The Changes Changes - A Randt & Hoisan Production
This is our 20th Collaboration. Based on the poem written by Karima Hoisan
"The Changes Changes"
The changes changes, jingling change in my back pocket,
so shuffle the cards.
Sometimes it seems I was a co-star in this movie before,
when I had my suitcase, and a big bruised ego blocking the door
and each day was a lottery that I didn’t play,
and each minute they never called out my number.
If I had a two, they called out three, and it went on that way.
To state the obvious, I sometimes stand on red and sometimes black
and the little ball goes round, goes round,
and everyone says I’m playing it fine
but I see it stopping… I just see it ending… my bad.
Am I the only one who sees it stopping?..who sees it ending?
Then one and one makes three, and the game is over and I call a cab.
I think the changes changes the billboards and the play,
and along the vacant highway walls, workmen glue a new one up
before they take the other one away.
It begins to look like a collage of some pasted posters present- past,
and the artist wasn’t that good anyway.
Then the shuffle’s in and I’m on the bottom again.
And the Director leaves and no one gives me my lines.
So this show is doomed to play out of town, sporadic, every off -Tuesdays,
and I lost top billing a few weeks back,
and could be out of work and in the streets tomorrow
crouching on the sidewalk gambling with my time.
Because the changes changes everything… I guess it’s all my fault… my bad.
Then one plus one makes three that’s how it adds,
and the game is over and I call a cab.
The changes changes how I see it all,
and what we think is relative, depends upon the flipping of a coin.
Contrary to what we were led to believe, humanity inside a burlap sack?
It makes the sack worth less and I agree,
because that’s an old wise Spanish saying,
but I will take it home with me… every time.
I will nurture scorpions and snakes until my nose is bleeding and my tongue goes numb.
“I'm a fool for love,” I shout it out, while I ride the karma wheel and the little ball goes round, goes round and I think it’s stopping,
but everyone says I’m playing it fine.
Then the changes changes my attitude,
so that it’s hard for me to clearly see.
I don’t see the point.
I don’t see the joke.
I don’t see much hope.
And I don’t see that spirit running around that everyone says
they all see, the one that's very much a part of me.
Then one day,
when I am looking the other way, at dismal sepia-toned memories,
all of a sudden the changes changes everything.
I’m standing on black and and they call out “Black!”
Without buying a lottery ticket, I win. I win anyway.
I inherit a hope chest and it’s filled with hope.
Seems to be my good luck nowadays… so long…goodbye, my bad.
Then one plus one makes two, and I smile your way,
while you open the door for me, in the pouring rain,
and the driver says “Where to? and we share a cab.
The changes changes everything… It changes everything...