Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants. I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want. I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat when I saw her framed in the kitchen door. She looked good enough to eat. (And I mean eat.) She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl. She said, Whose is this carry-out? My face turned chilli red. Well, I don't know about carrying out, but you can carry me off to bed. (And I mean bed.) She was a tall thin girl. She moved like a tall thin girl. Maybe I can fetch for it, and maybe I can stretch for it.
I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground. This girl was tall. (And I mean tall.)
Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot, if you know just what I mean. Stands six foot three in his underwear; going to get him down here and see if this good lady's got a little sister 'bout the same size as me. She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl. Well, can I fetch for it? Well, maybe I can stretch for it? Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?
I've been treated for mild depression and I've been treated for growing pains. I've been treated for hallucinations; now I can see it all coming again. Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down. You can dig a little, and you can mess me around. But there's one thing I should tell you, to which you must agree: There's no use you playing doctor to my disease. Said it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
I got no cure for this condition that you've been causing me tonight. Well, you put my heart in overdrive: hand me the bullet I must bite. You can stir me up and you can cut me down. You can probe a little, push that knife around. But there's one thing I should tell you, to which you must agree: It's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Do you have to break my engine so you can fix it up again? Tuned to crazy imperfection just to score me out of ten. Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down. You can dig a little. Yeah, you can mess me around. But there's one thing I should tell you, to which you must agree: That it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
It's a lonely life I live and I live this life to go and if I leave you with one thing it's just that I want you to know I'll still be loving you tonight.
I left flowers on your table, left the lock on your door. Staked a claim in your heartlands, put grain in your store. I'll still be loving you tonight. Got fingers on the button of that telephone dial. Call in and move your mountains, fill your spaces while I'm still loving you tonight.
You want to know how I can leave you? How can I move along this way? Too much of a good thing can make you crazy and it's a good thing that happened to me today. I'll still be loving you tonight.
All of you sit up in bed. Don't think in straight lines ahead. Can't sleep? Head spin? Don't think in circles, it'll do you in. Think back to the dream you had; no sense of being good or bad. Jump to the left, jump to the right. Think round corners into night.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains. Draw strength from machinery, it's al] the same. Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Pretty girl with neon eyes: best man between white thighs. Bridegroom didn't know a thing: got his love in lights, she wears two rings. Think back to that dream you had. Blue boy sorry, pink girl sad. Yellow cow, big-eyed moon all coming round the corner soon.
Let's stand in rapids: cling to carnivals. Spit life from the maypole in savage ceremony. Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains. Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same. Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Paper cowboys, tin drums banging where the white man comes. Landowners with whips and chains but soft in bed amidst warm rains. Thinking back to the dream they had. Jack and Jill. Jack the lad. Homestead. Home free. How about leaving some for me?
Let's bathe in malt whisky: covet gold finery through the eyes of a Jackdaw, dressed to the nines. Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains. Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same. Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say. Thinking round corners.
You want to be a bookworm? You wanna be aloof? You wanna sit in judgement, looking down from the roof? Try a wee sensation: but first you have to want to join in. You should be, should be raging down the freeway with some friends from the mall. Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
So dress a little dangerous and modify your walk. There's nothing wrong with sparrows, but try to be a sparrowhawk. Hunting in the evening and floating in the heat in the day. You might, might acquire some predatory instinct. Do the wolf pack crawl. Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
Well, I don't want to be your daddy. Don't want to be your engineer of sin. And I don't want to play the piper here. I'm only banging on a mandolin and anyway, you're just a little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
There's nothing wrong with learning. Nothing wrong with your books. So exercise some judgement. Too much broth can spoil the cook. Feel a little sensation and know when it's time to join in. You should be, should be raging down the freeway with some friends from the mall. Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
There's a black cat down on the quayside. Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark. Two young cops handing out a beating: know how to hurt and leave no mark. Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel there's a call for the last round of the day. Push back the stool, take that elevator ride. Fall in bed and kick my shoes away. Rocks on the road.
Can't sleep through the wild sound of the city. Hear a car full of young boys heading for a fight. Long distance telephone keeps ringing out engaged: wonder who you're talking with tonight. Who you talking with tonight? Rocks on the road.
Tired plumbing wakes me in the morning. Shower runs hot, runs cold playing with me. Well, I'm up for the down side, life's a bitch and all that stuff: so come and shake some apples from my tree. Have to pay for my minibar madness. Itemised phone bill overload. Well now, how about some heavy rolling? Move these rocks on the road.
Crumbs on the breakfast table. And a million other little things to spoil my day. Now how about a little light music to chase it all away? To chase it all away.
There's a black cat down on the quayside. Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark. Two young cops handing out a beating: know how to hurt and leave no mark. Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel there's a call for the last round of the day. Push back the stool, take that elevator ride. Fall in bed and kick my shoes away. Kick my shoes away, kick my shoes away. Rocks on the road.
Roll yer own. Don't mean you got no money. Only that you got no opportunity to shake it with that friend of mine. Roll yer own if you can't buy readymade; you won't be satisfied when you feel the sudden need to unwind. You know what moves you in the wee hours when there's nothing on the answerphone. And if you don't get enough of that electric love don't try to get by --- roll yer own, roll it when there's no-one listening: when those re-runs play on the late-night black and white TV. Roll yer own, roll it when there's something missing and those wild cats howl, running in the moonshine.
Roll yer own: you got to hit that spot. Roll yer own when your hands are hot.
Well, you got a big-jib crane waiting to pick you up. Mmmm, you see those snakes that crawl, they're just dying to trip you up. Live out in sad shacks at the back of town. Hold your breath while we do you down 'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here: occasional demons too.
Well, you got a nice apartment here with appliances and CD. We're gonna leave your stereo, but we'll have your soul for tea. I'm not speaking of material things. Gonna chew you up, gonna suck you in 'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here: occasional demons too.
Smokestacks, belching black, we're the have-nots in your shade. How about a slice of life, how about some human trade? Eat at the best table in town. No headwaiter going to turn us down 'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here: occasional demons too.
Winds howled, rains spit down. All these nights playing precious games. Cheap hotel in some seaboard town Closed down for the winter and whispered names. Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea Snapped our heels half-heartedly. How come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love.
Empty drugstore, postcards freeze Sunburst images of summers gone. Think I see us in these promenade days Before we learned October's song. Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree - Curious, head bent to see. How come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love. This is not love, yeah.
How come you know better than me, Well, how come you know better than me. So how come you know better than me that this is not love? This is not love.
Down to the sad south, smoky plumes Mark that real world city home. Broken spells and silent gloom Ooze from that concrete honeycomb. Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea Snapped our heels half-heartedly. And how come you know better than me that this is not love? No, this is not love. No, this is not love. This is not love, this is not love, this is not love.
In the shuffling madness Of the locomotive breath Runs the all time loser Headlong to his death Oh, he feels the pistons screaming Steam breaking on his brow Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
He sees his children jumpin’ off At stations one by one His woman and his best friend In bed and having fun So he's crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
He hears the silence howling Catches angels as they fall And the all time winner Has got him by the balls Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible Open at page one I think God, he stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down
No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down
She drifted from some minor festival. Didn't look like any sumrner of love: just a thousand weekend warriors in a muddy field. She was the hand to fit my glove. Funny thing, the innocence of the lonely. Funny thing, the charm of the young.
See how she moves just like two angels (in white innocence). Yet one of them is on the run. The other's tapping at my car window and I'm squinting through the sun trying to see if she's some child of the nineties: or just another dangerous fantasy of mine. Yeah. White innocence. She was white innocence.
A perfect hole was in her stocking: it made a perfect window to her heart. I could have moved among her waterfalls: her misty curtains drawn apart. Did she see warm safety in my numbers to want to hitch a ride this way? Felt like I was taking her to market now to be sold as the last lot of the day. Funny thing, the distance of the lonely. Funny thing, the charm of the young. White innocence.
She pressed the button, lowered the window: let her hand trail in the slipstream of the night. A frost from nowhere seemed to lick her fingers: I could have warmed them, but the moment wasn't right. Obvious, she was headed nowhere special: yes, well it was even obvious to me. I was doing some, some watching, some waiting: she'd been here before, most definitely.
There was the promise of early bed-time. There was the promise of heaven on earth. Think I was sending out low-voltage electricity: played it right down for what it was worth. She turned and looked at me in white innocence and with the clearest eyes of forever grey she rested one small hand for a second on my knee: I stopped the car. She walked away. Funny thing, the wisdom of the lonely. Funny thing, the charm of the young. Away you go now. White innocence.
Once in Royal David's City Stood a lonely cattle shed, Where a mother held her baby. You'd do well to remember the things he later said. When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties, You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump. You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry, And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong? And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures, Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.
Strange avenues where you lose all sense of direction and everywhere is Main Street in the winter sun. The wino sleeps --- cold coat lined with he money section. Looking like a a record cover from 1971.
And here am I --- warm feet and a limo waiting. Shall I make us both feel good? And would a dollar do? But in your streets, I have no credit rating and it might not take a lot to be alone just like you.
Heading up and out now, from your rock island. Really good to have had you here with me. And somewhere in the crowd I think I hear a young girl whisper Are you ever lonely, just like me?
Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin. Somebody took it on a dare in the night-time. Run up to the radio, calling out to the wind. Now, bring it, bring it back at least an hour before flight time. It was a souvenir, but it was a right arm missing. Swap a woodwork rhythm for a humbucking top line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band. A little slow in the brain box, but he had a quick right hand. Run left, run right --- everywhere he look --- nobody watching, no, but that was all he took last night.
Running on the power of a stolen mandolin. Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle. Will he wake in the morning, wondering --- was it really worth it? So make a little deal, Yeah, make a little hustle.
Ringing on the radio --- got a proposition for those English boys. I'll make the sing-song --- you can make the background noise. One, two, three, four --- one bar and in. Give you back the mando, if you'll let this singer sing tonight.
Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin. Big Riff took it on a dare in the night-time. Now it's four o'clock, and we're waiting at the sound-check. Looking for a face staring in from the sunshine. We got two strong lawmen from the sheriff's office. They're going to lift Big Riff before he plays the first line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band. Yeah, help him on the stage now, put that microphone in his hand. Think hard, think right --- nothing in his mind --- So Riff did a runner, but he left the mandolin behind.
Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone Old man he's a mountain Old man he's an island Old man he's a-waking says "I'm going to call, call all my children home"
Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town Old man he's calling for his supper Calling for his whisky Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah Calling, calling all his children round
Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory Everyone is from somewhere Even if you've never been there So take a minute to remember the part of you That might be the old man calling me
How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning? Maybe there's always time for another christmas song Old man is asleep now Got appointments to keep now Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving Proving that the blood is strong
I walked out in the city night, A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight. And it was hot, down there in the crowd. The stars went out behind a thunder cloud. Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line. Big drops hissing on the neon sign. Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see. Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring Heavy water on me.
She was a southern girl. we stared man to man. I move like a stranger in this strange land. She was a round hole, I was a square peg. I watched the little black specks running down her leg. Didn't seem to mind that dirty rain coming down ---
Shirt hanging open. she was wet and brown. Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see. Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring Heavy water on me.
What goes up has to fall back down. It's no night to be out dancing in a party town When it runs hot and it runs so wide --- Running in the street like a thin black tide. Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line. Big drops hissing on the neon sign. Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see. Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring Heavy water on me.
Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out in the canyon walls. Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in the unwashed halls. And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the Rock Island.
I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a jumbo to Bombay. The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people here know they're o.k. See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone on her Rock Island.
Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? Their own little patch of sand? Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find you can hardly stand. And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down. And you're back on your Rock Island.
Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it touched you? Who was it ruined your day? Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping on your beach anyway? I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right back to your Rock Island.
Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears but that hard rock sound. Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, No use waiting for that C.B.S. to come around. 'Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your Rock Island.
Working on the late shift --- first drink of the day. Pull a chair up to the table, have to look the other way. What kind of place am I in? And who's this over here? Shaking through the silver bubbles climbing through my beer. Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still. Could you meet the eyes of a working girl undressed to kill?
Staring through the smoke haze --- plaid shirts in the night. Well, I'm making sure that everything is zipped up tight. Who's that jumping on the table? Putting tonic in my gin? Brushing silken dollars on her cold white skin. Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still. Could you meet the eyes of a working girl undressed to kill?
She could have been sweet seventeen. There again, well, so could I. There was a tear drop sparkle on the inside of her thigh. Going to fetch myself a cold beer. I've got to get a grip. Find some place to touch down. Find a landing strip. Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still. Can you meet the eyes of a working girl all undressed to kill?
Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road. I wait outside, my motor running --- got a warm dream to unload. Can I face her in the sunshine? In he harsh real light of day? She walks out with recognition in her eyes --- I look away. Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still. Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl undressed to kill.
