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Kate Bush
Kate Bush


Информация
Настоящее имя Catherine Bush
Дата рождения 30 июля 1958 г.
Место рождения Bexleyheath, London, England
Жанры Art Rock
Progressive Rock
Alternative Rock
Годы 1975—н.в.
Лейблы Columbia Records
EMI Group
Legacy Recordings
Сайт Website



Music World  →  Тексты песен  →  K  →  Kate Bush  →  Дискография  →  On Stage [EP]

Альбом Kate Bush


On Stage [EP] (1979)
1979
1.
2.
3.
4.
. . .



Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.

They arrived at an inconvenient time.
I was hiding in a room in my mind.
They made me look at myself. I saw it well.
I'd shut the people out of my life.

So now I take the opportunities:
Wonderful teachers ready to teach me.
I must work on my mind. For now I realise:
Everyone of us has a heaven inside.

Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.

They open doorways that I thought were shut for good.
They read me Gurdjieff and Jesu.
They build up my body, break me emotionally.
It's nearly killing me, but what a lovely feeling!

I love the whirling of the dervishes.
I love the beauty of rare innocence.
You don't need no crystal ball,
Don't fall for a magic wand.
We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.

Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.

. . .



Emma's come down.
She's stopped the light
Shining out of her eyes.

Emma's been run out on.
She's breaking down
In so many places,
Stuck in low gear
Because of her fears

Of the skidding wheels,
(The skid of her wheels she feels.)
Skidding wheels,
(The skid of her wheels she feels.)
Spinning wheels.
(Wheel-skidding feeling.)

Her heart is there,
But they've greased the road.
Her heart is out there,
But she's no control.

Oh, come on, you've got to use your flow.
You know what it's like, and you know you want to go.
Don't drive too slowly.
Don't put your blues where your shoes should be.
Don't put your foot on the heartbrake.

(She's losing, she's losing, she's losing, she's losing...)

She's losing that inner flame.
It was burning bright,
But she's losing the light fast.

She's only herself to blame.
Well, take care of yourself,
And remember Georgie.
But she's so O.D.'d on weeping
She can harDLy see

That she's dropping beads.
(Red, red glass is bleeding.)
Dropping beads.
(Red, red glass is bleeding.)
Dropping beads.
(Red, red on the parquet.)

Her heart is there,
But they've greased the road.
Her heart is out there,
But she's no control.

Oh, come on, you've got to use your flow.
You know what it's like, and you know you want to go.
Don't drive too slowly.
Don't put your blues where your shoes should be.

. . .



James, come on home.
You've been gone too long, baby.
We can't let our hero
Die alone.

We miss you day and night.
You left town to live by the rifle.
You left us to fight,
But it just ain't right to take away the light.

Remember Genie from the casino?
She's still a-waiting in that big brass bed.
The boys from your gang are knocking whisky back,
'Til they get out of hand and wish they were dead.
They're only lonely for the life that they led
With their old friend.

Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?
Selling your soul to a
Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?

Where lies your heart?
It's not there in the buckskin, baby.
It's not there in the gin
That makes you laugh long and loud.

You're a coward, James.
You're running away from humanity.
You're running away from reality.
It won't be funny when they rat-a-tat-tat you down.

Remember Genie from the casino?
She's still a-waiting in that big brass bed.
The boys from your gang are knocking whisky back,
'Til they get out of hand and wish they were dead.
They're only lonely for the life that they led
With their old friend.

Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?
Selling your soul to a

. . .



You came out of the night,
Wearing a mask in white colour.
My eyes were shining
On the wine, and your aura.
All in order, we move into the boudoir,
But too soon the morning has resumed.

I'm hanging on the Old Goose Moon.
You look like an angel,
Sleeping it off at a station.
Were you only passing through?

I'm dying for you just to touch me,
And feel all the energy rushing right up-a-me.
L'amour looks something like you.

The thought of you sends me shivery.
I'm dressed in lace, sailing down a black reverie.
My heart is thrown
To the pebbles and the boatmen.
All the time I find I'm living in that evening,
With that feeling of sticky love inside.

I'm hanging on the Old Goose Moon.
You look like an angel,
Sleeping it off at a station.
Were you only passing through?

I'm dying for you just to touch me,
And feel all the energy rushing right up-a-me.

. . .


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