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Music World  →  Тексты песен  →  J  →  Japan  →  Дискография  →  Assemblage

Альбом Japan


Assemblage (1981)
1981
1.
Adolescent Sex (Re-Recorded Version)
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
All Tomorrow's Parties (Alternate Version)
9.
10.
. . .


With the sidewalks trading love
As subway lights grow brighter
We're just another hype
But the pressure's getting harder
(get up, get up, get up take it much higher)

All lover's etiquette
Make love on first impression
And adolescent sex with juvenile intentions
(get up, get up, get up take it much higher)

Whatever gets you through the night
Just keep on dancing
Whatever gets you through the night
Just keep on dancing babe

Well the lady buys a thrill
Excitement in succession
But a heartache won't partake
In articulate obsession
Well pretty things at rest
No courtesy surprising
For love is heaven blessed
All catastrophes denying
(get up, get up, get up take it much higher)

Whatever gets you through the night
Just keep on dancing
Whatever gets you through the night
Just keep on dancing babe


Well you're out on the street
With your lover's infections
Count impossibilities by limination
And your body still damp
From your one-room apartment
And your heartache reminds me
Love's xxxxxxx any doubt
You submerge again, emerge again
Just get out the strain

. . .


Just you and me and a Marxist gun
Heaven knows you've got a lot to learn
Fall in love or take your time
Don't you know
You've gotta take your turn
Son, your ambition's way too high
Once you're gone misquoted apathy
Your pacifier broken heart's
So much better than your reverie (you'll ever be)

Well on every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you
Well on every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you

Forget the love
Forget the fun
Can depend on every word I say
Don't take no shit from anyone
Can't accept you right away
Well, don't offend my heart with love
As imitation lovers do
Just motivate your callous heart
Don't you know this time the joke's on you

On every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you
On every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you

Persecution on your hands
Observations of a refugee, oh yeah
Oh making love with one so dear
Emulation of a strategy
Your proposition's way too high
Your criminal connections start, oh yeah
The pressure of your body down
Consummation of a naked heart, yeah

Well on every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you
Well on every state line
I'm workin' on love
I'm workin' on you

Pushin' on, baby
Well on every state line
I'm workin' on love, my love

. . .


Your skin a white stained sensation
Clinical bodies won't do
And as we're pumping, pumping and resisting
Inserting love into you

Communist China
Take me to heaven
Somebody wrong
We'll through glass
In your face
Call it new propaganda
Still we've been waiting for so long

I'll take you out in the moonlight
Oblique horizons won't do
The knife in your fist
Is breaking up the white walls
Here's penetration for you

Communist China
Take me to heaven
Somebody wrong
We'll through glass
In your face
Call it new propaganda
Still we've been waiting for so long

Face to face confrontation
Personal problems for
The conversation is getting far too vicious
Impersonations won't do

Communist China
Take me to heaven
Somebody wrong
We'll through glass
In your face
Call it new propaganda
We've been waiting for

. . .


Standing outside on a kitchen floor
Love utensils in the palm of her hand
Saluting supermarket majorettes
We understand
Oh muzak for digital clocks
Departmental stores, vacate no sound
Exchanging surgical appliances
On hired ground

And love blows through Rhodesia
And love blows through Rhodesia

Soldierettes marching in the parking lot
Bleach your body
Be proof to the fact
Moving out in all directions
And turning back

Oh, heartaches from Amsterdam
Masturbated over jilted bouquets
Approximation's counting on a freight line
We pull away

And love blows through Rhodesia
And love blows through Rhodesia

Oh, Nazis in full attack
Burning niggers in a cotton field
Service stations offer promises
And promises offer me

And love blows through Rhodesia
And love blows through Rhodesia

. . .


Flirting new ambition
Pressure for the ceiling
No vacation on immaculate times
Domestic training
A woman's intuition
A love is churning out on factory lines

Health demanding
Unfit behaviour
Commuters converse in satirical signs
Know no news and no personnel crisis
With new indifferent industrial crimes

Welcome to suburban Berlin
Welcome to suburban Berlin

Love affairs
And endless strategies
I don't believe in a word they said
City limits
No more information
Go follow navigation in your head

Welcome to suburban Berlin
Welcome to suburban Berlin

. . .


There's always something left inside here
I've really nothing much to lose
It seems so sentimental
Why should I care?

Somewhere there's a sound of distant living
Welcome in high society
It seems so artificial
Why should I care?

Oh ho ho
Life can be cruel
Life in Tokyo
Oh ho ho
Life can be cruel
Life in Tokyo

Another vehicle heads for sunset
No other providence will do
They're only buildings and houses
Why should I care

Oh ho ho
Life can be cruel
Life in Tokyo
Oh ho ho
Life can be cruel
Life in Tokyo

. . .


Scurrying across the broadwalk
Some places I tend to forget
The air clings deep in my throat
It's so cold in this luncheonette, well

Somebody wants to know you
An ordinary boy
Somebody wants to know you
A standard polaroid, well

Here I am
European son
Sometimes the passenger
European son
Here I am

Suffragettes in Washington
Disposable serviettes
Searching for the quiet life
There's no love in this luncheonette, well

. . .


And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrow's parties

Where will she go
What shall she do
When midnight comes around

She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door

And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
The silken trimmings of yesterday's gown
To all tomorrow's parties

What shall she do
With Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around

She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door

And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
From whom no-one ever borrows

A blackened shroud
A hand-me-down gown of rags and silks her costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties

. . .


Boys, now the times are changing
The going could get rough
Boys, would that ever cross your mind?
Boys, are you contemplating moving out somewhere?
Boys, will you ever find the time?

Here we are stranded
Somehow it seems the same
Beware, here comes the quiet life again

Boys, now the country's only miles away from here
Boys, do you recognize the signs?
Boys, when these driving hands push against the tracks
Boys, it's too late to wonder why

Here we are stranded
Somehow it seems the same
Beware, here comes the quiet life again

As you turn to leave
Never looking back
Will you think of me?
If you ever, could it ever stop?

. . .


Maybe you want to give me kisses sweet
But only for one night with no repeat
Maybe you'll go away and never call
And a taste of honey is worse than none at all
Oh little girl

In that case I don't want no part
I do believe that would only break my heart
So if you feel like loving me
If you've got that notion
I second that emotion
So if you feel like giving me
A life-time of devotion
I second that emotion

Maybe you think that love will tie you down
And you don't seem to like to hang around
Or maybe you think thot love was made for fools
So it makes you wise to break the rules

I second that emotion
I second that emotion
I second that emotion
(Oh little girl)

. . .


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