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Текст песни "Black Out On White Night" |
[it was too good to last he thought
might as well have been a dream he thought]
lights are out,
phones are dead,
and I'm the only thing thats running in this city.
except for the clouds,
and man they're coming down.
if I knew my way around
I wouldn't feel so dizz-ay.
where's telly?
nobody can tell me
I don't speak a lick of that language
and got a slippery memory
if I spelled it all out on my arm
only if
but I didn't
so I think get a grip kid
deal with it
baby's waiting for a ring
won't settle for the substitute excuse that's forming
I got a complicated case of escapism
for her I try to rewire my nature
too tired to wake her up
out of that artificial calm she was on
a drug induced future that slipped out of her palms
seductive rain dancer
she thinks I'm water proof
like superman doesn't need a roof over his head
when I come home to roost
I need truth to hold in bed
but I'm seeking salvation in a booth
the phones are dead
and the lights are out
and I'm the only thing living in this ghost town
except for the clouds
and then they're coming down
if I knew my way around by now I'd be bound for home
black out on white night in rome
black out on white night in rome
I know that I'm in love
but I know I'm out of touch
and I know that I get dumb when I can sense something's up
and then I bottom out
european tale spins
scrawling messages out on my pale skin
in hopes they get mailed in
before the ink poisoning takes affect
and it gets smugged because I budged before I let paint set
I get jugded by the ones who have shelter and rain checks
while I trugged through the mud
because this foreign terrain's wet
regain conciousness and lose common sense
the ominious dark skies that lie between me and providence are signs
the obivous answer isn't standing on your face with stilletos on
if you pop the question wrong
every song is a post after thought
I won't grab the chalk to outline my body of work
toe tags get caught in my teeth
'cause my foot is in my mouth
and the spurs are in the words
so my tounge can't dismount
even after our rapport had fully run it's course
couldn't figure out the most heroic time to jump from the horse
and place this old hat for the last time on a coat rack
but I'd donate all my earnings from this race just to know that
resisting urges to go back and get it later
like the milk wouldn't sour itself in the refridgerator
a wet boy in a dry dry state
on an old country road
where tradition has a blind date
I make it dance on it's own grave tonight
with a change of direction by the pale moonlight
and if it needs theme music
i'll break out the bagpipes
and play a tune that a ghost wrote me in a past life that goes like
black out on white night in rome
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