. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
Dialogue Conana Early Letterman |
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
Dialogue Jerseys Where Its At |
|
. . .
|
|
In the summer all the hikers hike out for the highest peaks
All the children watch the cricket and they never wash for weeks
In the suburbs young protestors write "Black And White Unite"
They're tearing up the streets
I'm half in love with every girl I meet
The gasman loves the street
He loves to drill
He loves to think about his girl
The sun is melting half the street
In the summer all the workers head out for the sandy beach
Stay together in the weather
Entertainment through your grief
Communities of prejudices travel on the train
The upperclass will have to pass the chance up of a kness-up with the gang
Your record profits will buy you an island
There's a jigsaw with a picture, all the country as a map
Hikers hiking, cyclers cycling, if I go I'm not coming back
I'm all in love with all the girls I meet, the hardcore summer kind
Kitchen porters, budding painters, whiskey touring guides
In the rain all your plans will fade
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
Picture a scene in your mind
Looks at all the people and take note of the setting behind
Listen, watch, and wait
A plot begins to take shape
There's a story
And then characters will come to you
Relating events as they choose to
But all their words and actions come entirely from you
If you're a storyteller you might think you're without responsibility
And you can lead your characters anywhere you want
You have immunity
Have you considered the way
People might react to all the things that your characters say?
And are their actions hand in hand with what you wantto portay?
Are you sick?
Are you crippled? Insane?
Expressing the desires that daren't speak their name?
Are you the one to be blamed?
Now you're a storyteller you might think you are without responsability
But in directions, actions and words
Cause and effect
You need consistency
How can you finish the tale?
Lives which have played a part
Are summarised from the very start
And episodes left out to make it all go our way
"It's a might big world
Some of it I've seen
But mostly I've only heard
And stories are all fiction from their moment of birth"
You're just a storyteller
You're not trying to escape responsability
If we believe you then you're succesful
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
I don't want to play football
I don't understand the thrill of the game
I don't want to play football
I don't understand the thrill of the running, catching, throwing
Taking orders from a moron
Grabbing for the sweaty crotches
Getting hit by people I don't know
Sugar, I'd rather play a different sort of game
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
Wandering alone on the ridge of a coast
lost to the world he had known as a boy
He knows his lover lies south in the city
Passing along and sleepy as night
Warm in the woods that conceal him from the light
he is accustomed to hiding from people
Taking his time as the crosses the bridge
Holding the flowers he picked from the ridge
Walking in the shadows to his senorita
Safe in the dawn he gets under the sheets
His Senorita a heavenly sweet soul
That was put there to save and protect him
He knows that time can not endlessly go
Traps will be sat by the people below
She will be caught too and he could not bear it
Hope in the freedom he can almost touch
Folk take for granted as they walk to church
He says his prayers and God listens to him
Sir all I want is a chance to amend
Past infidelities please do not send
Me far away from my wise
Me far away from my wise
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
I'm coming over in the wrong direction
I only want to be the centre of your attention
For long enough to show you I'm worth the trouble that you take
I want to see the way that you portray
A boy who's going to try to change his life today...
I want to see the way that you portray
A boy who maybe doesn't have too much to say
And you can draw your own conclusions
But you'll find I'm not a fake
You can turn away from me
but there's nothing that'll keep me here you know
And you'll never be the city guy
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
I'll make another movie
The same one as the year before
Take a tired idea
Put it in the hands of Hollywood
I need to talk to someone
I've been living someone else's life
I don't get no mail at my house anymore
My manager's bride
I'm sitting on a jet plane
I'll see my baby soon enough
I won't take her to the movie
I'm worried that the lines become all blurred
I couldn't help but feeling something
When the boss told us to act that way
I'm ashamed of my profession
I would do the same again
I'll make another movie
Same one as the year before
I'm looking for a story
Something ludicrous to come up from the street
I won't play another heavyweight
I won't play another big John Shaft
Put me in a frock and leave me to recite
. . .
|
Switch to English 
