Coup d’État is one of those songs I read, and than drag out the original because obviously I must have transcribed it wrong because there are just obviously word missing, at the very least.
And then I see that what is on the screen appears to be as faithful of a transcription as I could manage and I think well, okay, what was going on there? Six years ago. Was I drunk? Or just extremely tired, or was I watching television at the time? The world may never know, I certainly don't. Which is sort of a shame, because I like the first four lines.
Sometimes I think, ah, I'll rewrite these promising fragments some day, give the little enigmatic gems a more fitting setting than the highly variable diary of enforced personal productivity in the context of life in all its disabling vicissitudes. But this is probably not true: barring some unforeseen and dramatic shift in fortunes I give this thing as much time as I can, really. Perhaps more than it deserves, I have trouble deciding, lately.