Igor Zabel's Song

Lyrics

Just after dawn on winter's day, Small brown bird (We'll call him John) Stood on a backroad dreaming of May, Dreaming of springtime And the winter gone. He stood in the path of an oncoming herd Of black and white cows, All heading for home.

Too cold to move, the little brown bird Was still and so quiet, All on his own. As one of the cows passed over him And shit rained down On the top of his head, Its heat began to warm his cold skin. He could see no harm In his cowshit bed Taking a breath, he began his song:

Whistled his brave tune — Territorial code. As he sang his blithe spirit was strong. Meanwhile in the grass At the side of the road, A hungry old cat was making the rounds. Pricked up his ears, His movements slowed, As he saw who was making the sound. In less than two heartbeats, He'd swallowed poor John. Two feathers were left and that is all.

The cat, he was fed But the brown bird was gone. The shit he had made his bird call. The cat was so hungry, Or he'd had preferred His meal less flavored with cowshit. The bird had not heard Endgame's almost last word: (It's no truth but a smartasses wit): "Lorsqu'on est vraiment Dans la merde Il ne reste qu'à chanter" Nuit gravement la santé.

Chronology

• Sighs Trapped by Liars
  • Sandy Yang - vocals

Interpretations

Art & Language mention the song in their piece A Shadow on the Tongue (2019)

C: If you're really in the shit, there's nothing left to do but sing, as [Samuel Beckett's] End Game has it.

A: But Igor Zabel told his story, and then a song that doubts the wisdom of that proverb was sung and recorded.

The quote is also referenced in the title of "Il Ne Reste Qu'a Chanter".

Art & Language contributed the lyrics to the book Continuing Dialogues – A Tribute To Igor Zabel (2008).