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Tribute to Bowie
That's Fripp doing the geetar noises...
That's Stevie Ray doing the geetar noises.
Bowie always had top-notch bad mother-shut-yo-mouths in the band.
Bowie always had top-notch bad mother-shut-yo-mouths in the band.
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Yeah, it's kinda new to me too...
I was at the Austin show. Frikkin' unbelievable....
Got to get some food
I'm so hungry all the time
I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
Got to get some sleep
I'm so nervous in the night
I don't know how to stop
No, I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
Got to pick up the phone
I will call any number
I will talk to anyone
I know I'm gone too far
Much too far I gone this time
And I don't want to think what I've done
I don't know how to stop
No, I don't know how to stop
There are always hidden silences
Waiting behind the chair
They come out when the coast is clear
They eat anything that moves
I go shaky at the knees
Lights go out, stars come down
Like a swarm of bees
No self-control
no self-control
No self-control
No self-control
No self-control
No self-control
No self-control
You know I hate to hurt you
I hate to see your pain
But I don't know how to stop
No, I don't know how to stop
Street after street
Night after night
I walk on through the rain
I walk on through the rain
I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
No, I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop
Songwriters: ALICIA BORKOWSKI, LAURA PALLAS, LINDA TAYLOR, NATAN WALDEN, PETER GABRIEL
There's Fripp on this album...
I know something about opening windows and doors
I know how to move quietly to creep across creaky wooden floors
I know where to find precious things in all your cupboards and drawers
Slipping the clippers
Slipping the clippers through the telephone wires
The sense of isolation, the sense of isoloation
Inspires me
I like to feel the suspense when I'm certain you know I am there
I like you lying awake, your baited breath charging the air
I like the touch and the smell of all the pretty dresses you wear
Intruders happy in the dark
Intruder come
Intruder come and he leave his mark, leave his mark
Leave his mark
Leave his mark
Leave his mark
Leave his mark
Leave his mark
Leave his mark
I am the intruder
Songwriters: FRANCIS GRIFFITHS, PETER GABRIEL
Looking out the window
I see the red dust clear
High up on the red rock
Stands the shadow with the spear
The land here is strong
Strong beneath my feet
It feeds on the blood
It feeds on the heat
The rhythm is below me
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
[Repeat x2]
Drawn across the plainland
To the place that is higher
Drawn into the circle
That dances round the fire
We spit into out hands
And breathe across the palms
Raising them up high
Held open to the sun
Self-conscious, uncertain
I'm showered with the dust
The spirit enters into me
And I submit to trust
Smash the radio
No outside voices here
Smash the watch
Cannot tear the day to shreds
Smash the camera
Cannot steal away spirits
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul
Songwriters: PETER GABRIEL
In the garden district
Where the plants grow strong and tall
Behind the bush there lurks a girl
Who makes them strong and tall
The villagers call her
Quicklime girl behind her back
Quicklime girl behind the bush
Quicklime girl
She's the mistress of the salmon salt
Quicklime girl
Quicklime girl
Quicklime girl
In the fall when plants return
By harvest time she knows the score
Ripe and ready to the eye
Yet rotten somehow to the core
And they call her
Quicklime girl behind her back
Quicklime girl behind the bush
Quicklime girl
She's the mistress of the salmon salt
Quicklime girl
Quicklime girl
Quicklime girl
A harvest of life a harvest of death
One body of life one body of death
And when you've gone and choked to death
With laughter and a little step
I'll prepare the quicklime, friend
For your ripe and ready grave
For your ripe and ready grave
It's springtime now and cares subside
And the plannings almost done
And fertile graves it seems exist
Within a mile of that Duke's joint
Where Coast Guard crews still take their leave
Quite listless in the sun
And the Quicklime girl still plies her trade
Reduction of the many from the one
And they call her
Quicklime girl behind her back
Quicklime girl behind the bush
Quicklime girl
Well she's the mistress of the salmon salt
Quicklime girl
Quicklime girl they call her
Quicklime girl
A harvest of life a harvest of death
Resumes its course each day
It comes as if by schedule
A harvester lifts his arms to the rain
The toes that crawl
The knees that jerk
The necks like swans that seem to turn
As if inclined to gasp or pray
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