Two songs of loss

I have had occasion to think, in recent times, on two songs of loss. I’ve cried to them before the loss, and I’ve thought of them ruefully after the loss, when I had no tears left. I will analyse them and discourse on them in The Other Place; and I’ll have fun doing it; and that will take the sting out of them. Here, let them stand as they are. This is where I get to cry.

A song of lost love. Τα βεγγαλικά σου μάτια. Your firework eyes. 1995. Lyrics: Michalis Bourboulis. Music: Stamos Semsis. Sung by Giorgos Dalaras:

I lit all the lights. I put on a show.
When love dies, it knows no resurrection.

Your firework eyes shine like phosphorus,
like ships passing through the Bosphorus at night.

You switched off the lights and left, you became invisible.
Mist that the wind took away, in an automated town.

Your firework eyes are a bonfire
and loneliness drips like rain onto the floor.

I am trapped now in your perfume, in your name,
and in your eyes, yes, your cold firework eyes.

Your firework eyes shine like phosphorus,
like ships passing through the Bosphorus at night.

A song of lost friendship. Πεθαμένες καλησπέρες. 1995. Dead Good Evenings. Lyrics & music: Miltiadis Paschalidis. Sung by Dimitris Mitropanos:

We met in the evenings
with sad songs
and with caresses exhausted
by the scars of the day.
Our cigarettes were shared,
the guitar was borrowed.
Our dreams were painted,
in a black and white life.
Now the songs have stopped,
the colours have faded.
Streets and old town squares
have changed their names.

And should I see a friend
I’m terrified he might recognise me.
I don’t feel like hearing
any dead Good Evenings.

You told me everything changes,
scared, and speaking softly,
that what we love the most
hurts us all the more.
You told me everything changes,
it just needs something to set it off.
But your two eyes look like lanterns
in a barren zone.