| Lyrics: | Manheim; rainy Saturday with no money nor friend,
only Tequila can end the boredom.
Try to
reach London for a pocket of hope;
we're children, we grope in the dark.
Hugh spends his
last Mark on coffee and cheese...
I feel just like a refugee...
Rathaus-keepers and
traffic police,
middle-aged maids with rotting teeth
industrial magazines and old Sunday
Times;
reading material/bleeding lines.
What are we doing here?
Memorial
manace, eager for revenge,
has begun to bend our minds.
Shower-curtain imperative in the
presence of acid;
now, feeling placid is death.
I try to hold my breath as the P.A. comes
down...
here we all are in Ktown!
The Big Wheel never fails to grind around;
it drags
me up/drags me down
Seven sentenses wonder 'Can this be real,
or am I become a performing
seal?'
Why are we dying here?
I walk the streets alone, try to find a sign of
love,
I've crushed the plaster-bone in the freaky clubs,
I have bit the fruit
but all
I live for is to play
and I'm tired of the nights and the days
of airports, taxis and
motorway showers,
grooping for a key in the afterhours.
David takes to travelling in the
van,
He knows that we all can understand;
we're at the mercy of the Kosmos
Tour,
making a pilgrimage to the German Lourdes...
but we're still crippled
here.
Cathedrals spiral skywards, I think I'm getting vertigo,
I think I don't know
what is real.
On a more sudden spotlight, one more madness is over...
I must not show a
sign of fear.
Words echo round my ears, I think I'm going to laugh...
think I'll just go
and take a bath, Guess I'll wash my clothes,
don't you know I'll grow to go and make my
name,
maybe a servant in the Fame game;
stake my sane and rest my life on the
line...
Now lay me asunder and rend my mind;
at the fall of the curtain let this be my
ghost |
