CD THE FUNGI KINGDOM

Songtexte

Saint George

Saint George’s mushroom is my name
I grow from Sweden down to Spain
I form fairy rings and get quiet old
Now listen to what I have to say

I am classified as fungi
I even look like a fungi
I would go so far and say
I am the stereotype of a fungi

But here it comes
The whole truth
I smell like I smell like I smell like
a cucumber

When growing in lush grass and fields
My mind had numerous daydreams
I envision gay vegetable gardens
And I ask my kingdom for a pardon

Because here it comes
The whole truth
I wanna be I wanna be I wanna be
a cucumber

Something is not in order
Personality disorder
A strong desire grows in me
to change sex and identity

Because you know
The whole truth
I smell like I smell like I smell like
a cucumber

This is why I wanna be
a cucumber
Please let me become
a cucumber
I want so much to lead the life
of a cucumber

O please o please
Let me slumber
As a cucumber

The Ballad of the Dotted Stem Bolete

I packed my blade / and shouldered my bag
Went up the woods / o what a drag
Under my feet / the branches cracked
Now and then / I lost my track

But it already marked the start of the beginning of the end for the Dotted Stem Bolete

I greeted cows / and saw frogs jump
Crossed many creeks / and mastered many bumps
I ducked my head / under numerous pines
Walked zig-zag / read different signs

And that was the start of the beginning of the end for the Dotted Stem Bolete

Suddenly I saw / him standing there
He looked at me / in great despair
He tried to flee / but did not get far
Cause I quickly caught him / with a jar

And there it was the beginning of the end for the Dotted Stem Bolete

I cut his foot / off of the ground
It was the biggest one / I ever fou
lickety-split / he turned dark blue
So unforeseen / he never knew

So here it was the sudden end of the Dotted Stem Bolete

Morchella

When I first saw you
At the foot of a silver fir
My heart pounded wildly
By the sight of your curves
Your stalk seemed slender
Your head well composed
Your conical appearance
Is what struck me the most

Though grayish in color
A pink dash you wear
Your thin fine ridges
Do shine like a glare

As I touched you gently
I felt your smooth skin
A web of fragile holes
And you are hollow within

Your odor is tempting
From a distant world
Right there in that instant
You made me twirl

Now whenever you are lying
Feathery in my hand
An euphoric sensation
I sway where I stand

I fell for you, Morchella
You are the light of early spring
It’s dark without you, Morchella
And you make me sing:

Caramella… Panzanella… Mortadella…
Frittella… Stracciatella… Mozzarella…
But my heart belongs to honeycombed Morchella

Huitlacoche

el Popocatépetl escupe cenizas
hace un tiempo terrible
la tierra vibra
y los gallos gritan

Mictecacihuatl quería preparar algo para Huitzilipochtli
pero no sabe que
(ella no sabe que)

su hijo le dice:
“Mama, busca en la computadora…”
Mictecacihuatl encuentra una receta con hongos
“¡Ai, pero se hace con las Huitlacoches!
¡Donde las encuentro?!
(¿donde, las encuentra?)

camina en la lluvia al pie del volcán y grita:
„Señor Popocatépetl ayudame, donde encuentro las Huitlacoches??“
la tierra gruñe y una voz muy baja dice:
„por todas partes.“

¿quizas en las montañas, o en el cañon,
podría ser en el bosque?
(¿donde, las encuentra?)

va por el camino antiquo
pero aquí todo está demasiado seco
y ella no las encuentra
(¿donde, las encuentra?)

podría ser encontrarlas en el supermercado
pero no hay frescas
solo en lata
(¿donde, las encuentra?)

desilusionada
vuelve a casa
pasa por una milpa,
de repente:
algo pequeño
algo gris
algo muy feo:

encuentra las Huitlacoches!

se ríe
y llora
y le agradece a Santa Muerte por su suerte

y ella volvió a casa
y preparó las Huitlacoches con gorditas y nopales
(ahora sabe que)

Al Señor Huitzilipochtli
le gustáron
le encantáron
se puso feliz
y Mictecacihuatl – se ríó

Autumn in the Land

When it’s autumn in the land
And the woods are full of fungi
When it’s autumn in the land
And after the rain the sun shines
When it’s autumn in the land
Then all I really know
Is that I truly stand

In the season of the land
In the forests of the land
In the fungi blessed land

The Moral of the Morel

Once there was a morel
Who lived on the edge of a hollow
Rather close to a burrow
Under the limbs of an ash

The morel was odd and lonesome
For it was without a cap
Most certainly because of that
its brethrern turned away

One morning it could no longer
Live with that cruel fate
Bear this brute state
And went looking for a head

In blindness it stumbled
Through leaves and grass
Over a mountain and a pass
Down a forgotten gorge

Once there was a morel who for long had no cap
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?

After days of no fortune
It nearly lost its hope
When suddenly on a slope
It found a wrinkled cap

It tried it on with delight
And it suited the morel well
That no one could tell
It was ever without one

There was once a morel who for long had no cap
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
What’s the moral of the morel?
That’s the moral of this story:
Never leave your house without a hat

Mushroom Man

(I’m a bolete man
I’m a morel man
I’m a milk cap man
I’m a black trumpet man
I’m a yellow foot man
I’m a pig’s ear’s man

I am what I am
I’m a mushroom man
This is a mush room
And we are all mushrooms)

I’m a mushroom man / I do what I can
Just to get those mushrooms, man / in the pan

You are my mushrooms pals
And we do what we can
To find those mushrooms, man
And put them in the pan

We search the woods
We climb the hills
To find the precious goods
That give us thrills

We lift the leaves
We fight the ticks
Fungi are our belief
And we get the kicks

I’m a mushroom man / I do what I can
Just to get those mushrooms, man / in the pan

Hunting mushrooms
Finding mushrooms
Picking mushrooms
Cleaning mushrooms
Cooking mushrooms
Eating mushrooms
Digesting mushrooms

Olé Bolet, Olé Bolet, Olé Olé Bolet

You are my mushrooms pals
And we do what we can
To find those mushrooms, man
And put them in the pan

We search the woods
We climb the hills
To find the precious goods
That give us thrills

We lift the leaves
We fight the ticks
Fungi are our belief
And we get the kicks

I’m a mushroom man / I do what I can
Just to get those mushrooms, man / in the pan

Madame Chanterelle and King Bolete
they are so pretty!!!

Horns of Plenty

It’s been many years now
So long I can hardly remember
Since I last heard the orchestra
Playing its tune in november

I keep on visiting the venue
To look for their kind
But they won’t do the show
it’s not on their minds

For the moment I don’t feel like twenty
I’m still looking for the Horns of Plenty

Between brown beech leaves
They usually blow so deeply
And beguile the forest air
With their power completely

Playing in full formation
They make the earth break
When going with the rhythm
They make the grass shake

It’s been a while since I was twenty
But I still dig the Horns of Plenty

Since the rain doesn’t fall
There’s no concert in november
All that’s left for now
Are memories to remember

I’m sure it won’t take twenty
To hear again the Horns of Plenty

The Fungi Kingdom

Luridiformis sticks his head out from under a spruce
He’s looking at a bright new morning in late july
While next to him Calopus is yawning
Rubbing some spruce needles out of his eyes

„Hey Calopus, what are you doing here?
You’re not allowed to grow on this ground
Go back to where you came from
Don’t look so astounded at me!“

„Luridiformis, you don’t own this land
I’m in mycorrhiza with the spruce
Depend on the substance from this plant
My mycelium is of use“

„Calopus, you may be family
But your cap is pale, cracks with age
Your purple stipe is attractive
Your smell is strong, bitter is your taste“

„Luridiformis, you’re cruel to me!
I’m aware it’s easy for you to say
‘Cause you’re a large, solid fungus
Even when you’re hurt your beauty stays“

Who is the ruler of the fungi kingdom?                                           
And who then, is his queen?
Will the queen ever stand by him?
And will the king be sovereign?                                          

„Not only, Calopus you may know
Have I a coloured stem like yours
My flesh is dense, its smell is bland
Olive greenish-brown are my spores“

„You drive me away, Luridiformis
There’s enough space for both of us!
We could make this a lively place
If only you would trust me as much“

„Calopus, you don’t seem to understand
I want to possess this land for me!
I only allow a queen at my side
I will rule over this territory!“