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Roll on the old, old story,
you can call it original sin;
yeh, stamp that one in his passport,
paste it and colour it in.
Colour in a history of pride and prejudice;
what he wants is mystery, but what
he gets is this:
a kick to kill the kiss.
Hey, he thinks it fair competition,
somehow having and eating the cake
when the women are in their bodies
and the men are all over the place.
What he wants is Paradise, of which
he has no clue.
What he wants: Oblivion. ("...Baby,
all I want is you.")
What he wants and what he needs are
very different tricks....
Got some strange philosophy through
going for
that dictionary tic
and the kick of kiss-me-quick.
A kick to kill the kiss
and he says
"Baby, all I want is you."
Like a shot of the elixir of youth your
trade in stock,
both a curse and a protection;
like a shot, in like Flynn, he'll tie
his tongue up in a knot
to profess his true affection.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where
you walk upon the street;
you're so hot that he turns to tango
every time you meet.
Like a shot he'll be thrown upon your
mercy -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
Entertain the entertainer....
Like a shot, like a paparazzo picture
gone to pot
his decay bears no reversal;
on the rocks he will take his medicine
straight
but this is not, I repeat, not dress
rehearsal.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where
you walk upon the street;
X the spot where he hopes he'll always
fall upon his feet.
What a shock when he stumbles in the
spotlight -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
Let's talk about something else; let's
talk about us;
let's talk about egocentricity; let's
talk about keeping it up.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where
you walk upon the street;
what you got is the secret that he'd
trade his soul to keep.
Like a shot he'll regale you with his
stories -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
Like a shot he'll be thrown upon your
mercy -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
What a shock when he stumbles in the
spotlight -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
Let's talk about something else; let's
talk about us;
let's talk about egocentricity; let's
talk about keeping it up.
A noise to strip the paper clean off
the wall;
a noise to crack the masonry like a
breaking-ball;
the cutting edge of sonic, the wave
that never breaks
and the heart and soul are pumping
me awake, me awake, me awake.
I loved the Noise;
shake to the core;
that's what the Noise is for.
Nothing came of nothing except what
was left behind
in the barrage of the bombard, under
organ grind.
I'm caught there in the moment, bug-eyed
overnight drive
and the heart and soul are pumping
me alive, me alive, me alive, me alive.
And in the rush of silence with my arms
wrapped round me warm
I'm holding breath, impatient
for the dark before the dawn....
Just at the crack of daylight,
that'll be the curtain torn,
that'll be the ground in a forewarning
murmur
of the Noise, of the storm.
I loved the Noise,
electric breath,
Noise filled the emptiness;
I loved the Noise,
I loved the heat -
pump-pulse that priming beat.
A statement of intention, an elemental
plan -
the Noise is in the temple, the Noise
is out of hand;
the needle on the end stop, crescendo
in the choir...
yes, and the heart and soul are pumping
me on fire, me on fire, me on fire,
me on fire.
I loved the Noise,
I've drunk my fill;
the Noise is with me still.
I loved the Noise
though now it's gone
some glorious echoes of the Noise still
linger on.
Power on.
You give it all you've got in radiance
on the podium,
manicured fingers grip the figurine.
You taught us all you knew in missionary
position;
throw your arms around your latest
scene,
it could have been
celebrity kissing... this has got to
stop:
yeh, they're swarming like flies,
they're like bees around the honey;
you were wonderful, darling, does it
never end?
Well, you know and I know this is only
pretence.
They saw you coming for a thousand miles,
knew something wicked by the pricking
of the thumbs;
they can't believe this cheek you're
turning is your better side;
I think they preferred it when you
acted young and dumb.
So you take it to the limit,
take it from the top,
shake it till it's broken,
does the penny never drop?
Celebrity kissing, this has got to stop:
yeh, they're swarming like flies,
they're like bees around the honey.
You were wonderful, darling, does it
never end?
Oh, you know and I know this is only
pretence....
Oh, look out. Oh, yeh, will the penny
drop?
Some kind of madness in characterization,
some kind of method in your made-up
face;
you got your wake-up call, your open
invitation,
you get to party in the pagan place.
This is only pretence.
Cut and print, cut that kiss, cut....and
print:
this is only pretence.
Put up or shut up.
Cut price or cut-up.
Put up or shut up.
Money where the mouth is, will there
be just desserts?
White-collar crime - yeh, the summing-up
will reckon
surely nobody got hurt.
Hey, offer jam tomorrow - the cash
will do quite well.
With your fair shares for all, try
to practice what you preach
when they ring that Lutine bell.
Hey, put your money where your mouth
is
and hope the money talk will spring
you from the cell.
We've heard the empty promises, the
barely veiled threats;
we've yet to see the colour of the
money now -
we've yet to see it, Oh, but we'll
get to see it, you bet.
Put up or shut up.
Cut price or cut-up.
Put the money where the mouth is.
Yeh, you copped for quite a lot, but
everything you got
fell off the back end of the yacht.
You did your best to grease the machinery,
you shut us out of the talking shop:
the desks are empty when the buck full
stops.
Hey, you put your money where your
mouth was not.
You put your money where your mouth
was not.
Well, put the money where the mouth
is,
snuffling in the trough.
Yeh, put your money where your mouth
is,
with the pigs in the trough.
Where the mouth is,
where the mouth is.
Nations of shoppers consume in a frenzy
the security of branded names;
they're fighting in the food hall
for exotic vegetables and fruit, eco-friendly
game.
It doesn't matter which currency you
use
becasue they're all exactly the same.
And it's all on offer, everything's
on offer
multi-national door-to-door
in the Great European Department Store.
It's on offer, it's all on offer, you
can pack it flat to take away:
Scottish heather to Spanish leather,
German turniip to Dutch weather-vane.
If you've got the money the door's
wide open,
they are only here to pamper you.
The ethnic art room has plundered several
continents
to decorate your living room.
It doesn't matter which credit card
you use
or if you even sign your real name
because they're all exactly the same.
And it's all on offer, guaranteed natural,
quality control assured
in the Great European Department Store.
Hey, let's shop; let's go!
In the Great European Department Store....
Ooh, the shopping's something shocking
now;
ooh, will the shopping neve stop
in the Great European Department Store?
In the Great European Department Store.
What reaction can you gauge, naked on the stage?
The gravity's not so great, but the
atmosphere's chilling;
you mad some serious mistakes
the day you pushed yourself for the
grilling
and the jigsaw pieces - take a look
- a jumble of asymmetry.
All the corners are cut on the Planet
Coventry.
Out of order, out of reach,
briefless on the beach;
no reaction you can guage,
only silence from the front row,
silence from the back row,
silence and you're naked on the stage....wake
up.
You dreamed you'd no need of dreams:
that's an alien situation.
In the Glasshouse the mimers mill in
dangerous mutation
and you might as well have landed in
a different reality.
The rules are all broken on the Planet
Coventry.
Out of order, out of reach, briefless
on the beach;
one more punter for the chop, dried
up in the dock;
headless chicken, total block, tongue
a Gordian knot;
no reaction on this page,
only silence from the front row, slience
from the back row,
silence from the prompter, silence
all the rage -
only silence and you're naked on the
stage.
You wake up, and you're naked on the stage.
Four horsemen drive the coach of Holocaust
home;
and with what sense of history do we
view our bright new world,
with the video nasty blasting through
the set
of our next door neighbour?
Do we learn to forget? Do we learn
just to forget?
And raw barbarity seeps, spore in soil?
And no-one's an innocent, no-one's
entirely immune....
Oh, still we wait for a saviour, there
are no saints as yet.
Just that gilt badge of survival,
we learn to forget.
The blindest eye is turned on the beast
we clothe,
drab in the uniform of silent acquiescence.
I'll raise this toast to Primo, climbing
up upon the parapet
with one final word of caution:
we must learn not to forget.
There's pain in remembrance,
but we must learn not to forget.
Here's a toast to Primo,
let's learn not to forget.
Here's a toast to Primo,
forgive but don't forget.
Here's a toast to Primo,
let's learn not to forget.
One last word of caution
from the very rim of the parapet.
One last word in remembrance...
we must learn not to forget.
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