lirik lagu who screamed? – jerome pradon
who screamed?
no one
just a cry in the night
in the dark, in the light
no
it’s nothing
nothing
nothing
it’s just a scream
it’s just a sign of violence
it’s nothing but a scream
that comes to break the silence
the locomotive train
is screeching on the track
the screaming cat in heat
is scratching at the back
the grass you trod on shrieks
the rose you pluck is crying
beneath your careless feet
a microcosm’s dying
who screamed?
no one or almost
it’s a man or a ghost;
it’s no one *
almost nothing
nothing
nothing
it’s just a mother’s cry
surrounded by her children
she sees her man struck down
his body clubbed and beatеn
a sleeping tiger roars;
his dreams are full of ragе
he challenges the night
awaking in his cage
a woman old and shrill
bewails her inner tension
when muggers on her trail
attack and steal her pension
the girl in broad daylight
who runs out shouting, “rape!”
collapsing in the street
obscene and full of hate
the crowds who scream with joy
they laugh and they applaud
to see the fireworks above the esplanade
and then the naked fright
of they who cower sobbing
they raise their arms in prayer
but can’t escape the bombing
who screamed?
no one * close your eyes
close your ears
don’t reply
just play dead and do nothing
nothing
nothing
your reason starts to moan
you give into the madness
so let the children sob
in fear of death and darkness
don’t listen to the cries:
the screams of tortured flesh
or to the souls that rush
head long toward the abyss
in slaughter houses are screams
where blood flows unabated
or where an entire race
was once exterminated
the cries of the insane
trapped in their private bedlam
the screams of mortal wounds
the cry within the bedroom
the bleat of innocence
when naked skin is thrashed
or that of the corrupt
writhing beneath the lash
the counterfeited cries
of a wh0re at her trade
and the forsaken cry
a dying jesus made
a virgin monk’s despair
his faith abruptly failing
who begs and curses god
his cries are unavailing
a prisoner cries out
as he’s ej*cul*ting
on names carved on a wall
beneath a sordid grating
the cry of impotence
the cry of mental anguish
the cry of melody
in a musician’s language
the scream of edward munch
his fame immortalized
echoing silently
beneath the swirling skies
the seagull’s natured cry
drowned by the roaring waves
on finding peace at last
within a watered grave
and i, my precious love
i watch your spreading blood;
the knife here in my hand
and scream, “i don’t understand.”
i don’t understand!
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