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Manic Street Preachers
Manic Street Preachers


Информация
Откуда Blackwood, Caerphilly, Wales, United Kingdom
Жанры Alternative Rock
Britpop
Punk Rock
Годы 1986—н.в.
Лейблы Columbia Records
Сайт Website
Состав
James Dean Bradfield
Nicky Wire
Sean Moore
Бывшие участники
Richey Edwards



Альбом Manic Street Preachers


Know Your Enemy (19.03.2001)
19.03.2001
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. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Show me a wonder
You can't be sure of
I exist in a place
A self-made vacuum
But still stranded here
With all the scum
So clean - so lost - so beautiful

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that home
But I found that soul

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that now
But I found that soul

Not a subject
Not a subject am I
Sick and pale but
Strangely alive
Broken blood vessels
Line my cheeks
Reflections look bad
And somehow unreal

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that home
But I found that soul

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that now
But I found that soul

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that home
But I found that soul

But I found that soul
Yeah I found that now
But I found that soul

Show me a wonder
Show me a wonder
Show me a wonder

. . .


(Lyrics: James Dean Bradfield; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Me-totemo-utsukushi-i-desu-ne,
Totemo-utsukushi-i-me-wo-shitemasu-ne *

It's easy to see, it's easy to see
To see only white where colour should be
It's easy to feel, it's easy to feel
But it's not good enough, even though it's real

Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray
Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray

It's easy to breathe, it's easy to grieve
To breathe only air where life should be
It's easy to laugh, it's easy to cry
To cry so so hard that it can't be denied

Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray
Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray

Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray
Oh, please stay awake
And then we can drink some Ocean Spray


. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Into a vein exhibit the derelict 
A secular mosaic distracted at birth
A Cubist abstraction let it live forever
Narcissim so lonely so live by the sea

What a mess

Cosmetic - polemic 
Distinguished by relics 
Destructive aesthetic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous 

Brutality is needed in capitalist society 
Television abandoned my very entity 
Nature failed me 
But then it made me 
We all pray for pluralist babies 

Cosmetic - polemic 
Distinguished by relics 
Destructive aesthetic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous 

Dismayed - dispossessed 
Life becomes Calvanist 
So sparkle and believe 
Linguistics die easily 

Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 
Intravenous agnostic 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Things get clear when I feel free
When whatever next comes easily
When gentle hands give life to me
When your eyes fill with tiny tears

When I'm this still you are my life
(When I'm this still you are my life)
So at ease in the midnight sky
(So at ease in the midnight sky)
But my insides will look like war
(But my insides will look like war)
Paralysed except through my thought

So why so sad
You live and you love
So why so sad
Dependent on above
Searchin' for the dead sea scrolls
So why, so why so sad

My smile as real as a hyena's
(My smile as real as a hyena's)
Burns an expressway to my skull
(Burns an expressway to my skull)
But I'll stick myself together again
Spirit so low I no longer pretend

So why so sad
You live and you love
So why so sad
Dependent on above
Searchin' for the dead sea scrolls
So why, so why so sad

So why so sad
You live and you love
So why so sad
Dependent on above
Searchin' for the dead sea scrolls
So why, so why so sad
So why, so why so sad
So why, so why so sad

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Where are you now?
Broken up or still around?
The CIA says you're a guilty man 
Will we see the likes of you again?

Can anyone make a difference anymore?
Can anyone write a protest song?
Pinky lefty revolutionary 
Burnt at the stake for 

A voice so pure - a vision so clear 
I've gotta learn to live like you 
Learn to sing like you 

Went to Cuba to meet Castro 
Never got past sleepy Moscow 
A giant man with a heavenly voice 
MK Ultra turned you paranoid 

No passport 'til 1958 
McCarthy poisoned through with hate 
Liberty lost still buried today 
Beneath the lie of the USA 

Say what you want 
Say what you want

A voice so pure - a vision so clear 
I've gotta learn to live like you 
Learn to sing like you 

Now let the Freedom Train come zooming down the track 
Gleaming in the sunlight for white and black 
Not stopping at no stations marked colored nor white 
Just stopping in the fields in the broad daylight 

Stopping in the country in the wide open air 
Where there never was a Jim Crow sign nowhere 
And no lilly-white committees, politicians of note 
Nor poll tax layer through which colored can't vote 

And there won't be no kinda color lines 
The Freedom Train will be yours 
And mine

A voice so pure - a vision so clear 
I've gotta learn to live like you 
Learn to sing like you 

Sing it loud, sing it proud 
I will be heard, I will be found 
Sing it loud, sing it proud 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Detoxification 
Purification 
The ravaged corner 
Cold and embittered 

Run away - run away as fast as you can 
From anything that needs discipline 

The year of purification 
The year of purification 

Deification 
Depopulation 
Crescendo of craving 
Sullen and distorted 

Run away - run away as fast as you can 
From anything that needs discipline 

The year of purification 
The year of 
The year of purification 
The year of purification 

What have I said?
What have I said again?
I regret everything 

Moral little shit-kickers 
Liberal asinine pricks 

Run away - run away as fast as you can 
From anything that needs discipline 

The year of purification 
The year of 
The year of purification 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

I got the Wattsville blues 
I got nothing to lose now baby 
I got the Wattsville blues 
I got nothing to lose now baby 

Time is going on 
Time is leaving me 
I got the Wattsville blues 
I got the Wattsville blues now baby 

But I still love the smile on your face 
But I still love the sense of this place 
I'm so happy I know I can never leave 
Even though my, my brain it fucking bleeds 

I got the Wattsville blues 
I got nothing to lose now baby 
I got the Wattsville blues 
I got nothing to lose 

Time is going on 
And time is killing me 
I got the Wattsville blues 
I got the Wattsville blues now baby 

But I still love the smile on your face 
But I still love the everything about this place 
I'm so happy I know I can never leave 
There's a part of me that will never leave 

But I still love 
But I still love 

But I still love the smile on your face 
But I still love the everything about this place 
I'm so happy I know I can never leave 
Even though my, my brain it fucking bleeds 

I got the Wattsville blues 
I got nothing to lose now baby 
I got the Wattsville blues now baby 
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah 
Wattsville blues 
Wattsville blues 

Don't want no friends 
Don't want no friends 
Don't want no 
Don't want no 
Don't want no friends 
Don't want useless fuckers knocking at my door 
Poxy fucking assholes following me 
Don't you understand that I fucking despise 
Every single living organism?

I'm dead

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Miss Europa disco dancer
Feel the drug of your persona
Miss Europa disco dancer
I'm in heaven when I see ya
Miss Europa disco dancer
Favourite son and favourite daughter
Miss Europa disco dancer
Suck - suck - suck up all of your power

So serene, the world turns blue
Heads are spinning - it feels so good
It's poetry, sheer poetry
The way you destroy your beauty

Miss Europa disco dancer
Brutaly becomes a no hoper
Miss Europa disco dancer
Had your luck and had your chances
Miss Europa disco dancer
I never reached the supernova
Miss Europa disco dancer
Wake up drunk and then fall over

So messed up, the world turns grey
All washed up with debts to pay
It's agony, sheer agony
The way your life just fades away

So serene, the world turns blue
Heads are spinning - it feels so good
It's poetry, sheer poetry
The way you destroy your beauty

So messed up, the world turns grey
All washed up with debts to pay
It's agony, sheer agony
The way your life just fades away

Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers
Braindead motherfuckers

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Dead martyrs 
All stigmartys 
Dead heroes 
For fear of zeroes 

Dead martyrs 
Always take it further 
Dead heroes 
Know no fear 

Living for some happiness 
Find nothing that satisfies 
Had a beginning but it got no end 

Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 

Dead stars are always the blackest 
Dead heroes the living empty 
Dead martyrs hang on forever 
Dead martyrs always take it further 

Living for some happiness 
Find nothing that satisfies 
Had a beginning but it got no end 

Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 

Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 
Just dead stars for dead eyes 
Got no future 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

The nothing in me 
The apostle in me 
No interpretation 
For the heart of me 

I can't see right from my wrong 
I've loved so much that I can't go on 

It's not my life anymore 
Don't speak the truth anymore 
All of the hope and the dreams 
Ripped right open at the seams 

I can't see right from my wrong 
I've loved so much that I can't go on 

Seems like I've lost myself 
To everybody and everything else 
I've lied again today 
People laugh at it all the time 

I can't see right from my wrong 
I've loved so much that I can't go on 

It's not my life anymore 
Don't speak the truth anymore 
All of the hope and the dreams 
Ripped right open at the seams 

I can't see right from my wrong 
I've loved so much that I can't go on 

The nothing in me 

The nothing in me 
The apostle in me 
No interpretation 
For the heart in me 

The nothing in me 
The apostle in me 
The nothing in me 
The apostle in me 


. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

I'm small and I'm tired 
I'm blurred to bits and wired 
I'm nothing in this universe 
Nothing but pieces of dust 

Appearing in more repeats 
The mirror man has seen defeat 
Hide away, be old and grey 
Alfred J. Prufrock would be proud of me 

Keep it together - hold it together 
Keep it together - together 

Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Sleep so heavy that it's out of the question 
Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Wake up and pour myself another ice-breaker 

Going now so happy and so loose 
Making bigger holes in my stomach 
Losing losing split down the middle 
With no end and no beginning 

I'm small and I'm tired 
I'm blurred to bits and wired 
I'm nothing in this universe 
Nothing but pieces of dust 

Keep it together - hold it together 
Keep it together - hold it together 

Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Sleep so heavy that it's out of the question 
Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Wake up and pour myself another ice-breaker 

Keep it together - hold it together 
Keep it together - hold it together 

Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Sleep so heavy that it's out of the question 
Little someone in my own little Guernica 
Wake up and pour myself another ice-breaker 
Ice-breaker 
Ice-breaker 
Ice-breaker 


. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

My bedroom wall recalls what's in my head 
A collage constructed and constantly fed 
Goya mixes Picasso but it's hardly Spain 
Look through the window, pissing down with rain 

Lovely labradors outnumber musicians 
Bonnie and Clyde have made their good intentions 
Pity poor Payne Stewart in a death bubble 
But what a swing and so much bottle 

So I convalesce and I ease the stress 
Cos DNA means does not accept 
So I convalesce and I ease the stress 
Cos DNA means does not accept 

Kleenex kitchen towels and teletext TV 
My favourite inventions of the twentieth century 
Haile Gebrselassie looks so sweet and young 
Eyes quickly shift to Jack Kevorkian 

Uneven and tidal all with exit policies 
Followed by anti-ballistic migraines 
And Brian Warner has a tasty little ass 
Scared of cash machines and the Mardi Gras 

So I convalesce and I ease the stress 
Cos DNA means does not accept 
So I convalesce and I ease the stress 
Cos DNA means does not accept 

Alberto Juanterino unique in his field 
These are the things that, that make you feel 
Klaus Kinski with love off Werner Herzog 
Scream until the war is over 
Scream until the war is over 

Srebrenica cousin of Treblinka 
Scream until the war is over 
War is over 
And Dante's Inferno slides into dismorphia 
So scream until the war is over 

So I convalesce and I ease the stress 
Cos DNA means does not accept 
So I rehabilitate and get my body straight 
Cos nothing fits like it used to fit 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

You've been this way since school 
Dysfunctional, translucent 
Royalty on your wall 
So desperately mundane 

They're inbred baby just like you 
But you'd love the chance to eat their food 
Even though it has been chewed 

Royal correspondent 
Sad and lonely 
Royal correspondent 
Kills her daily 

Dream of the Daily Mail 
It is the Holy Grail 
And then the BBC 
Your life would be complete 

Build a fountain, wash away the poor 
Just as long as your motives are pure 
Hold on tight or you just might lose her 

Royal correspondent 
Wears their Sunday best 
Royal correspondent 
Smarter than the rest 

Royal correspondent 
Smarter than the rest 
Royal correspondent 
Smarter than the rest 

Royal correspondent 
Smarter than the rest 
Royal correspondent 
Smarter than the rest 

Smarter than the rest 


. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

We use ourselves like politicians 
For all the money and indecision - indecision 
Indecision 

Feels like there's no escape 
Except through my hate 
Second hand germ warfare 
Denied oxygen everywhere 

Like a stunned fox - with memory loss 
A sad numb creature - I worship the painkiller 
It is my epicentre 
It is my epicentre 

Non-existent energy adrenalin my God 
Still clinging to the umbilical chord - umbilical chord 
I'm breaking and I'm shaking - so delete the feeling 
Beneath the real thing - delete the feeling - delete the feeling 

Like a stunned fox - with memory loss 
A sad numb creature - I worship the painkiller 
It is my epicentre 
It is my epicentre 

I'm sleeping myself away 
Into the blurred life of yesterday 
I'm tip-tip-a-tapping tip-tip-a-tapping 
My nerves are destroyed 

Feels like there's no escape 
Except through my hate 
Second hand germ warfare 
Denied oxygen everywhere 

Like a stunned fox - with memory loss 
A sad numb creature - I worship the painkiller 
This is my epicentre 
This is my epicentre 

You don't drink - you don't get high 
So make sure you take your medicine boy 
You don't drink - you don't get high 
So make sure you take your medicine boy 

This is my epicentre 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Blockades won't win you more votes 
A Cuban adjustment act 
Offer the world a dream 
Dress it up - it's blackmail 

Internal matter they say 
For two million dollars a day 
Maybe a future in film 
But Cuban boxers still win 

Kidnapped - to the promised land 
The Bay Of Pigs 
Or baby Elian 
Operation - Peter Pan
America 
The Devil's playground 

Baby Elian 
Baby Elian 

Across the unfair divide 
Where black will never meet white 
So read my token lips 
As if they never exist 

You cannot buy a nation 
Not even Miami mob 
We follow a shining path 
That you will never destroy 

Kidnapped - to the promised land 
The Bay Of Pigs 
Or baby Elian 
Operation - Peter Pan 
America 
The Devil's playground 

You don't just sit in a rocking chair 
When you've built a revolution 
You don't just sit in a rocking chair 
When you've built a revolution 

Baby Elian 

. . .


(Lyrics: Nick Jones; Music: James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore)

Liberty, sweet liberty 
Charitable respectability 
Then pacifism killed us all 
For all the tourists on the Berlin wall 
So we protest about human rights 
Worship obesity as our birthright 
But freedom of speech won't feed my children 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 

We love to kiss the Dalai Lama's ass 
Because he is such a holy man 
Free to eat and buy anything 
Free to fuck from Paris to Beijing 

Little boys with dangerous toys 
All bow down to the Beastie Boys 
But freedom of speech won't feed my children 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 

Royalty - hereditery - unelected and becalmed 
Just like Stalin, just like Stalin 
Human and useless 

Bomb the Chinese Embassy 
The west is free, oh the west is free 
Laugh at the hammer and sickle 
It is antique, oh it is antique 

And see the love in Richard Gere's eyes 
JS Pemberton saved our lives 
But freedom of speech won't feed my children 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 
Just brings heart disease and bootleg clothing 

. . .


(Malcom Eden/Gary Baker/Timothy Gane/John Williamson)

There's something wrong somewhere here
So through unclean streets I made my way
With holes in my shoes and my children asleep at my feet
I paid my way

In every town on the way
The people looked grey the buildings looked healthy
But one day I met a man
With money to spare
He said he would tell me how it is

The State he began
Has been propping up people to long
For far to long
We all got lazy and couldn't be bothered
To make our way through the world

But we are all bourgeois now
Once there was class war
But not any longer
Because baby we are all bourgeois now
So go out and make your way in the world
We're free to choose
We're all free to choose
We're all free to choose
We're free to choose

In Booming Britain we all work together
To raise ourselves in the world
Each of us knows someone
Who has done well for themselves
So well for themselves
"Thank you," I said as I left
I'll be on my way, I see how it is

We are all bourgeois now
And somehow I'll raise myself through the world
I'm free to choose
We're all free to choose
We're all free to choose
I'm free to choose

We're all bourgeois now
We're all bourgeois now
We're bourgeois now

. . .


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