Into the River
When I was sixteen, I was told
To shut my mouth until I’m old
A writer, they said, has nothing to tell
Before being fifty and won’t sell
When I grew fifty, people said
You had your life, guy, no regrets
The world by now belongs to the young
The POC, queer, the beaten and hung
Fair enough, I said, just what shall I do
With all my unpublished and overdue
Novels, stage plays, poems and songs
Where in your world do they belong?
For them, they said, there ‘s no more need
You know, all old white men shall bleed
In fact, you, Dylan and Pink Floyd
Are dodderers with hemorrhoids
I understood and at home tried to burn
My stacks of manuscripts, but got to learn
From my own children that this is forbidden
Smoke kills the environment, Dad. So of course I didn’t
I jump into the river
Like an ox reveling in his own blood
For life is more than silver and mud
I jump into the river
And as I see I cannot swim
I sing I sing I sing this hymn
I tried to peddle all of the stuff
But people yelled at me: It’s enough!
Your work is evil and not of worth
Full of strong language and nasty words
In our world we’re nothing but kind
Okay, I said, I leave it all behind
Just tell me, what can I do for my living
They joked: Come back next year at thanksgiving
Maybe we’ll find something to spare
A rotten pumpkin, an apple or pear
When will you accept that you belong to those
Who’ve stolen from others? Man, lower your nose
I consulted my children: When, please, did I steal?
They said: Dad, do you have any wound to heal?
If not, you’re no victim and therefore filthy
For who is no victim, is per se guilty
I see, I answered, I always thought
The fact alone that nobody bought
My literature, at least not for a fair price
Was quite a capital sacrifice
They said: Don’t forget that you enjoyed fame
Which you stole from the better, that is your shame
I said: Pardon, and if I was the better one?
They said: Dad, for this they can charge you, hold on!
All the better, I barked, for that makes me a victim
Oh Dad, they said, what an embarrassing dictum
Just leave and be glad if you’re not persecuted
Others have for much less been muted
I jump into the river
Like an ox reveling in his own blood
For life is more than silver and mud
I jump into the river
And as I see I cannot swim
I sing I sing I sing this hymn
I took my toothbrush and underwear
And left in direction of here or there
Nobody‘s waiting for me anymore
A good rhyme here would be: except for that whore
But I guess the word ‘whore’ is already taboo
And besides, it wouldn’t even be true
Truth is: I’m sitting here, writing this song
And realize, I knew it all along
I never was a child of my time
I always had huge walls to climb
Telling the truth felt as much as a crime
As, after Auschwitz, writing a rhyme
Now I’m confident to leave all behind
And be able to tell what I have in mind
And hope that my children will one day forgive
That I stopped being brave and started to live
I jump into the river
Like an ox reveling in his own blood
For life is more than silver and mud
I jump into the river
And as I see I cannot swim
I sing I sing I sing this hymn
Musik Tim Krohn
Text Tim Krohn
Gesang, Gitarre, Keyboards: Tim Krohn
Kontrabass, Gesang, Xylofon, Zieharmonika: Anna Trauffer
Aufnahmen und Mix: Philipp Schaufelberger
Mastering: André Pousaz
Aufgenommen im Frühling 2024