• Punk

    WHAT = LIFE

  • Science surely is fascinating, but its pointlessness drove UB Boy to Slumberland. However an empty dreamworld is no safe house. Still 18 Year old UB boy knows his compass. The punk boys and girls, that is where he belongs.

  • September 1981  In a bold dream UB boy sees the Sun shine at night. Wow, that must be a sign he has to come out of his lazy chair and have a nice haircut.

    Play Song

  • September 1981  UB boy’s great-uncle sees UB struggle. He worked his way up himself. He set his brains on studying and gives some perspectives to his sister’s grandson. Anything better than this heartburn is welcome and UB boy settles for comfortable snobbish blazers. Looking down on the bloody heartburn isn’t that bad at all!

    Play Song

  • September 1981  UB boy’s mind wanders to good old times again. He must have been a boy that lived with its eyes closed until now. A boy that hardly takes or gives. At a family party he observes his cousins being so close together. Why doing all the complex thinking if all that cares is being happy together. Back to the Bourgeois way of living. No punk scenes at all.

    Play Song

  • November 1981  It seems no good to keep on trying to blend in with his new schoolmates. You can’t expect them to feel sorry, they don’t understand. UB boy lets them keep on slumbering and stands up himself. He needs to fight and will meet with his own kind soon. Out of the gloom.

    Play Song

  • January 1982  At last UB boy finds a logical answer to life. Since everything = nothing then Life equals Death. Why didn't he see before they're just the same. Now it all makes Sense. A fact UB still trusts and builds on Today.

    Play Song

  • March 13th 1982  Now UB boy has the guts and a round-trip around The Hague takes him to the hairdresser. He now has a nice Mohican look. It shocks his mother and people at school don’t know what to say. Yep in 1982 it takes guts. Anyway he now finds peace to entertain his little brothers. A boy that gives & takes.

    Play Song

  • April 13th 1982  Although his new school is friendly, his old schoolmates became punk one by one. From behind the window UB boy sees one of them. A nice girl he can't reach from behind the glass. Gosh, he wishes he could escape with her to Berlin. The place for punks to be!

    Play Song

  • June 1982  Over the past few years something is strengthening. UB doesn’t know what exactly, but he calls it a quantum. No concrete words to describe it. It is good however.

    Play Song

  • July 1982  To be honest, UB boy actually loathes to constantly hear he doesn’t give and care enough. He is working constantly very hard to be a good citizen. All he can comment to that rude accusation is one word: Altruism. And he’ll repeat that word as long as it needs.

    Play Song

  • What Life = Punk 1981-1982
    Ne soyez pas si ironIQue
    The bloody sun shines bright, the awful sky is white. World turns black, world turns white, nor does it shine at night. Keep on buttering the loo, for I've so much to do. If I just only knew there would be something new. Oh how I'm aware I must change my hair. But no energy there to come out of my chair.

    Being Snobbish
    Lyrics not finished, will follow later…

    Back to Bourgeois
    Silence in this room, the room that isn’t mine. Time is in the atmosphere, I can feel it breathing. Memories of a little boy, a boy that lived his life with his eyes closed until now. And time went by. How I remember now the uncomplicated days. Protected from future, just playing the day. What would it be to have a boy that hardly takes or gives. Halve a year later. Invited at a family birthday-party. Observing the close relationship. Feeling humble, they really must be happy. Crowded in that room, the room that isn’t mine. The answer in the atmosphere. Back to bourgeois is a fact. The awareness off a grown up guy, a guy that tries to live, finally opening his eyes. And time is pausing. How I am aware of the complicated days. Attacked by future, clinging to the day. What would it be to be a guy that dares to give and take. Back to Bourgeois is a fact. A sentimental fact. Picking up the thread after so many years. It feels good however.

    Go to sleep
    Go to sleep, while the others do, while the others talk, talk about you. You. Go to sleep, while the others are, ignoring you. No. They’re no friends. They’re no foes. You ignore. You. Must have friends. Must have foes. Show yourself to those. I wonder what I should be doing here. Expecting someone to feel sorry. The someones that rather keep on slumbering and I’m just waking up. I need to fight. Can’t stop no more! I know mine. Sitting in the same train of calling in vain. They don’t know my name. I. I will meet. Meet quite soon. Out of the gloom.

    Ode to death
    I've been walking this road all my life. Just now I recognize its surroundings. Noticing everyone claiming to walk the right route. And they're right, cause they all lead to death. It's so logical an answer to life. Why didn't I see they're just the same. One point the extremities touch, where everything finds its answer.

    Hair
    Lyrics not finished, will follow later…

    Final memorials to a scene
    I saw you that day, dressed in punk. And made me aware of missing you. My life should have been the same as yours, but I was to leave the scene prematurely. You came into my dream that night. There we met so fragily. My ear on your back I realized it was YOU I was seeking not myself. Berlin, an island. You and I, a couple. Beyond intelligence we’ll live the primitive way. Berlin, the last train. You with Me, a life-line. Beyond the past we start new memories. I bloody know sticking with you would lead me to the outlet I've been waiting for so long now. But as I suppose I'm not the missing link in your life, I'll just consider it a nice dream.

    The rehabilitation of a quantum
    Bowlding, moulding, swelling like grass. Crashing insanities nevertheless. Convulsive movements, CRYING FOR BREATH. Cancerous tumours more or less. The yellow head of the pimple has gulped open. The cure. Nobody cares. Nobody has to.

    Altruism
    Altruism, Altruism...
    Altruism, Altruism...