Ho ld it !
T ha t's a ni ce mo tif for a ball ad.
(Do you rea lIy believe
r
can 't do a ball ad ?)
My ca t def ies dea th ,
but is stretched out now as if she were dead .
But she onl y pretends LO be dead .
Ri ght in front o f her nose sparrows perch and ra ts da nce.
Yet my ca t just stays like thal.
She' ll stay like that fo r a long time, bul. ..
. . . but when th e moonl ess night comes
(the time for killing and remorse)
th e fa ther goes o ut unbullon ed
(j ust as a custom and no t o f necessity)
in his wooden clogs and his clo th ni ghtgown
in LO the yard
(a lpenium, oleanders, box trees, a lake
in the alpenium : a machine gun , automa ti cs (6) and a
transmiller;
in the la ke: a pair of swan s, beer bOlll es (6) and a
rubber crocodil e)
my ca t th en ...
Stop.
r
just wanted to try my voice.
r
just wanted to rehearse my mime.
r
just wanted to be sure my fin gers were good on the keys
of the typewriter.
(I' m fin e.)
T ha t's how in a singing competition on a theme
the ca ts become immo rtal,
eq ual to the ho ly cows,
and th e ibis who is holy, too.
"Why do you sing o f ca ts?"
(The questi on is asked by a dog.)
