÀÏ ¶§ Á×À» °Å¾ß
Àå¹Ôºû ȯ»óÀ» ²Þ²Ù¸ç ÀÚ¶úÁö¸¸
±× ²ÉÀÙÀº ½Ãµé¾î ¶³¾îÁ³¾î
ÀÇÁö°¡ ¾àÇØÁö´Â ³¯µµ ÀÖ°í
Á¦Á¤½ÅÀÎ °Í °°Àº ³¯µµ ÀÖ¾î
²ÉÀÙÀ» ¸ðµÎ °¡Á®´Ù
ÆæŸÄÚÆ® °ñ¸ñÀ¸·Î º¸³»Áà
Á¶¿ëÇÑ ÀÌ µµ½ÃÀÇ °Å¸®
ÀÚ°¥±æÀº ºø¹°À» ƨ°Ü³»°í
°¡°Ô ÁÖÀÎÀÇ ´«Ãʸ®´Â ¸Å¼·°í
³ ±æ°¡ Ä«Æä¿¡ ¾É¾Æ ÀÖ¾î
·ÎÁ¦ ¿¡½ºÇÁ·¹¼Ò ÇÑÀÜ ¸¶½Ç Å×´Ï
´©±º°¡ ³» À̸§À» ¾ê±âÇϸé
¿©±â ÆæŸÄÚÆ® °ñ¸ñ¿¡¼±
¾î¶² Áú¹®À̵ç ȯ¿µÇÑ´Ù°í ÇØÁà
¸ðµÎ ¸®º»À¸·Î ¹¾î¼
º¸³»Áà
º¸³»Áà
|