Альбом Loudon Wainwright III

[Нет текста]

The sad thing is I'm so damn happy.
Who'd blame her if she were to slap me?
The sun should not shine when there's rain,
I should be in a lot more pain,
At least I should feel slightly crappy,
But the sad thing is I'm so damn happy.

And the worst thing is it's so much better.
And that admission would upset her.
But it's true and it's beyond belief,
What I feel is sheer relief,
I may regret the day I met her,
And the worst thing is it's so much better.

It's comic that it's all so tragic.
It's that humdrum novel 'Old Black Magic'.
Let's have a laugh after we cry,
Let's hope we live before we die,
The silly clowns, red noses running,
And it's tragic that it's all so funny.

It's crucial that it doesn't matter.
Vows of love are idle chatter.
To feel this good has to be bad,
I'm so damn happy that it's sad!
Dear listener, would you like to slap me?
And the sad thing is I'm so damn happy.
Yes the sad thing is I'm so damn happy.

Between the forest and the ocean lies a lonely strand
The ocean is your mother, and the forest Fatherland.
You are standing on that empty beach not knowing where to go-o
Out to sea or else inland, your whole life you don't know.

In between the earth and sky there is an atmosphere
Feet on the ground your head up high, but you are stuck right here.
You're in between your whole life long what happens when you di-ie?
Down below is Mother Earth, your father dwells on high.

Honour thy father, and thy mother,
Though they're not the same, and one pits you 'gainst the other,
It's the cruellest game,
You are stuck and you are stranded, you must live until you di-ie.
At home in forest and in ocean, worship earth and sky.
At home in forest and in ocean, worship earth and sky!

[Нет текста]

[Нет текста]

[Нет текста]

You can pull one of my songs right out of thin air.
Go ahead and download me, see if I care!
In love, war, and cyberspace everything's fair,
And it's ok to steal, 'coz it's so nice to share.

You're in luck, 'cos last night it happened again,
I was feeling creative about twenty to ten.
So I sharpened a pencil, then I wore down its end,
And now soon you'll have something to share with your friends.

It took twenty minutes to write down this song,
Tune's public domain, but I didn't do wrong,
I chewed up the pencil, and the eraser's all gone,
Scratched my head and my balls, but it didn't take long.

Songwriting's not so hard, it's well understood,
Anyone can do it, and everyone should,
And I'm sure you could write and sing something as good,
With some balls and a pencil, I'm sure that you would.

A PC's like a crowbar, it's only a tool,
Music flows like water from a big public pool,
But I wanna get paid for my work, but I'm a fool,
Because trading and sharing's so awesome and cool.

I don't mean to be flip, I don't wanna be pat.
And those Metallica guys are all getting too fat!
Free information, yeah, what's wrong with that?
Something for nothing, that's where it's at--

And those moguls run labels, and you call 'em all crooks,
'Cos they crunch the numbers and they cook the books.
But I signed that contract, and I got my hand shook,
Shaking hands with the devil, it's not as bad as it looks.

You can pull one of my songs right out of thin air.
bootleg and download me, just see if I care!
In love, war, and cyberspace everything's fair,
And it's ok to steal, 'coz it's so nice to share.

I'd rather be dreaming than living
Living's just too hard to do
It's chances not choices
Noises not voices
A day's just a thing to get through
Living's just too hard to do

I'd rather be dreaming than talking
There's nothing to hear or to say
With ears covered mouth closed
The world is opposed
Nothing gets in or away
There's nothing to hear or to say

I'd rather be dreaming than thinking
Thoughts are small comfort to me
Dreams might be pretend
But at least dreams end
And I just can't stop thinking you see
Thoughts are small comfort to me

I'd rather be dreaming than sleeping
Just sleeping you're just as well dead
In dreams I can fly
In dreams I don't die
That's why I lie here in this bed
Just sleeping you're just as well dead

I'd rather be dreaming

[Нет текста]

You knew she was in trouble when you saw her bodyguard.
When you saw those two together, you knew it wasn't hard
To see that she was different, not just one of the girls,
With their gliding and their sliding and their pirouettes and twirls.

Then it turned out that she smoked and drank and posed practically nude,
And she didn't smile all of the time, she got angry, and was crude.
No, she wasn't goody-two-skates, like all the other girls,
With their grinning and their spinning and their winning little twirls.

And her childhood was unhappy, and her mom was really weird.
Her husband liked to hit her but it was poverty she feared!
'Cos she grew up in the trailer parks not like most other girls,
With their gliding and their sliding and their whirling little twirls, yeah.

Yes, they all look like princesses, little barbies, to the core.
But she was your parents' worst nightmare: the slut who moved next door.
From the wrong side of the track, she liked the boys more than the girls,
With their gliding and their sliding and their girlish dainty twirls--

And it seemed like she was lying, about what she didn't know,
And then she started crying in the media sideshow,
And in practice she kept falling down more than the other girls!
With their gliding and their sliding and their picture perfect twirls.

And they almost towed her truck way, uh, the whole thing was a drag,
Forget about Campbell Soup and Reebok, Weedy's or the flag,
Huh, there'll be books, she'll make some money, that's what they're after, all these girls,
With their selling, kiss-and-telling, and their twisted little twirls.

So play the National Anthem, stand up proud and tall,
Ooh, we hope that ours don't stumble, and that theirs slip and fall,
Remember Olga Korbut, what happens to these girls?
With their triple-flips and axels, and their somersaults and twirls--

Ice used to be a nice thing, when you laced up figure skates,
Now it's a thing to win a medal on, for the United States,
But once there were no lutzes, axels, pirouettes or twirls,
Just giddy, slipping, sliding, laughing, happy little girls!

[Нет текста]

[Нет текста]

It's not strange, no mystery
You and I are history
I put up my protective wall
It's 4 feet thick and 10 feet tall

10 feet tall and 4 feet thick
Granite, concrete, steel and brick
Protection for you, understand
The little boy, the inner man

Boys kissed the girls
Then made them cry
That's a man's job, that is why
When you cry, you're just a clone
Of every woman I have known

And every Harry, Dick and Tom
Gets all of this shit from his mom
Who was unhappy, mom was sad
Because of a wall that dad had

Once its up it wont come down
And mom's a queen and dad's a clown
It's not strange, no mystery
That you and I are history

It's 4 feet thick and 10 feet tall

When I run into friends of mine I haven't seen in years,
They give me the once over then their eyes well up with tears.
Then they pronounce me 'looking great', I haven't changed a bit,
I flash 'em back a feeble smile: I know I look like shit.

'Cos I saw myself this morning, phew, and I know of what I speak.
I'm a human being, but I look like I reek.
And a weaker bathroom lightbulb just might take care of it,
'Cos the mirror shatters your illusions when you look like shit.

Shit comes in different colours, and consistencies,
I guess that I'm just aging like the finest wines and cheeses.
The guy that's me, who's in my dreams, is twenty-five or six,
I'm old enough to be his dad, how's that for parlour tricks?
Life's a job you're fired from, unless of course you quit,
Gee, I wonder if that old blind guy knows that he looks like shit?

Let's ask him!

'Scuse me? No, over here!

Although I know it's natural, I still can't understand.
Once I looked like a million bucks, now, more like two grand.
We start out with a lot of time, but what happens to it?
Times flies when you fuck around and then you look like shit!

Oh, ain't it the truth, brothers and sisters?

Shit comes in different colours, and consistencies,
'Shit's a gift we make', Freud said, 'here, take mine won't you please?'
Growing old ain't easy, it's a process so they say.
We proceed to our grand finales, every single day.
But dying doesn't worry me, I'm not bothered a bit,
I just don't like the thought of lying there looking like shit!

Living on the side
Of Primrose Hill
Drinking cans of Tennants
Just can't seem to get my fill
Got a beat up guitar
And a dirty old sleeping bag
And this mangy dog
Whose tail don't wag
Sun's been shining down
On my hillside bed
That's not the only reason
My face is so red
This nasty cut on my nose
Is not from no fight
I just fell down yesterday
Or maybe it was last night
And I used to sing and play
Down in the underground
But a few years back
They started cracking down
Now I'm living on the side
Of Primrose Hill
I'm no tourist attraction
But I give them a thrill

Yeah I see you
Riding by on your flash bicycle
Yeah they can do you for that on Primrose Hill
A pretty young mother goes by
She's pushing her pram
Her little baby leans out
Just to see what I am
From the top of the hill
There's a hell of a view
Houses of Parliament and London Zoo
Those politicians all chatter
They trumpet and roar
That must be what those hyenas all
Are laughing for
When you come up to London
It sure is something to see
It's somewhere to go
But it's no place to be
And there's two things
Keeping me from going 'round the bend
I got my music
And this dog for a friend

'Cause life gets slippery
When you're living on the side
Yeah I know I should quit drinking
But I haven't even tried
My mutt's licking my fingers
And I'm wetting my lips
I got a can of extra strong
And a bag of chicken and chips
If I had a little money
I'd get a few things
Like a bottle of vodka
And a pack of new guitar strings
I guess I could die here
On the side of this hill
I'm no tourist attraction
But I'd give them a chill
And I'm living on the side
Of Primrose Hill
Drinking cans of Tennants
Just can't seem to get my fill
Got a beat up guitar
And dirty old sleeping bag
This mangy dog
Whose tail won't wag

If the day off doesn't get you
Then the bad reviewer does.
At least you've been a has-been
And not just a never-was

And you know it's not a mountain
But no mole hill is this big.
And you promise to quit drinking
As you light another cig.

Once again you're in the home stretch
But you're not sure where you live.
You recall a small apartment
And a government you give
Large amounts of money to
So you're allowed to stay
And rest until you're well enough
To leave again and play.

You are making human contact
With the postcards that you send
To the children of your ex-wifes
And a woman, your girlfriend.
Who is living in a city
Thousands of miles away
That is full of young male models,
Not all of whom are gay.

In the meanwhile you've stopped writing songs,
There's nothing left to say.
You'd like to get your old job back
and mow lawns again one day.
But you keep lifting up your left leg
Sticking out your tongue.
There's nothing else that you can do
And you're too old to die young!

Too many beds, too many towns,
Not much to declare zones.
London broils and Tuna Melts on dirty microphones.
While the sound man's falling fast asleep,
The light man's been up for days,
The club owner and arithmetic
Have long since parted ways.

As for the lovely audience,
Tonight they're rather cold.
But they're prepared to listen,
All they have to be is told.

If the day off doesn't get you
Then the bad reviewer does.
At least you've been a has-been
And not just a never-was.

When a ship is sinking and they lower the lifeboats
And hand out the life jackets, the men keep on their coats
The women and the children are the ones who must go first
And the men who try to save their skins are cowards and are cursed

Every man's a captain, men know how to drown
Man the lifeboats if there's room, otherwise go down

And it's the same when there's a war on: it's the men who go to fight
Women and children are civilians, when they're killed it's not right
Men kill men in uniform, its the way war goes
When they run they're cowards, when they stay they are heroes

Every man's a general, men go off to war
The battlefields a man's world, cannon fodders what they're for

It's the men who have the power, it's the men who have the might
And the world's a place of horror because each man thinks he's right
A man's home is his castle so the family let him in
But what's important in that kingdom is the women and the children

A husband and a father, every man's a king
But he's really just a drone, gathers no honey, has no sting
Have pity on the general, the king, and the captain
They know they're expendable, after all they're men