Wednesday, 2 October 2019

C’est N’est Pas Cher, Man by Alun Buffry (1977)

C’est N’est Pas Cher, Man
Alun Buffry (1977)

Mirhleft is a village grand,
Made of pink rock and yellow sand.

It’s good to lay besides the sea,
Or sit and watch, just you and me,
The sunset or the street outside,
Where nothing changes with the tide.

I dream that we can ride a bike,
Or catch a bus, even hitch-hike,
Up the valleys, over mountains,
In search of rivers deep and magic fountains.

Then I return into this room,
Where all the morn and afternoon,
We can lay and smoke and play,
Yet in this place one has to pay

Five dirhams a gram,
“C’est n’est pas cher, man!”

KATMANDONEIN by Alun Buffry (Nepal 1985)

by Alun Buffry
(Nepal 1985)

Now we've been in Katmandu a while.
Is it just the highness makes us smile?
Is it the atmosphere makes us light?
Or the mountains within our sight?

Lesley reckons people here take bigger steps!
Maybe they are all secret tantric cult adepts?
Anyway you look at it, they're hapy
Even if their ways are sometimes crappy!

How come everything here seems so cheap?
Yet money seems so hard to keep?
Don't seem to spend alot in any place
Just drifting round the city in a space.

Decided to stay here a few more days,
Smoking trying not to get out-hazed.
In the morning here if there is no sun,
Read a local Tantric yoga boo, it could be fun.