Heading for the great escape. Heading for the rave. Heading for the permanent holiday. . Heading for the winter trip. Heading for the slide. Heading for the dignified walk away.
At that time of the night. When streetlights throw crosses through window frames. Paranoia roams where the shadows reign. Oh, at that time of the night.
A hand held over a candle in angst fuelled bravado. A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm. Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu. And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far.
Did you cry when they dragged you home. Put a lock on the door and the telephone. Was a runaway girl all they could see. . Have the nights and the days that you've come through.
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts. One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned. Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride.
For me and my true-love will never walk again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond.. . Moira anderson, eat your heart out!. You-ou--. . You'll take the high road an' I'll take the low road, an' I'll be in scotland before you.
I have been here many times before. In a life I used to live. But I have never seen these streets so fresh. Washed with morning rain. . I have seen this face a thousand times.
I was walking in the park dreaming of a spark. When I heard the sprinklers whisper. Shimmer in the haze of summer lawns. Then I heard the children singing.
Well I gave up cocaine and I gave up smack. I gave up drinking alcohol and smoking crack. I gave up living on the never never. But I can't give up believing that I'm going to live forever.
A ragged man came shuffling through. A puppet king on the fourth of June. And butterflies from all around. Settled on his paper crown. . A pretty sight it seemed to be.
You pick out your credit cards and check into the night. A dozen tequilas and you're feeling alright. So you swim to the disco, out of your depth, jaded gigolo.
I'd be really pleased to meet you if I could remember your name. But I got problems of the memory ever since I got a winner in the fame game. I'm a citizen of Legoland travellin' incommunicado.
When footlights dim in reverence to prescient passion forewarned. My audience leaves the stage, floating ahead perfumed shift. Within the stammering silence, the face that launched a thousand frames.
Even if the good old days were good. Even if the old days were golden days. Even if the good old days were good. The past is a terrible place. The past is a terrible place to live.
Maybe you're just too upset inside. To give it to me straight. Maybe you've become too angry and too close to crying. To say anything I can understand.
Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors. Bell boys checking out the hookers in the bar. Slug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of cocaine on the mirror.
'I feel so strange what's wrong with me'. You've got a problem that you can't see. But I've got a feeling that the rumours are true. I see the girl's go a hook in you.
Wide boys, wide boys, wide boys,. Born with hearts of Lothian. Wide boys, we were wide boys,. Born with hearts of Lothian. Wide boys, we were wide boys,.
I'm the man of a thousand faces. A little piece of me in every part I take. I hold the tape for a thousand races. A different point of view in every speech I make.
I've got a photograph. I took a picture of you. I took your picture in front of my favorite view. . You play the part so well. You look so sure and free.