. . .
|
|
There's a body in the basement
The TV's full of guns
In the room adjacent
Cold water runs
The sound of cisterns
Sizzling bacon or chips
Footsteps in the distance
She's working on the midnight shift
The room is getting colder
Start jumping Jack
You're the bluebird over her shoulder
The monkey on her back
She left your taxi fare
There's a message in the gift
You got more than she could spare
She's working on the midnight shift
Feedback screams on a twisted riff
Luxembourg by night
The cheapjack dream of the midnight shift
Doesn't work out right
He's got to shoot, he's got to shoot
Put his face about
It's like the long abandoned baseball boot
With the tounge hanging out
The perfume of the essence rare
That lingers in the lift
He's a prince among the peasants where
She's working on the nidnight shift
You're gonna find her stuck in the lift
To the wonderland of vice
You're gonna find her on the midnight shift
With feet like blocks of ice
She carried water for the mainman
She had to walk the streets
She married a door-to-door salesman
Who worked away all week
She lived with an empty chair
Until the final rift
She didn't have a thing to wear
She had to work on the midnight shift
You're gonna find her frozen stiff
You think you been hurt
You're gonna find her on the midnight shift
Standing in the dirt
You like to put yourself about
Like the main man about town
She needs someone to help her out
But that's where you keep falling down
Was there ever a thing so fair
That smashed itself to bits
Sometimes you get nowhere
Working on the midnight shift
A million tears gonna tear her apart
Eyes that never shut
A million spears gonna pierce your heart
It's the death of a thousand cuts
A million souls all running scared
Or else they only drift
You won't find her anywhere
She's working on the midnight shift
You're gonna find her on the hit list
Of a cheapskate beastly rag
You're gonna find her on the midnight shift
What a fuckin' drag
You really can't stop now
The visitors arrive
Here come the cops now
Crunching up the drive
Flat footsteps on the stairs
Bad news travels swift
Sometimes you get nowhere
Working on the midnight shift
. . .
|
|
Skip the roadblock here she comes
Get a load of the pretty blue gun
Any slick trick under the sun
She'll do it if it isn't done
She made arrangements she couldn't come
She dresses like a secretary and lives like a nun
Your crime is the radiant passion
It's time for the new assassin
Cool killer top of the class
The other side of the shatterproof glass
Works as fast as the cameras flash
With the cyanide cigarettes and the cs gas
It's her job - doesn't bat an eyelash
She's working for the perishing mass
The breadline's back in fashion
It's time for the new assassin
A melody played on a hand grenade
From the rifle range in the green arcade
As the rain fell down on the big parade
Messed up the motorcade - mucked up the masquerade
Secret weapons become displayed
In the hands of half a dozen aides
Just four men and a couple of gay blades
Shantung suits and shatterproof shades
Shoot up anybody who happens to be passing
Everybody but the new assassin
One link in the human chain
In the city where it always rains
No profit or personal gain
Are the silent rules in a lonesome game
One face in a purple frame
A black border round the name
Chalk marks around a blood stain
Thin blue line red light flashing
It's time for the new assassin
What time did you see it happen
It's time for the new assassin
. . .
|
|
This case appears to be urgent
Kindly pull the screen
Cosmetic surgeon
The son of mr. sheen
Is jerry building versions
Of the face behind the scream
The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
In which she reads a magazine
Wearing only cold cream
They call her the face behind the scream
The image he maintains
And the silence he observes
Says it's worth a little pain
For the figure we both deserve
A cowboy by profession since the age of 17
Who's singular obsession is the face behind the scream
The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
A soiree in the mezzanine
And castenets and tambourines
A careless word and ugly scenes
The doctor knows he's made for good impressions on demand
The new nose in the neighborhood was fashioned by these hands
He can do it blindfold, his instruments are clean
A snapshot in his mind holds the face behind the scream
The girl who would be beauty queen
Diamond rivets in her jeans
Wild and with-it even off screen
He then removes the bandage and the odd remaining scab
A flair for fancy language...
The gift of the gab
Hands you a sandwich and applies the vaseline
To show to best advantage the face behind the scream
The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
In which she turns her money green
Finds herself in a funny scene
Cracks up like a shatterproof windscreen
Danke schoen ich liebe dich, I promise not to hurt
A telephone receiver clicks RED ALERT
Whatever you do don't touch that switch, the doctor goes to work
With his bag of tricks in his limousine
Mugshots from magazines
Face creams and photofits
To fit the face that doesn't fit
The face behind the scream
The girl who would be beauty queen
Surrounded by the regular team
Of pluto brats and coma teens
In bowler hats and brilliantine
Or bold cravats of bottle green
Such a precious little dream
To be taken to extremes
How many times can you be 16
They call her the face behind the scream.
. . .
|
|
The sound of the daylight
The smell of the urine
The rain on the drainpipes
The filthy two-two time
I should know better
How an animal feels
A real go-getter
A wolf on all wheels
White collar whizz kids
Button three mohair
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
Munchety munch
This is the punchline
Crunchety crunch
They last you a lunchtime
Who can resist it
Who can be so square
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
Can you afford it
This is the crunch
Orders are audits
A kiss or a punch
A dangerous neighborhood
Don't push it too far
I feel like i'm made of wood
I stay in the car
I had to risk it
I had to go there
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
The critical daylight
The smell of the urine
The rain on the drain pipes
The filthy two-two time
Life is precarious
A long way from home
In alien areas
Always alone
I look like a misfit
No one i know there
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
Munchety munch
This is the punchline
Crunchety crunch
They last you a lunchtime
Who can resist it
Who can be so square
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
I had to risk it
I got to go there
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
I look like a misfit
No one i know there
I travel in biscuits
Getting me nowhere
. . .
|
|
Deafening whispers loud and clear
The sound of nothing meets my ears
I get the message - i know the drill
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
No traffic noise or sparrows trill
From the dead flowers on the window sill
This is the day the world stood still
In the mirror stand and stare
Like i figure nobody there
Time to spare time to kill
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
From the underground to the overspill
No trouble not even at the mill
This is the day the world stood still
Specs of dirt and static flies
In spacelike spots before my eyes
A cup of coffee and a couple of pills
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The big freeze-up gimme a chill
No sense in feeling ill
This is the day the world stood still
I got the whole town to myself
I clear the drugstore shelf by shelf
I couldn't pay I had my fingers in the till
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
Drink and drugs and a thousand thrills
From now on it's all downhill
This is the day the world stood still
I'm falling from the top of my voice
I wreck the vehicles of my choice
A Rolls-Royce a coupe de ville
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The last train to Clarkesville
Ran off the rails nobody killed
This is the day the world stood still
I'm driving in a company car
I'm jiving in the tango bar
I'm dining at the luxury grill
This is the day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
The day the world stood still
No trouble not even at the mill
At the end of the day I pay no bills
This is the day the world stood still
. . .
|
|
One kiss became a weapon
I don't want to bleed in vain
Clouds collide in the heavens
I surrender. To the rain
The death bells that also rang
like madness... from above
I'm going... out with a bang
And a heart disease called love
Ninety-nine, below zero
Would seem like fever now
You know me... no hero
Don't even ask me how
I'm down in the deep deep freeze
What was I thinking of...
In the painful breeze
By the frozen trees
With a heart disease called love
After dinner. Mints. A new lover
And the coffee's so bitter and black
Your fingerprints... they cover
this knife sticking out of my back
You overlooked... the fine details
You should've worn your gloves
I've got a girl in jail, and a house for sale
And a heart disease called love
. . .
|
|
In a marble room I was alone
Somewhere in the heart of rome
Through gardens long since overgrown
Down old arcades of broken stone
I met the ghost of Al Capone
Upon request for some i.d.
He said the guardian angels are working for me
I called for a cop - he said stop or I shoot
One or two holes in your three piece suit
I say... steady on old fruit.
He told me not to be so cute
Consider the river and the concrete boots
The devil and the deep blue sea
What you saw you didn't see
The guardian angels are working for me
The arms... the raving arms
And the hustle and the bustle - muscle in
I get sandwiched between the palms
The waving palms
And the banknotes rustle like an international language
Even the recession doesn't put him out of pocket
Back in the depression - he made a profit
A one-man crime wave - who can stop it?
The aged william in his pocket
Blackmail. blue films. narcotics...
Served with the style of a real neurotic
And the easy smile of a true psychotic
A sort of refugee
From the heart of the apostolic sea
From one flat fee to another flat fee
The hours are short and the money's free
And the guardian angels are working for me
The arms... the raving arms
And the hustle and the bustle - muscle in
I get sandwiched between the palms
The waving palms
And the banknotes rustle like an international language
I under pressure - suggested it
Why not confess and quit
you're thirty-nine sir and less than fit
He took my false address and split
By the dirt roads, through the fever trees
In a Lamborghini - if you please
To get from a to b
I beat my heart and bend my knee
The guardian angels are working for me
Paralysed in precious stone
Canonized - I stand alone
In the clouds of paradise - my home
A million orchids deck the throne
Of the man who numbered Al Capone
The man who numbered all his bones
A personal friend of the burning tree
The guardian angels are working for me.
What you saw you didn't see
The guardian angels are working for me.
. . .
|
|
I'll be there If you want me
Exactly where you saId I'd be
In the easy chaIr
In front of the TV
I don't care what I see
The au paIr on the bed settee
WIth her teddy bear
And a cup of tea
I swear she's out of her tree
The way she stares rIght out at me
I can't leave I lost my key
I can't breathe somebody help me
VIsItIng the bathroom
That's my format
LIvIng In a vacuum
Kept me warm at
NInety degrees In my shades
NInety degrees In my shades
SurprIse surprIse that monotone phrase
IdealiSe thIs monochrome haze
I realIse these Idle days
That come dIsguIsed as powder blue rays
HypnotIsed I only gaze
I cannot rIse I can't be phased
square eyes are the latest craze
twIce theIr sIze double glazed
I'm stuck In a groove I'll never be free
I can't move somebody help me
Boy In the backroom that's my handle
LivIng In a vacuum that's my angle
NInety degrees In my shades
NInety degrees In my shades
InvIsIble voIce now don't forget
You have no choIce turn off your set
Please Mr VoIce not yet
WhIte noIse of a dyIng pet
Any boy's heart would regret
Not one spark that I can see
I'm In the dark somebody help me
VIsItIng the bathroom
That's my format
LivIng In a vacuum
Keeps me warm at
NInety degrees In my shades
NInety degrees In my shades
. . .
|
|
I'm ankle deep in human waste
The toilet has been clogged
Marrowbone jelly all over the place
I don't even have a dog
The man upstairs he grabs my arm
Saying don't I know your dad
All I could hear were the fire alarms
The day my pad went mad
All I could hear were the fire alarms
The day my pad went mad
The kitchen has been ransacked
Ski trails in the hall
A chicken has been dhansaked
And thrown against the wall
In walks this dumb waiter
With a fountain pen and pad
Saying how do you want this alligator
The day my pad went mad
Saying how do you want this alligator
The day my pad went mad
The hamster had been slaugtered
The parrot bound and gagged
The guard dog had been sorted out
And absolutely shagged
The goldfish drowned, the cat was found
Kicked around and stabbed
The radio did not make a sound
The day my pad went mad
The radio did not make a sound
The day my pad went mad
The pop-up toaster refused to pop
The chandelier was smashed
The starter motor would not stop
The tyres had been slashed
There was no way out of there
I was stuck with what I had
Out of order, beyond repair
The day my pad went mad
Out of order, beyond repair
The day my pad went mad
Yesterday I had the place rewired
And slung out all of my junk
A tumble dryer and a two bar fire
And a telephone now defunct
I peeped through the venetian blinds
And the rain fell down so sad
On the broken home I left behind
The day my pad went mad
On the broken home I left behind
The day my pad went mad
. . .
|
|
I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
Breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I will never rust
If you like your coffee hot
Let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots
I wanna be yours
I wanna be your raincoat
For those frequent rainy days
I wanna be your dreamboat
When you want to sail away
Let me be your teddy bear
Take me with you anywhere
I don't care
I wanna be yours
I wanna be your electric meter
I will not run out
I wanna be the electric heater
You'll get cold without
I wanna be your setting lotion
Hold your hair in deep devotion
Deep as the deep Atlantic ocean
That's how deep is my devotion
. . .
|
|
I hit the deck
Like a ton of lard
When the back of my neck
hit something hard
A yard of lead
or a judo chop
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
Up my sleeve
She stuck me with a spike
Said you can leave
Whenever I like
Give me bread
Take me round the shops
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
There was eloquence
Style and poise
And pure malevolence
In her voice
Move it man
Chop-chop
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
She wore leatherette jeans
Airwear shoes
I've never yet seen such a rare hair-do
A natty dread
With a borstal crop
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
A morbid silence fills the air
Threats of violence always there
Streets ahead
Now take me round the block
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
What she cried
I never heard
As doors slide
And voices blurred
The lights were red
Stuck on stop
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
There was eloquence
Style and poise
And pure malevolence
In her voice
Move it man
Chop-chop
Drive she said
I'll tell you when to stop
. . .
|
|
Quite a party we have found
Mantovani flooding the lounge
Polite people, crazy feet
Night people... funky but neat
Burt Bacharach... a zillion strings
Cool aromatic... luxury surroundings
See no evil... cheat cheat
Night people, funky but neat
Mr. Cavendish... meets Elizabeth
What happens is none of my business
Quite legal... short and sweet
Night people, funky but neat
Stereo headphones... whisper and shout
Invisible saxophones fade in and out
Like treacle... tacky but sweet...
Night people, funky but neat
Twilight restaurants... you get it on a plate
No matter what you want...
But you've got to wait
Don't get the needle... and never speak
Night people, funky but neat
I like the nightlife... give me danger
I had a nice wife... she was a stranger
One of the people, I never meet
Night people, funky but neat
Quite a party we have found...
Maserati's, Afghan Hounds
The right people... the wrong street
Night people, funky but neat
. . .
|
Switch to Russian 
