An Orangutan And The Truth (Scratching And Stretching) -Orangutan i Istina
This is how an orangutan who one day played a research in the unsearchable fields of life came to the essence of the existence.
He stood under the treetop of his favourite tree in the banana group and watched a yellowish reflection of newly matured fruits. And he admired them endlessly amazed at the possibility of the yellow.
Then he slowly started to climb. On the first branch he saw the first circles of time and he scratched his head. On the second branch he saw a circled space of the treetop and he scratched his tail. On the third branch pressured by the instinct of manual movement he stretched his arm toward the fruit. On the fourth branch he found out what evolition was. He didn't dare to move forward. But he was eating, he was eating so sweetly and couldn't stop and he told himself that life was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
The sun was setting down and unresearched regions of the treetop were approached by another orangutan who, having been pressured by the same instinct of the manual movement (Hello Marx) , advanced toward the discovery of an ax.
He stood under the same treetop in which the first orangutan was having a jolly good time lulled within great opportunities of the existence. He jumped high and cut the branch on which the first orangutan had been having a jolly good time. Everything would have been different if the ax carrying orangutan hadn't wanted to find out the point. The whole drama of this event was just an experimental attempt at life. Or simply monkey business.
Evo kako je orangutan koji se jednog dana u neistrazenim predjelima zivota igrao istrazivanjem istog dosao do sustine svega postojeceg.
Stao je ispod krosnje omiljenog drveta u banana hordi i posmatrao zuckasti odraz tek sazrelih plodova. I divio se beskrajno zacudjen mogucnoscu zutog.
Onda je lagano poceo da se penje. Na prvoj grani ugledao je prve godove vremena i pocesao se po glavi.
Na drugoj grani ugledao je omedjen prostor krosnje i pocesao se po repu.
Na trecoj grani pritisnut instiktom manualnog kretanja pruzio je ruku ka plodu.
Na cetvrtoj grani je saznao sta je to evolucija. Dalje nije smio da avanzuje. Ali je jeo, jeo slatko nezadrzivo i govorio sebi kako je zivot lijep, beskrajno lijep.
Palo je vece i u neistrazene prostore krosnji dosetao je drugi orangutan koji je pritisnut instiktom manualnog pregnuca (zdravo Markse) uznapredovao do izuma sjekire.
Stao je upravo ispod one krosnje na kojoj se sjajno zabavljao prvi orangutan uljuljkan u velikim mogucnostima egzistencije. Skocio visoko zamahnuo sjekirom i prelomio granu na kojoj je ovaj drijemao. Sve bi bilo sasvim drugacije da orangutan sa sjekirom nije zelio da spozna sustinu. Citava drama ovog dogadjaja zapravo je pokusaj eksperimenta sa zivotom. Ili prosto majmunska posla.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Mysteries
All last night I kept speaking in this
archaic language, because I had been reading
Poe and thinking about him. I read 'The Murders
in the Rue Morgue' which is supposedly the first
detective story. Who dun it? I wondered.
It turns out an orangutan was the murderer.
It looks to me like the detective story genre got off
to a pretty ridiculous start. I used to visit
Poe's house in the Bronx. I used to think,
God, Poe must have been a midget. Everything
is so small. Poe died in Baltimore and I can see why.
In Baltimore, all the people are very big and sincere.
During dinner last night, I told Doug and Susan
about 'Murders in the Rue Morgue.' I said I hadn't
finished it yet, but it looked like the murderer
was going to turn out to be an orangutan, unless
the plot took a surprising new twist. Then Doug
suggested that he and I collaborate
on a series of detective stories in which
the murderer is always an orangutan.
[from The Great Indoors, Story Line Press, 1995]
http://www.terencewinch.com
poem by Terence Winch
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The majority of husbands remind me of an orangutan trying to play the violin.
orangutan
and us watch each other
did an alien separate us?
quote by by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Pedro....
the seven year old
orangutan
takes the grape from
the fat woman's lips
barely 18,
perhaps her wish
is to see Pedro turn
into a real man
so he can have her
for dinner.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I Was A Tree / Kad Sam Bila Drvo
Dusk beside the willows
I was standing in the light
A sunward hope wrote
Circles of time around my neck
When I was a tree
A deeply rooted curled hope of growth
Knitted a net of the beginning
There was a trunk under a rough core
The hairs drank the water of dawn
Bare boughs nested a prayer
When I was a tree
I was standing still
And all the movements
Were within me
A birds flight around my treetop
An aureole of the sun beyond
Two things I found out
I cannot sing a tree unless I’m a tree
And
There’s no tree unless I sing it
Kad sam bila drvo
Primrak pokraj breza
Stajala sam svjetlost
Pod dodirom obamrla nada
Putanjom sunca biljezila
Godove vremena na mom vratu
Kad sam bila drvo
Duboko u korjenu
Sklupcana snaga rasta
Plela je mrezu pocetka
Pod hrapavom korom stablo
Zilama upilo svu vodu svitanja
U golom granju gnijezdila se molitva
Kad sam bila drvo
Stajala sam nepomicno
A sva su kretanja bila u meni
Let ptice oko moje krosnje
Oreol sunca visoko iznad
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When I was a tree
within the twiligth beside the willows
I stood the light
with the hope almost dying
under the fingertips
I marked by a sunbeam path
the circles of time around my neck
when I was a tree
deep down in the root
the strength of my growth was squatted
it weaved the web of a beginning
under a rough core the trunk
sucked in all the water of a dawn
within the bare boughs there nested
a prayer of mine for the end
the leaves like mirrors reflected the sky
when I was a tree
I stood motionless
and all the movements were there within
the flight of a bird around my treetop
an aureole of the sun high up
the piercing of the wind through the boughs
all the penetrations deep into the ground
when I was a tree
within the twilight beside the willows
all I stood was the light
and I knew
I cannot sing a tree unless I am a tree
and there is no tree unless I sing it
kad sam bila drvo
u primraku pokraj breza
stajala sam svjetlost
pod dodirom obamrla nada
putanjom sunca bilježila
godove vremena na mom vratu
kad sam bila drvo
duboku u korijenju
sklupčana snaga rasta
plela je mrežu početka
pod hrapavom korom stablo
žilama upilu svu vodu svitanja
u golom granju gnijezdila se
molitva moja za kraj
a lišće kao ogledala
presijava nebo
kad sam bila drvo
stajala sam nepomično
a sva su kretanja bila u meni
let ptice oko moje krošnje
oreol sunca visoko iznad
probijanje vjetra kroz granje
sva poniranja duboko u zemlju
kad sam bila drvo
u sumraku pored breza
stajala sam samo svjetlost
i znala
ne mogu pjevati drvo ako nisam drvo
i nema drveta osim ako ga ne ispjevam
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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A discovery/Otkrice
From behind all the twilights and evening shadows
Under all the covers
And you who do the night rims vigils
Under all sand clocks
And far from those who chase
The windmills of their won restlessness
From behind all the silences hidden within themselves
From behind all the words hidden within themselves
That we were silent with
I took out a flame a fire of the being
It's not the doors locked by the mind
It's not by the mind
Those are not the loves plundered by a heart
Those are not the creatures dried out by the heart
It's not the heart hunt but it's with the heart
It's you and I
And she and he
Those breathings there and these breathings here
That breathe in life everywhere and forever
And they are never now
Oh if we were now how could we be
Otkrice
Iza svih sutona i vecernjih sjenki
Ispod svih pokrivaca
I vas nocobdija okorjele noci
Ispod svih pješcanih satova
I dalje od onih što ganjaju
Vjetrenjace sopstvenih nemira
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih cutanja
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih rijeci kojima smo cutali
Izvukla sam plamen
Oganj samog bice
To nisu umom zakljucana vrata
To nije umom
To nisu srcem poharane ljubavi
To nisu srcem ispijena bica
To nije lov srca no srcem je
To smo ti i ja
I ona tamo i ova ovdje disanja
Što životom dišu svugdje i zauvijek
I nikada u sada
O da smo sada kako bismo bili
1995.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I was not born because you died
I was not born because you died
And I'm not the dawn
because you wanted to be the twilight
And I'm not a stone statue
You keep circling about
The way the mist spins around a treetop
Because a treetop is the map without a city
You are looking for
Each bough leads back to its root
In watered shadows foretold
Because a treetop is a barren autumn lightning
Burning the skylinks of earth hooks pinned on leaves
Except that the treetop it wants to stay and grow
Don't think I've got leaves because you pruned me
Or that the green is the colour of an ever life
I was not born because you died
And I'm not the light because you chose your dark
And I'm not the hope because you leave things hopeless
I'm neither your failure nor your success
And you cannot teach me because you know it all
Because you know better than that
Because there's no knowledge except for the heart
Eager to love and not play on oppositions
Spitting everybody's ‘but' flaws difference rising
I was not born because you died
I don't owe you anything
And my life I owe to Love
That will embrace us both
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Treetop Flyer
[transcribed by sean c]
By stephen stills(? )
I could be a rambler from the seven dials
I dont pay taxes cause I never file
I dont do bidness that dont make me smile
I love my aeroplane cause shes got style
Im a treetop flyer
Treetop flyer
I fly any cargo that you can pay to run
The bush league pilots, they just cant get the job done
Youve got to fly down the canyon, dont never see the sun
Theres no such thing as an easy run
Im a treetop flyer
Treetop flyer
I fly low, Im in high demand
Go 15 feet over the rio grande
I blow the mesquite right up off the sand
Im seldon seen, specially when I land
Im a treetop flyer
Born survivor
Now people been askin me whered you learn to fly that way
Was over in vietnam, chasin the nva
The government taught me, and they taught me right
Stay down below the treeline and youll be alright
Im a treetop flyer
Born survivor
So Im comin home, Im runnin low and fast
Promised my woman this is gonna be my last
I get the ship down, I tie her fast
And then some old boy wakes up, and he says, hey son,
Wanna make some fast cash?
Im a treetop flyer
Well theres things I am
And theres things I am not
Yes Im a smuggler and I could get shot
I aint gonna die, I aint going to get caught
You see Im a flying fool, and this aeroplane is, whoo, hot
Im a treetop flyer
Born survivor
Workin alone
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Treetop School For Boys
Heres the town in which I live petunia green
Heres the shop and heres the man who sold me laces for my shoes
There is mr.marcus. boys they say hes mad
heres the battle that they won silver treetop school for boys
Early days were good as gold
An apple here an apple there
And everywhere a yes sir, no sir
They made me roll the cricket pitch once a day
Ive never been so happy than at silver treetop school for boys
The mowing machine was leaving small piles of grass
That when the ? ? ? had risen to the pipe of mr.marcus
The smell of teaching fell upon the cricket field
Smiling, laughing, rolling about at silver treetop school for boys.
Hey there
They call in the staff room
They call in the canteen
Hey come and look at what I found
I found some boys and masters sitting
On the cricket ground at silver treetop school for boys
The english master, sir, he wores a purple mask
And the head, was usually sad, was swinging from a tree
Mr.brown the physics man is off his head
And everyone just loves the grass at silver treetop school for boys
Lalalalalalala lalala lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Someone Not You/Neko Ko Nije Ti
someone not you
someone not me
someone not us
someone long ago
somewhere quite close
they weaved the curse
someone long ago
somewhere quite close
they dug a grave
someone not you
someone not me
they know
who that was
who within us
slapped the dawn
neko ko nije ti
neko ko nije ja
neki koji nisu mi
neko nekada davno
negdje sasvim blizu nas
ispleo je kob
neko nekada davno
negdje sasvim blizu nas
kopao je grob
neko ko nije ti
neko ko nije ja
zna
ko su ti
koji su u nama
osamarili svitanje
1993.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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That's not it-To nije to
Excuse me sir
You look like someone I've met before
And I am sure it is like that
I'm sure everyone has met everyone before
In what's called preceding lives
Do you believe in that sir
I mean those karmas
Moving along cyclic zodiacs
Made of illiterate stars
Sounds quite familiar to me
A life through trials and errors
I think sir
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
(Do not worry you don't have to give me any
Of your monthly revenue
I am not that kind of a beggar)
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
And look at those divinely entangled lines
So cryptic
That are supposed to determine my fate
I think there's got to be some mistake there
That they are not there to determine me
But to tell me that this palm belongs to me only
That I am just like you sir
A creature born once a creature divine
Unrepeatable and free
For most when I outstretch the palm of my hand
To see my own geometry of the universe
Or to turn it into a fist
To strike the face of Fortune
Then I think sir
For sure we've all met before
In the faces of Adam and Eve
Hitting their foreheads against the ground
Once they vaguely hinted the Heaven is perhaps
Nothing but a wholeness of a soul in unity with its Creator
And Hell the lack of the same thing
Yes I am sure we've met before
In the face of Christ crucified on the cross
That redeemed us through his blood
For a dream in which an Idiot
Will not have to find a compartment
In which he would, with a roomful of thoughts
In his head just like me right now,
He would not have to repeat
That's not it that's not it until he cannot
Thinking perhaps about those marbles of lifeful life
Whose glimmer fades away once they break out on the surface
To dry in the fire of their own eyes
Thinking that's not it that's not it
Meaning perhaps those insipid theories
Endlessly talked about in a leisure
Of some nice first class trains
Journey through Switzerland
Theories endlessly repeated at some nice
Comfortable places just on a pass by through life
In a conversation with an art dealer
Theories made official through some nicely polished clear expression
So clear that one could die of clarity
And nothing would be said about an idiot
Sir we look so far away
So far away from Adam that's been met before lying in our bones
The way the trains suicidely lie on the rails of expulsion
So far away from Eve and her snake
Winding like a steam of a train
Of a great invention that has perhaps only been brained out
So that an Idiot in a first class train
Travelling through Switzerland
Could keep repeating that's not it that's not it
We look so far away from them
And still keep hitting our foreheads against the ground
That's not it that's not it sir
Sorry for stopping you
What I actually wanted to ask you is
Which street we're in
And if you know what my name is
And if it's ever too late to know ourselves
(Note: Idiot, a novel by Fjodor Michailowitsch Dostojewski)
To nije to
Izvinite gospodine
Izgledate kao neko koga sam vec srela
I sigurno je tako
Sigurno smo sreli
U onome što zovu prethodnim životima
Vjerujete li vi u to
Mislim u te karme
Što se krecu po ciklicnim zodijacima
Nastalih od nepismenih zvijezda
Jedan zivot putem pokušaja i pogrešaka
Zvuci mi sasvim poznato
Mislim gospodine
To znate kada ispružim dlan
(ne brinite nista ne morate da mi date
Od svog mjesecnog prihoda
Ja nisam takva prosjakinja
Kada ispružim dlan
I pogledam sve te linije
Božanstveno isprepletene i kripticne
Koje treba da mi odrede sudbinu
Mislim da tu postoji neka greška
Da one nisu tu da me odrede
Vec da mi kažu da ovaj dlan
Pripada samo meni
Da sam kao i vi gospodine
Jednom rodena božanska
Neponovljiva i slobodna licnost
I to najviše onda kada ispružim dlan
Da vidim sopstvenu geometriju svemira
Ili kada ga stisnem u pesnicu
Ne bih li zadala udarac Fortuni
Ja mislim gospodine
Da sasvim sigurno svi smo se vec negdje sreli
U licu Adama i Eve što lupaju celom u zemlju
Kad naslutili su da raj možda nije ništa drugo
Do cjelovitost duše sa njenim Tvorcem
A pakao nedostatak iste
Da sasvim sigurno
Svi smo se vec jednom sreli
U licu Hrista raspetog na krstu
Što krvlju nas svojom uvijek iznova iskupljuje
Za san u kome jedan Idiot
Nece morati da pronadje kupe
U kom bi sa punom sobom misli
Baš kao ja sad do iznemoglosti ponavljao
To nije to to nije to
Misleci možda na rijeci klikere živog života
Što gube sjaj kada isplivaju na površinu
Da se suše u vatri sopstvenih ociju
Misleci na to nije to to nije to
Misleci možda na ucmale teorije života
Što se ispredaju dokono u finim vozovima
Prve klase u prolazu kroz Švajcarsku
I ponavljaju sve po nekim finim udobnim mjestima
U prolazu kroz život
U razgovoru sa trgovcem umjetnickih djela
Ozvanicene putem nekog finog ispoliranog jasnog izraza
Toliko jasnog da ce da se umre od razgovjetnosti
A ništa o Idiotu nece reci
Kako smo daleko gospodine
Kako smo daleko od tog Adama
Što sretosmo ga ranije u kosti nam ulego
Onako kao vozovi samoubilacki leže
Na šinama izgnanosti
Daleko od te Eve i njene zmije
Što se izvija kao para voza
Velikog izuma
Koji je možda izmozgan samo da jedan Idiot
U finom vozu prve klase na putovanju kroz Švajcarsku
Tiho ponavljao to nije to to nije to
Kako samo izgledamo daleko od njih
A i dalje lupamo celom o zemlju
To nije to to nije to gospodine
Izvinite što sam vas zaustavila
U stvari sam samo htjela da vas pitam
U kojoj sam sada ulici
Dali možda znate kako se zovem
I dali je ikada kasno da spoznamo sebe
Napomena: Idiot, roman Fjodora Mihailovica Dostojevskog
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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My Uncomfortable Skin
I observe Rajang,
Enclosed in space,
Rugged Orangutan,
Face to face.
Nonchalantly you inspect,
Stroll towards myself,
We reflect.
Gazing deep, searching souls inner,
Your so beautiful
And me...I'm the sinner.
Inwardly I apologise,
Through embarrassed eyes,
That I am here
Free in.. humane,
Useless thoughts.... in vain.
Audience akin
Your rusted fur
My uncomfortable skin.
Hatred for my peers,
Thirty-nine years wasted yet you amaze,
Attentive gaze,
Foraging stare... so aware,
Soul searching.
For you are the wise old man of Borneo,
Majestic aura, emotions I'll never know,
Yet you and I stand opposed at your enclosure,
Questioning each others composure.
Hands splayed, touch mentally through glass,
Clinically cool, my breaths, I gasp.
Deeply now we analyse,
Through moment shared, emphatically I apologise.
As I am affected, beyond belief
Benevolent thoughts, whilst I bereif.
'I'm so sorry' I whisper
Adding a smear,
Warm breath, cold glass
... Followed by a tear.
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Broke In Two
You said something before you left
Something I was not to forget
Then
Is when i maybe should have wrote it down
But when I looked around to find a pen
And then I tried to think of what you said
We broke in two
Busted through
Broke in two
I would go back to the top of the day from scratch
If I thought that this thing could be fixed
Though sadly I'd do exactly the same thing as when
We broke in two
Busted through
Broke in two
You said "I'm gonna run you down"
I heard "I'm an orangutan"
Then
Is when i maybe should have wrote it down
But when I looked around to find a pen
And then I tried to think of what you said
We broke in two
Busted through
Broke in two
I would go back to the top of the day from scratch
If I thought that this thing could be fixed
Though sadly I'd do exactly the same thing as when
We broke in two
Busted through
Broke in two
I'm an orang-utan
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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African Night Flight
African nightmare one-time mormon
More men fall in hullabaloo men
I slide to the nearest bar
Undermine chairman I went too far
Bent on a windfall rent a sony
Wonder how the dollar went down
Gotta get a word to elizabeths father
Hey no, he wished me well
Seemed like another day
I could fly into the eye of God on high
His burning eye will see me through
(one of these days, one of these days got get work through one of these days)
His burning eye will see me through
(one of these days, one of these days, got get work through one of these days)
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Getting in mood for a mombassa night flight
Pushing my luck, gonna fly like a mad thing
Bare strip takeoff skimming over rhino
Born in slumber less than peace
Struggle with a child whose screaming dreaming
Drowned by the props all steely sunshine
Sick of you, sick of me
Lust for the free life
Quashed and maimed
Like a valuable loved one
Left unnamed
Seemed like another day
I could fly into the eye of God on high
Seemed like another day
I could fly into the eye of God on high
Over the bushland over the trees
Wise like orangutan that was me
His burning eye will see me through
(one of these days, one of these days got get work through one of these days)
His burning eye will see me through
(one of these days, one of these days, got get work through one of these days)
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti nabana nabana
Asanti habari habari
Asanti
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Matrix/Matrica
I have a knowledge of order that will not deny me
In the shaking fences of Maria denials
Conceived in rebellion ending in mercy
Because nothing has stood on the night assembly line
To be merely a morning awakening and a step halted
In time accounts self subtracted
Hours dripping self added
In the moment endlessly divided
And the moment endlessly multiplied
I'm removing the layers - Zenon-like, unmovable ones
A frozenness forever thrown into the ashes
Is looking for its countenance in vain
Because I know time is just a mask of a woman
With the face of the ploughed fields
And a pendulum X- ray discovered
Of her head grown within numbers
Because nothing can stand on a matrix
That reconciles statis and division ability
Without a thin layer of an apparent generation
Being thrown down the feet in the walk of her hours
Matrica
Ja poznajem poredak koji me nece poreci
U poljuljanim ogradama Marije poricanja
Pobunom zaceta milošcu zaceta
Jer još ništa nije stalo na pokretne trake noci
Da jutrom bi bilo tek budjenje i korak zaustavljen
U racunu vremena od sebe oduzetog
U kapljanju sati u sebi sabranom
U trenu beskrajno djeljivom
I trenu beskrajno umnoženom
Ja skidam slojeve zenonovski nepokretne
Ukocenost zauvijek bacena u pepeo
Uzalud traga za svojim likom
Jer znam vrijeme je maska žene
Sa licem uzoranih njiva
I klatnom otkrivenim na rendgen snimku
Njene glave urasle u brojeve
Jer na matrici koja miri statis i djeljivost
Ništa više ne može stati
A da se pri tom tanka skrama prividnog nastanka
Ne surva niz stope gazom njenih sati
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Branches In Time
A young tender
branch
is easily bent
into submission.
As time goes
by
maturity begins
to set in
the branch
grows stronger.
With each passing
day
she becomes able to
carry the leaves
attached
Until one day
raising her arms
high into the sky
a mature branch
emerges
refusing to bend
anymore.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Proudest Monkey
Swing in this tree
Oh I am bounce around so well
Branch to branch,
Limb to limb you see
All in a days dream
Im stuck
Like the other monkeys here
I am a humble monkey
Sitting up in here again
But then came the day
I climbed out of these safe limbs
Ventured away
Walking tall, head high up and singing
I went to the city
Car horns, corners and the gritty
Now I am the proudest monkey youve ever seen
Monkey see, monkey do
Then comes the day
Staring at myself I turn to question me
I wonder do I want the simple, simple life that I once lived in well
Oh things were quiet then
In a way they were the better days
But now I am the proudest monkey youve ever seen
Monkey see, monkey do
Monkey see, monkey do
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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