love is a dog from hell

• müthiş mi müthiş bir the limousines şarkısı. bir ay önce yayınlanan klibi ise daha da bir müthiş. dinleyelim abidin.
  
  buradan buyrun: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwzc230gnhk
  
  i remember kissing you back then
  we cupped our cigarettes against the wind
  and when the rain began to fall
  we pressed ourselves against the wall
  in two square feet of heaven all our own
  i said what should we do
  you said we could do anything you want to
  you said what should we do
  i said we could do anything we want to
  but we gotta be careful because
  love is a dog from hell
  
  i remember kissing you again
  you pressed your pretty lips against my skin
  and when the dawn began to break
  we stood there naked, face to face
  you promised you would never leave me alone
  
  you said what should we do
  i said we could do anything we want to
  i said what could we do
  you said we could do anything we want to
  but love is a dog from hell
  
  sometimes i feel like a runaway
  oh, god, i feel like a runaway
  sometimes i'm scared you could runaway
  oh, darling, please don't run away
  
  darling, don't run away...
  
  i'll remember kissing you
  i'll remember kissing you
  i'll remember kissing you forever
• charles bukowski'nin 1974-1977 yılları arasında yazdığı şiirlerden oluşan kitaptır.
  
  sanırım bizde direkt olarak bir eşdeğer basımı yok veya ben bulamadım.belki bizde basılan şiir kitaplarında bu kitaptaki şiirlerine yer verilmiştir.
  
  şöyle de değişik bir kapağa sahiptir.
  
  link
• the limousines'in gerçek olamayacak kadar güzel bir şarkısı. ne yaptıysam benzer tınıda başka bir şarkı daha bulamadım, nedir bunun türü acep
• an almost made up poem
  
  ı see you drinking at a fountain
  with tiny blue hands,
  no, your hands are not tiny they are small,
  and the fountain is in france
  where you wrote me that last letter
  and ı answered and never heard from you again.
  you used to write insane poems about angels and god,
  all in upper case, and you knew famous artists and most of them were your lovers, and ı wrote back, it’s all right, go ahead, enter their lives,
  ı’m not jealous because we’ve never met.
  we got close once in new orleans,
  one half block, but never met, never touched.
  so you went with the famous and wrote about the famous, and,
  of course,
  what you found out is that the famous are worried about their fame—not the beautiful young girl in bed with them, who gives them that,
  and then awakens in the morning to write upper case poems about angels and god.
  we know god is dead, they’ve told us,
  but listening to you ı wasn’t sure.
  maybe it was the upper case.
  you were one of the best female poets and ı told the publishers, editors, “print her, print her, she’s mad but she’s magic.
  there’s no lie in her fire.” ı loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.
  ı would have loved you more if ı had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’t happen.
  your letters got sadder.
  your lovers betrayed you.
  kid, ı wrote back, all lovers betray.
  it didn’t help. you said