- Status
When you're asleep they may show you
Aerial views of the ground,
Freudian slumber empty of sound.
Over the rooftops and houses,
Lost as it tries to be seen,
Fields of incentive covered with green.
Mesmerized children are playing,
Meant to be seen but not heard,
"Stop me from dreaming!"
"Don't be absurd!"
"Well if we can help you we will,
You're looking tired and ill.
As I count backwards
Your eyes become heavier still.
Sleep, won't you allow yourself fall?
Nothing can hurt you at all.
With your consent
I can experiment further still."
Madrigal music is playing,
Voices can faintly be heard,
"Please leave this patient undisturbed."
Sentenced to drift far away now,
Nothing is quite what it seems,
Sometimes entangled in your own dreams.
"Well, if we can help you we will,
Soon as you're tired and ill.
With your consent
We can experiment further still.
Well, thanks to our kindness and skill
You'll have no trouble until
You catch your breath
And the nurse will present you the bill!"
Songwriters: ANTHONY BANKS, STEVE HACKETT
Walking across the sitting-room, I turn the television off
Sitting beside you, I look into your eyes
As the sound of motorcars fades in the night time
I swear I saw your face change, it didn't seem quite right
And it's hello babe, with your guardian eyes so blue
Hey my baby, don't you know our love is true
Coming closer with our eyes, a distance falls around our bodies
Out in the garden, the moon seems very bright
Six saintly shrouded men move across the lawn slowly
The seventh walks in front with a cross held high in hand
And it's hey babe your supper's waiting for you
Hey my baby, don't you know our love is true?
I've been so far from here
Far from your warm arms
It's good to feel you again
It's been a long long time
Hasn't it?
I know a farmer who looks after the farm
With water clear, he cares for all his harvest
I know a fireman who looks after the fire
You, can't you see he's fooled you all
Yes, he's here again
Can't you see he's fooled you all?
Share his peace, sign the lease
He's a supersonic scientist
He's the guaranteed eternal sanctuary man
Look, look into my mouth he cries
And all the children lost down many paths
I bet my life you'll walk inside
Hand in hand
Gland in gland
With a spoonful of miracle
He's the guaranteed eternal sanctuary
We will rock you, rock you little snake
We will keep you snug and warm
Wearing feelings on our faces while our faces took a rest
We walked across the fields to see the children of the West
But we saw a host of dark skinned warriors standing still below the ground
Waiting for battle
The fight's begun, they've been released
Killing foe for peace, bang, bang, bang
Bang, bang, bang
And they've given me a wonderful potion
'Cause I cannot contain my emotion
And even though I'm feeling good
Something tells me I'd better activate my prayer capsule
Today's a day to celebrate, the foe have met their fate
The order for rejoicing and dancing has come from our warlord
Wandering in the chaos the battle has left
We climb up the mountain of human flesh
To a plateau of green grass, and green trees full of life
A young figure sits still by a pool
He's been stamped "Human Bacon" by some butchery tool
He is you
Social Security took care of this lad
We watch in reverence, as Narcissus is turned to a flower
A flower?
If you go down to Willow Farm
To look for butterflies, flutterbyes, gutterflies
Open your eyes, it's full of surprise
Everyone lies like the fox on the rocks
And the musical box
Oh, there's Mum and Dad, and good and bad
And everyone's happy to be here
There's Winston Churchill dressed in drag
He used to be a British flag, plastic bag, what a drag
The frog was a prince
The prince was a brick, the brick was an egg, the egg was a bird
(Fly away you sweet little thing, they're hard on your tail)
Hadn't you heard? (they're going to change you into a human being!)
Yes, we're happy as fish and gorgeous as geese
And wonderfully clean in the morning
We've got everything, we're growing everything
We've got some in, we've got some out
We've got some wild things floating about
Everyone, we're changing everyone
You name them all, we've had them here
And the real stars are still to appear
(All change!)
Feel your body melt
Mum to mud to mad to dad
Dad diddley office, Dad diddley office
You're all full of ball
Dad to dam to dumb to mum
Mum diddley washing, Mum diddley washing
You're all full of ball
Let me hear your lies, we're living this up to the eyes
Ooh, aah, na-na-na
Momma I want you now
And as you listen to my voice
To look for hidden doors, tidy floors, more applause
You've been here all the time
Like it or not, like what you got
You're under the soil (the soil, the soil)
Yes, deep in the soil (the soil, the soil, the soil!)
So we'll end with a whistle and end with a bang
And all of us fit in our places
With the guards of Magog, swarming around
The Pied Piper takes his children underground
Dragons coming out of the sea
Shimmering silver head of wisdom looking at me
He brings down the fire from the skies
You can tell he's doing well by the look in human eyes
Better not compromise, it won't be easy
666 is no longer alone
He's getting out the marrow in your backbone
And the seven trumpets blowing sweet rock and roll
Gonna blow right down inside your soul
Pythagoras with the looking glass reflects the full moon
In blood, he's writing the lyrics of a brand-new tune
And it's hey babe, with your guardian eyes so blue
Hey my baby, don't you know our love is true?
I've been so far from here, far from your loving arms
Now I'm back again
And babe, it's gonna work out fine
Can't you feel our souls ignite?
Shedding ever-changing colours
In the darkness of the fading night
Like the river joins the ocean
As the germ in a seed grows
We have finally been freed to get back home
There's an angel standing in the sun
And he's crying with a loud voice
"This is the supper of the mighty one"
Lord of Lords, King of Kings
Has returned to lead his children home
To take them to the new Jerusalem
Songwriters: MIKE RUTHERFORD,PETER GABRIEL,PHIL COLLINS,STEVE HACKETT,TONY BANKS
God Bless George Duke and Frank Zappa.
Frank zappa (guitar, vocals)
George duke (keyboards, synthesizer, lead vocals)
Napoleon murphy brock (flute, tenor saxophone, vocals)
Chester thompson (drums)
Tom fowler (bass)
Ruth underwood (vibes, marimba, percussion)
Bloodshot rollin' red (harmonica)
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Just to land in the andes?
Was it round
And did it have
A motor
Or was it
Something
Different
Did a vehicle
Did a vehicle
Did a vehicle
Fly along the mountains
And find a place to park itself
Or did someone
Build a place
To leave a space
For such a vehicle to land
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Did the indians, first on the bill
Carve up the hill
Did a booger-bear
Come from somewhere out there
Just to land in the andes?
Was she round
And did she have a motor
Or was she something different
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
At the armadillo in austin texas, her aura,
Or did someone build a place
Or leave a space for chester's thing to land
(chester's thing... on ruth)
Did a booger-beer
Come from somewhere out there
Did a booger-bear
Come from somewhere out there
Did the indians, first on the bill
Carve up her hill
On ruth
On ruth
That's ruth
Songwriters: Frank Zappa
Frank zappa (guitar, vocals)
George duke (keyboards, synthesizer, lead vocals)
Napoleon murphy brock (flute, tenor saxophone, vocals)
Chester thompson (drums)
Tom fowler (bass)
Ruth underwood (vibes, marimba, percussion)
Bloodshot rollin' red (harmonica)
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Just to land in the andes?
Was it round
And did it have
A motor
Or was it
Something
Different
Did a vehicle
Did a vehicle
Did a vehicle
Fly along the mountains
And find a place to park itself
Or did someone
Build a place
To leave a space
For such a vehicle to land
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Did a vehicle
Come from somewhere out there
Did the indians, first on the bill
Carve up the hill
Did a booger-bear
Come from somewhere out there
Just to land in the andes?
Was she round
And did she have a motor
Or was she something different
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
Guacamole queen
At the armadillo in austin texas, her aura,
Or did someone build a place
Or leave a space for chester's thing to land
(chester's thing... on ruth)
Did a booger-beer
Come from somewhere out there
Did a booger-bear
Come from somewhere out there
Did the indians, first on the bill
Carve up her hill
On ruth
On ruth
That's ruth
Songwriters: Frank Zappa
While Henry Hamilton-Smythe minor (8) was playing croquet
with Cynthia Jane De Blaise-William (9), sweet-smiling Cynthia
raised her mallet high and gracefully removed Henry's head.
Two weeks later, in Henry's nursery, she discovered his treasured
musical box. Eagerly she opened it and as "Old King Cole"
began to play, a small spirit- figure appeared. Henry had returned -
but not for long, for as he stood in the room his
body began ageing rapidly, leaving a child's mind inside. A lifetime's desires
surged through him. Unfortunately the attempt
to persuade Cynthia Jane to fulfill his romantic desire led his nurse to the nursery
to investigate the noise. Instinctively Nanny hurled
the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both.
Play me Old King Cole
That I may join with you,
All your hearts now seem so far from me
It hardly seems to matter now.
And the nurse will tell you lies
Of a kingdom beyond the skies.
But I am lost within this half-world,
It hardly seems to matter now.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit more time,
Time left to live out my life.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
So he called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
But the clock, tick-tock,
On the mantlepiece -
And I want, and I feel, and I know, and I touch,
Her warmth...
She's a lady, she's got time,
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your face.
She's a lady, she is mine.
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your flesh.
I've been waiting here for so long
And all this time has passed me by
It doesn't seem to matter now
You stand there with your fixed expression
Casting doubt on all I have to say.
Why don't you touch me, touch me,
Why don't you touch me, touch me,
Touch me now, now, now, now, now...
with Cynthia Jane De Blaise-William (9), sweet-smiling Cynthia
raised her mallet high and gracefully removed Henry's head.
Two weeks later, in Henry's nursery, she discovered his treasured
musical box. Eagerly she opened it and as "Old King Cole"
began to play, a small spirit- figure appeared. Henry had returned -
but not for long, for as he stood in the room his
body began ageing rapidly, leaving a child's mind inside. A lifetime's desires
surged through him. Unfortunately the attempt
to persuade Cynthia Jane to fulfill his romantic desire led his nurse to the nursery
to investigate the noise. Instinctively Nanny hurled
the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both.
Play me Old King Cole
That I may join with you,
All your hearts now seem so far from me
It hardly seems to matter now.
And the nurse will tell you lies
Of a kingdom beyond the skies.
But I am lost within this half-world,
It hardly seems to matter now.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit more time,
Time left to live out my life.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
So he called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
But the clock, tick-tock,
On the mantlepiece -
And I want, and I feel, and I know, and I touch,
Her warmth...
She's a lady, she's got time,
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your face.
She's a lady, she is mine.
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your flesh.
I've been waiting here for so long
And all this time has passed me by
It doesn't seem to matter now
You stand there with your fixed expression
Casting doubt on all I have to say.
Why don't you touch me, touch me,
Why don't you touch me, touch me,
Touch me now, now, now, now, now...
- Your cellphone, your wallet, your time, your ideas
No barcode, no party, no iodine, no beers
Your bankcard, your license, your thoughts, your fears
No simcard, no disco, no photo, not here
Your blood, your sweat, your passions, your regrets
Your office, your timeoff, your fashions,
Your sex, your pills, your grass, your ...., your ..., your laughs, your balls, we want
We want your soul
We want your soul
We want your soul
We want your soul
Tell us your habits, your facts, your fears
Give us your address, your shoe size, your years
Your digits, your plans, your number, your eyes
Your schedule, your desktop, your details, your life
Show us your children, your photos, your home
Here, take credit, take insurance, take a loan
Get a job, get a pension, get a haircut, get a suit
Play the lottery, play football, play the field, sports on two
Well show you things well show you swings
We'll buy you things, llamas, big yard birds
Well sell you crap well charge you fat
Were gonna find big guns & a drunk in your kitchen
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
Your thoughts, your emotions
Your loves, your dreams, your checkbook
Your essecnse, your sweat, your screams
Your security your soberiety
Your innocence
Your society, your self your place your distance your space
We want your soul
Here's boy bands here's matters, here's britney, here's cola
Here's pizza, here's tv, here's some rock and some plur
Watch commercials, more commercials, watch jerry, not oprah
Buy a better life from the comfort of your sofa
Here's popcorn, here's magazines, here's milkshake, here's blue jeans
Here's padded bras, here's long cars, here's football shirts, here's baseball caps
Here's live talk shows, here's video games, here's cola lite, here's timberlake
Here's fingertips, here's colegen, here's all night bars, here's plastic hips
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul
We want your soul
We want your soul
We want your soul
No cookies, no stray, no drop-outs
No gays, no leftys, no loonies
No opinions, no way, no bankers
No teachers, no facts, no freaks
No skaters, no tweekers, no truth
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
(Your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
(Your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
(Your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
(Your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
We want your soul (your cash, your house, your phone, your life)
Songwriters: ADAM CHARLES FREELAND, DAMIAN TAYLOR
© THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.
For non-commercial use only.
Data from: LyricFind - Klangkarussell Lyrics - We Want Your Soul
www.azlyrics.com › K › Klangkarussell Lyrics
Lyrics to "We Want Your Soul" song by Klangkarussell: Your cell phone, your wallet, your time, your ideas No barcode, no party, no id, no beers Your bankc...
- We Want Your Soul Lyrics - Adam Freeland
www.lyricsfreak.com › Adam Freeland
Lyrics to We Want Your Soul by Adam Freeland: Your Cell Phone, Your Wallet, Your Time, Your Ideas / No Barcode, No Party, No id, No Beers
OK kidseseses, This is it. Austin Tacos este chingalateseses!
Psst. Crank it, don't speak. Listen.
Psst. Crank it, don't speak. Listen.
Last edited:
Happy Saturday!!!!
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my busines
She surely knew a thing or two about control.
Next to the bar we hit the samovar. She almost slipped right through my fingers.
It was snowing outside and in her soul.
Well, maybe you're a dancer, and maybe I'm the King of Old Siam.
I thought it through... best to let the illusion roll.
I wouldn't say I've never heard that tale before,
my frozen little senorita,
but if your dream is good, why not share it when the nights are cold?
Hey Moscow, what's your story? Lady, take your time, don't hurry.
Maybe a student of the agricultural plan.
Hey Moscow, what's your name? If you don't want to say, don't worry.
It would probably be hard for me to make it scan.
With her phrase book in her silk soft hand
she spoke in riddles while the vodka listened.
I said, ``Let me look up love, if I might be so bold.''
She was the nearest thing to Rock and Roll
that side of the velvet curtain
that separates eastern steel from western gold.
Hey Miss Moscow, what's your story?
You needn't speak aloud, just whisper.
Am I just the closest thing to an Englishman?
You've seen me in your magazines, or maybe on state television.
I'm your Pepsi-Cola, but you won't take me out the can.
She said she was a dancer --- so she did.
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my business.
It felt like a merry dance that I was being led.
So I stole one kiss. It was a near miss.
She looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper.
She leaned in close. ``Goodnight,'' was all she said.
So I took myself off to bed.
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my busines
She surely knew a thing or two about control.
Next to the bar we hit the samovar. She almost slipped right through my fingers.
It was snowing outside and in her soul.
Well, maybe you're a dancer, and maybe I'm the King of Old Siam.
I thought it through... best to let the illusion roll.
I wouldn't say I've never heard that tale before,
my frozen little senorita,
but if your dream is good, why not share it when the nights are cold?
Hey Moscow, what's your story? Lady, take your time, don't hurry.
Maybe a student of the agricultural plan.
Hey Moscow, what's your name? If you don't want to say, don't worry.
It would probably be hard for me to make it scan.
With her phrase book in her silk soft hand
she spoke in riddles while the vodka listened.
I said, ``Let me look up love, if I might be so bold.''
She was the nearest thing to Rock and Roll
that side of the velvet curtain
that separates eastern steel from western gold.
Hey Miss Moscow, what's your story?
You needn't speak aloud, just whisper.
Am I just the closest thing to an Englishman?
You've seen me in your magazines, or maybe on state television.
I'm your Pepsi-Cola, but you won't take me out the can.
She said she was a dancer --- so she did.
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my business.
It felt like a merry dance that I was being led.
So I stole one kiss. It was a near miss.
She looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper.
She leaned in close. ``Goodnight,'' was all she said.
So I took myself off to bed.
Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains
remind me of Jack-A-Lynn.
Lush hotels and pretty girls
won't cheer the misty mood I'm in.
Silly, sad, I've never had to write this before,
oh, Jack-A-Lynn.
Funny how long nights allow
thoughts of Jack-A-Lynn.
When phantoms tread around my bed
to offer restless dreams they bring.
And it's just the time and place to find
a sad song to play for Jack-A-Lynn.
Magpies that shriek, old boots that leak
call me to Jack-A-Lynn.
Coal-black cats in policeman's hats
nosing where the mice have been.
And the long miaow's beginning now
and I'm far, far from home and Jack-A-Lynn.
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
A song about cats
Muscled, black with steel-green eye
swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
leaves the others on the mat.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
licensed to multilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...No, the mouse police never sleeps ---
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.
Muscled, black with steel-green eye
swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
leaves the others on the mat.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
licensed to multilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...No, the mouse police never sleeps ---
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.
Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.
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