(Copyright Steve Harley)
|
|
So now we¡¯re on a death trip
|
listen to the blood drip
|
oozing from a curled lip
|
ever thought of dying slowly
|
ever thought of dying totally unholy
|
|
someone¡¯s trying to fool us
|
maybe it¡¯s your daughters
|
can you hear the walros
|
offering a sad solution
|
he¡¯s calling out for teenage revolution
|
and "can you think of one good reason to
|
remain?"
|
|
To you afficianados
|
fooling with bravado
|
to keep me on my guard-o
|
and cause a consciousness explosion
|
(it¡¯s getting difficult to keepmy mind in
|
motion)
|
|
images of sunshine
|
please, to make the words rhyme
|
let me die in eight-time
|
let me write a tale to no-one
|
let me write a tale to make you think you¡¯re
|
someone
|
and "Can you think of one good reason to
|
remain?"
|
|
Interval
|
We¡¯ll grow sweet Ipomoea
|
To make us feel much freer
|
Then take a pinch of Schemeland
|
And turn into Dreamland
|
"Softly, Lautrec," she whispered in awe
|
"Build me a picture of children at war"
|
|
-----------------
|
DEATH TRIP
|
Steve Harley |