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Marianne Faithfull
Marianne Faithfull


Background information
Birth name Marianne Evelyn Faithfull
Born December 29, 1946
Born place Hampstead, London, England
Genre(s) Rock
Pop
Folk
Jazz
Blues
Years active 1964—present
Label(s) RCA Records
Island Records
Decca Music Group
Columbia Records
Sanctuary Records
London Records
ANTI-
Associated acts Metallica
The Rolling Stones
Andrew Loog Oldham
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  M  →  Marianne Faithfull  →  Albums  →  20th Century Blues

Marianne Faithfull Album


20th Century Blues (1997)
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Oh, show me the way to the next whisky bar,
Oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why!
For we must find the next whisky bar
For if we don't find the whisky bar
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you
I tell you
I tell you we must die!

Oh, moon of Alabama,
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have whisky, oh you know why!

Oh, moon of Alabama,
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have whisky, oh you know why!

Oh, show me the way to the next pretty boy,
Oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why!

For we must find the next pretty boy,
For if we don't find the next pretty boy
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you
I tell you
I tell you we must die!

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have boys, oh you know why!

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have boys, oh you know why!

Oh, show me the way to the next little dollar,
Oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why!
For we must find the next little dollar,
For if we don't find the next little dollar
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you
I tell you
I tell you we must die!

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have dollars, oh you know why!

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say good-bye.
We've lost our good old mamma
And must have dollars, oh you know why!

Thank you, thank you very much. welcome to the new morning


. . .



Want to buy some illusions
Slightly used, second-hand?
They were lovely illusions,
Reaching high, built on sand.
They had a touch of paradise,
A spell you can't explain,
For in this crazy paradise
You are in love with pain.

Want to buy some illusions
Slightly used, just like new?
Such romantic illusions,
And they're all about you.
Too bad they all fell apart
Like dreams often do.
They were lovely illusions,
But they just wouldn't come true.

Slightly used, just like new,
Such romantic illusions
And they're all about you.
I'd sell them all for a penny,
They make pretty souvenirs.
Take my lovely illusions,

Some for laughs, some for tears.

On this next song, I'm using the translation, a new translation done by one of my best, best, best, best friends in Ireland,
The playwriter and poet, frank mcguinness, and he did a new translation
The threepenny opera about four or five years ago, and I played pirate Jenny in that production at the gate theatre in Dublin.
And I love this translation, I think it's so exceptional.
In this Jenny who is a prostitute and a waitress in a, in a, in a shitty hotel, er, obviously on the docks, and, and macheath is her pimp,
Is imagining, is having a fantasy of what she would do to those who oppress her if she could


. . .



You lads see me wash the glasses, wipe the floors,
Make the beds, I'm the best of servants.
You can kindly throw me pennies and I'll thank you very much.
When you see me ragged and tattered in this dirty shit hotel,
You don't know in hell who's talking,
You still don't know in hell who's talking.
Yet one fine day there will be roars from the harbour
And you'll ask, "what is all that screeching for?"
And you'll see me smiling as I dunk the glasses
And you'll say, "what's she got to smile at for?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, sir,
Waits there at the quay.

You say, "work on, wipe the glasses, my girl."
And just slip me a dirty six-pence.
And your pennies will be taken, and your beds will be made,
(but I doubt if forty winks will come anybody's way)
And you still don't know in hell who's talking,
You still don't know in hell who's talking.
Still one fine day there'll be a loud bang from the harbour,
And you'll ask, "jesus christ, what was that bang?"
And you'll see me standing right behind the window,
And you'll say, "why has she got the evil eye?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, sir,
Will be aimed at this town.

So then lads, it's time for tears, no more laughs at the bar,

For the walls will be at your ankles.
And look out, lads, the town will be flat as the ground,
This dirty shit hotel will be spared wrack and ruin
And you'll say, "who is the fancy bitch lives there?"
You'll say, "who is the fancy bitch lives there?"
There'll be rows of people running round the hotel
And you'll ask, "why should they have spared this hovel?"
And you'll see me in the morning leaving lightly
And you'll say, "that one, her , she lived there?"
The same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, sir,
Flies crossbones and skull.

In the midday sun a hundred men will step ashore
All tramping where shadows crawled.
They'll lay their hands on men, hiding shit-scared behind doors
Lead them in chains here before this silent woman,
And they'll say, "well, which ones shall we kill?"
They'll say, "which ones shall we kill?"
Come the dot of twelve, it will be still in the harbour,
When they ask me, "well, who is going to die?"
And you'll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "all of them!"
And as the soft heads fall, I'll say, "hop-l?quot;
That same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, sir,
Disappears with me.

The Salomon Song


. . .



You saw the wise man salomon,
You know what 'came of him.
To him the world seemed clear as day,
He cursed the sad hour that he saw the sign,
He knew that everything was dust.

How great and wise was salomon!
Watch out the world is spinning fast
The night will fall, the price we'll pay
Such wisdom's not all it's cracked up to be,
So let us praise such clarity.

You saw divine cleopatra,
You know what 'came of her.
Two emperors died to serve her lust,
She whored herself to death, yes she did,
And withered into lovely dust.

How beautiful great babylon.
Watch out, the world is spinning fast
The night will fall, the price we'll pay,

Such beauty's not all it's cracked up to be,
So let us praise such luxury.

Behold the man, the bold macheath,
The end's in sight, I fear.
If he had kept his pretty head
And just robbed the rich, but oh no, instead
All's come to nought and turned to dust.

How sad the heart when it has won.
Watch out the world is spinning fast,
The night will fall, the price we'll pay.
Such whoring's not all it's cracked up to be,
So let us praise sweet chastity.

I'd like to introduce my friend, my musical director and accompanist, mr. Paul Trueblood. please, come on!


. . .



I walk along the street of sorrow
The boulevard of broken dreams
Where gigolo and gigolette
Can take a kiss without regret
So they forget their broken dreams.

You laugh tonight and cry tomorrow
When you behold your shattered schemes.
And gigolo and gigolette
Wake up to find their eyes are wet
With tears that tell of broken dreams.

Here is where you'll always find me,
Always walking up and down,
But I left my soul behind me
In an old cathedral town.

The joy that you find here, you borrow,
You cannot keep it long it seems.
But gigolo and gigolette
Still sing a song and dance along
The boulevard of broken dreams.

Da, da, da, da, da, da, da,
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da.
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da,
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da.

The joy that you find here, you borrow,
You cannot keep it long it seems.
But gigolo and gigolette
Still sing a song and dance along
The boulevard of broken dreams


. . .



Au fond de la seine
Il y a de l'or,
Des bateaux rouilles,
Des bijoux, des armes.
Au fond de la seine
Il y a des morts.
Au fond de la seine
Il y a des larmes.

Au fond de la seine
Il y a des fleurs,
De vase et de boue
Elles sont nourries.
Au fond de la seine
Il y a des c?urs
QuI souffrirent trop
Pour vivre la vie.

Et puis des cailloux
Et des bites grises,
L'âme des egouts
Soufflant des poisons,
Les anneaux jetes
Par des incomprises,
Des pieds qu'une helice
A coupes du tronc.

Et les fruits maudits
Des ventres steriles,
Laits blancs avortes
Que nul n'aima,
Les vomissements
De la grand' ville,

Au fond de la seine
Il y a cela.

O seine clemente
O? vont des cadavres,
Au lit dont les draps
Sont faits de limon.
Fleuve des dechets
Sans fanal nI havre,
Chanteuse bercant
La morgue, ils le font.

Accueille le pauvre,
Accueille la femme,
Accueille l'ivrogne,
Accueille le fou,
Mile leurs sanglots
Au bruit de tes larmes
Et porte leur c?ur
Et porte leur c?ur
Et porte leur c?ur
ParmI les cailloux.

Au fond de la seine
Il y a de l'or,
Des bateaux rouilles,
Des bijoux, des armes.
Au fond de la seine
Il y a des morts.
Au fond de la seine
Il y a des larmes


. . .



What was sent to the soldier's wife
From the ancient city of prague?
From prague came a pair of high heeled shoes,
With a kiss or two came the high heeled shoes
From the ancient city of prague.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From oslo over the sound?
From oslo he sent her a collar of fur,
How it pleases her, the little collar of fur
From oslo over the sound.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From the wealth of amsterdam?
From amsterdam, he got her a hat,
She looked sweet in that,
In her little dutch hat
From the wealth of amsterdam.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From brussels in belgian land?
From brussels he sent her the laces so rare
To have and to wear,

All those laces so rare
From brussels in belgian land.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From paris, city of light?
From paris he sent her a silken gown,
It was ended in town, that silken gown,
From paris, city of light.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From the south, from bucharest?
From bucharest he got her this shirt
Embroidered and pert, that rumanian shirt
From the south, from bucharest.

What was sent to the soldier's wife
From the far-off russian land?
From russia he sent her a widow's veil
For her dead to bewail in her widow's veil
From the far-off russian land,
From the far-off russian land.

Thank you


. . .



Now we move on, we move on a bit in time. Not much, but a little.
We are now in Paris at the end of the Second World War, and the allies have come in and liberated Paris and everyone is having a wonderful time.
It's full of Americans and English and Russians, and everybody.
And there is a woman who during the war was a nurse, now she's a prostitute.
I must admit I've always thought there is a connection between these two.
They both take care of you really, don't they? And she's plying her trade and cheering up all the soldiers in Paris.
But there, there was a man she loved, really loved, who's now dead in a far away grave somewhere.
And sometimes she can't help but think about him, and then she, she starts to suffer.
And then she turns away and pulls herself together and gets on with it.
Mon Ami, My Friend


. . .



My madeleine of Paris
She'll laugh and dance and sing
To cheer the weary soldier
At his homecoming.

A little room together,
An hour of love to spend.
"comme ca, your arms around me,"
Oh, mon ami, my friend.

But she, how she remembers
That other love and joy.
The first, the best,
The dearest tired soldier boy.

A narrow room alone now,
Rain on the roof above
And he will sleep forever,

Oh, mon ami, my love.

My madeleine of Paris
She does not sit and grieve,
But sings away her sorrows
To cheer the soldiers' leave.

For life is short and funny
And love must have an end.
An hour may be forever
Oh, mon ami, my friend.

For life is short and funny
And love must have an end.
An hour may be forever
Oh, mon ami, my friend.

Thank you!


. . .



I'm much too sentimental,
My heart is never free.
Perhaps it's accidental
That love should come to me.

Some little thing within me
Protects me for a while
Till someone comes to win me
With only a smile.

Falling in love again,
Never wanted to.
What am I to do?
Can't help it.

Love's always been my game,

Play it, how I may.
I was made that way?
Can't help it.

Men cluster to me like moths around a flame
And if their wings burn, I know I'm not to blame.

Falling in love again,
Never wanted to.
What am I to do?
Can't help it.

Sonst gar nichts.

Ha!


. . .



Oh, the poor shark,
Yes, the sweet shark,
It has big teeth
Buried deep.

Then there's macheath
With his big knife,
But it's hidden
In his slip.

And this same shark,
This poor sweet shark,
It sheds red blood
When it bleeds.

Mackie big knife
Wears a white glove,
Pure in word and
Pure in deed.

Sunday morning
Lovely blue sky,
There's a corpse stretched
On the strand.

Who's the man cruisin'
The corner?
Well, it's mackie,
Knife in hand.

Jenny towler
Poor wee Jenny,

There they found her
Knife in breast.

Mackie's wandering
On the west pier
Hoping only
For the best.

Mind, that fire burnt
All through soho.
Seven kids dead
One old flower.

Hey there, mackie,
How is she cuttin'?
Have another,
Hold your hour.

And those sweet babes
Under sixteen
Story goes that
Black and blue

For the price of
One good screwing
Mackie, mackie,
How could you?

For the price of
One good screwing
Mackie, mackie,
How could you?


. . .



Why is it that civilized humanity
Can make the world so wrong?
In this hurly-burly of insanity
Our dreams cannot last long.

We've reached a deadline,
A press headline,
Every sorrow.
Blues value
Is news value
Tomorrow.

Blues?
Twentieth century blues
Are getting me down.
Blues?
Escape those weary
Twentieth century blues.

Why,
If there's a god in the sky,
Why shouldn't he grin
High
Above this dreary
Twentieth century din?

In this strange illusion,
Chaos and confusion,

People seem to lose their way.
What is there to strive for,
Love or keep alive for,
Say, 'hey, hey!'
Call it a day?

Blues?
Nothing to win or to lose,
It's getting me down.
Blues?
Escape those weary
Twentieth century blues.

We've reached a deadline,
A press headline,
Every sorrow.
Blues value
Is news value
Tomorrow.

Blues?
Nothing to win or to lose,
It's getting me down.
Blues?
Escape those dreary
Twentieth century
Blues


. . .



In the wintertime
Keep your feet warm,
Keep your clothes on
And don't forget me.
Keep the memory,
But keep your powder dry, too.

In the summer
By the pool side
While the fireflies
Are all around me,
I'll miss you when I'm lonely,
I'll miss the alimony, too.

Don't forget me, please don't forget me,
Make it easy on me just for a little while.
You know I'll think about you,
Let me know you think about me, too.

When we're older
And full of cancer
It doesn't matter now,
Come on, get happy,
'cause nothing lasts forever,
And I will always love you.

Don't forget me, please don't forget me,
Make it easy on me just for a little while.
You know I'll think about you,
Let me know you think about me, too.

You know I'll think about you,
Let me know you think about me, too


. . .



I had just turned sixteen that season
When you came up from burma to stay.
And you told me I ought to travel with you,
You were sure it would be ok.
When I asked how you earned your living,
I can still hear what you said to me:
You had some kind of job on the railway
And had nothing to do with the sea.

You said a lot, Johnny,
All one big lie, Johnny.
You cheated me blind, Johnny,
From the minute we met.
I hate you so, Johnny,
When you stand there grinning, Johnny.
Take that damn pipe out of your mouth, you rat.

Surabaya Johnny,
No one's meaner than you.
Surabaya Johnny,
My god? and I still love you so.
Surabaya Johnny,
Why am I feeling so blue?
You have no heart, Johnny,
And I still love you so.

At the start, every day was sunday,
Till we went on our way one fine night.
And before two more weeks were over,
You thought nothing I did was right.
So we trekked up and down through the punjab,
From the source of the river to the sea.
When I look at my face in the mirror,
There's an old woman staring back at me.

You didn't want love, Johnny,
You wanted cash, Johnny.
But I sewed your lips, Johnny,


And that was that.
You wanted it all, Johnny,
I gave you more, Johnny.
Take that damn pipe out of your mouth, you rat.

Surabaya Johnny.
No one's meaner than you.
Surabaya Johnny.
My god? and I still love you so.
Surabaya Johnny,
Why am I feeling so blue?
You have no heart, Johnny.
And I still love you so.

I would never have thought of asking
How you'd got that peculiar name,
But from one end of the coast to the other
You were known everywhere we came.
And one day in a two-bit flophouse
I'll wake up to the roar of the sea,
And you'll leave without one word of warning
On a ship waiting down at the quay.

You have no heart, Johnny!
You're just a louse, Johnny!
How could you go, Johnny,
And leave me flat?
You're still my love, Johnny,
Like the day we met, Johnny.
Take that damn pipe out of your mouth, you rat.

Surabaya Johnny.
No one's meaner than you.
Surabaya Johnny,
My god? and I still love you so.
Surabaya Johnny,
Why am I feeling so blue?
You have no heart, Johnny.
And I still love you so.

Thank you! Thank you very much


. . .


Now we've reached it
Our good ending
Happy leave all
Hands unite

And with money
In your pockets
You can clean up
Price is right

There are those who
Dwell in darkness
There are others
Bathed in light

You can see those
Who are shining
Those in darkness
Pass from sight

You can see those
Who are shining
Those in darkness
Pass from sight

. . .


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