大学时期跟我妈去巴黎逛了那几个该逛的美术馆， 就是没有去有启发这首诗的那个， 但随手拿的广告单子里有这副Otto Dix的画的一张小小的图。 不知道是哪里吸引了我， 我一直被这副画吸引着。
当时我混在原创圈里， 和一群比我小的想学习写歌词租了一个QQ群， 我教他们写词。 其中就有根据这副画写歌词：
这是我的版本：
（当时只有另外两个写了， 相比起来比较短）
Otto Dix: Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden 1926
词/
第一幕：
The Journalist Sylvia
By: Yue Yidhna Xing Wang
Thursday, May 9th, 2013 1:12AM
V.O. in German accent: A nobody's words are worth nothing to a girl with everything to hope for.
ACT I:
That girl sitting across from me
What is she thinking about?
The stoic hair deprived of imagination and anticipation
The blissfully resting eyelids
And, I don't know how many cigarettes.
I would suspect her story goes like this:
I would imagine, her dream was once not far from this:
A young girl, not yet awoken by the coming war
The light flowery dress drifting in a wave of the sun
There was excitement awaiting accomplishment and truth in those delightful attires.
It shows, even in your braided hair under that little hat.
Your own breath of living was soaked in a perfume of poetry.
Your future was engraved in an oath for truth.
I am sure, someone have told you it is not right.
What is real, what is the sorrow of the merry pantomime?
You have to believe me, that it is full of flaws.
In lies, you have to live under expected disappointment.
Introduction:
What was she really thinking about?
A dream? The faith by fault?
Or her youth, swimming around in a flight of wind.
Maybe, it was this.
The blood, and the missing arms.
The rain, and the collapsing edifice.
ACT II:
War, yes yes, It must have been war!
Another war to end all war.
To victory before Christmas,
They set foot in the No Man's Land of Sure Death.
How many young voices have been silenced
On the quiet front.
Yes, girl sitting across from me,
How many of your friends joined you
For Christmas.
Did you finally acknowledge the truth?
Your dream and your justice are not at
Mercy under your ink and quill, but
The brutality of the cannons and guns.
War, it awakened you.
Awakened the virgin from her sleep.
Conclusion:
Oh, she's not thinking about anything!
Dream, she has lost it all.
Wind has blown them away.
Everything is inevitable.
Blood, the lost limbs.
The Rain only washed away the bullet shells.
ACT III
The final battle was not to battle.
The final hatred was to give up faith.
Let the butterfly dreams fly.
Lead the wandering life to exile.
Life, you have seen all the cruelty.
Cruelty, you have welcomed the red death.
No more, let my horrid features frighten and enlighten
The yet unconscious.
The screams have already drowned inside my alcohol.
The woman sitting across from me,
The war brought you back.
No, not back to your silly dreams
Your sunshine passion.
Yes, back to the quiet truth,
Truth, that mesmerizing hypnotic drug inside your glass.
The Final Question and Answer:
What was she really thinking about?
A dream? The faith by fault?
Or her youth, swimming around in a flight of wind.
Maybe, it was this.
The blood and the missing arms.
The rain and the collapsing edifice.
Oh, she's not thinking about anything!
Dream, she has lost it all.
Wind has blown them away.
Everything is inevitable.
Blood, the lost limbs.
The Rain, only washed away the bullet shells.
