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Squeeze




Music World  →  Тексты песен  →  S  →  Squeeze  →  Дискография  →  East Side Story

Альбом Squeeze


East Side Story (1981)
1981
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. . .


He smokes himself into double vision
Leaves his mind on an indecision,
Thinks he's invented imagination
Says that god is some relation.
He leaves his cigarette burning on the desk
His clothes and magazines make up such a mess,
Sitting up in bed transistor on his chest
In quintessence.
He and his friends sit around all evening
Leaving their laughter upon the ceiling,
Seems so funny yet it leaves me yawning
Then I find it's the following morning.
He says his girlfriend lives too far away
Always at a friend's house or on holiday,
His bible of romance hides itself away
In quintessence.

A 15 year old's browse through life,
is fine with his quintessence safe and sound in mind,
Life's an adolescence from time to time
With us all
in quintessence.

In the corner with his book and tissue
All he can do is pretend to miss you,
Closes his eyes as he sees her body
Pulls funny faces and that's his hobby.
On the other hand love ain't a happy word
On the other hand love ain't a piece of skirt,
Makes for something special in your football shirt
in quintessence.

. . .


I got nosy and I read her letters
I read her diary it's the same story and nothing better,
The words remind me of someone else's heart
Has gone and left a mark.
And the pop music plays
On the local radio,
There's people on the streets but no one that I know
And like my heart is now
I know not where they go.

Same words different meaning
Same heart different feeling,
So much for him so much for her 'cause that's past,
Now I know about that someone else's heart.

She got nosy and read my letters too
And my notebook surprised to find that
Love is not so new,
So we both took
Someone else's heart
And walked it through the dark.

A feeling so rich
I turned around to laugh,
We had both indulged in each other's past
To find out that our love
Was true enough to last.

. . .


I bought a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a flannel for my face
Pajamas, a hairbrush, new shoes and a case
I said to my reflection, "let's get out of this place"
Past the church and the steeple, the laundry on the hill
The billboards and the buildings, memories of it still
Keep calling and calling, but forget it all, I know I will

Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
What's been going on
Now that you have gone
There's no other
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered

I'm at the carpark, the airport, the baggage carousel
The people keep on crowding, I'm wishing I was well
I said, "It's no occasion, it's no story I can tell"
At my bedside, empty pocket, a foot without a sock
Your body gets much closer, I fumble for the clock
Alarmed by the seduction, I wish that it would stop

Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
What's been going on
Now that you have gone
There's no other
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered

I bought a novel, some perfume, a fortune all for you
But it's not my conscience that hates to be untrue
I asked of my reflection, "tell me, what is there to do?"

Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
What's been going on
Now that you have gone
There's no other
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
Tempted by the fruit of another

. . .


She's not a picture above somebody's fire
She sits in a towel with a purple hair dryer,
She waits to get even with me.
She hooks up her cupcakes and puts on her jumper
Explains that she'll be late to a worrying mother,
She meets me in Piccadilly.
A begging folk singer stands tall by the entrance
His song relays worlds of most good intentions,
A fiver a ten p in his hat for collection.

She talks about office she talks about dresses
She's seen one she fancies her smile is impressing,
So maybe I'll treat her someday.
We queue among strangers and strange conversation
Love's on the lips of all forms of engagements,
All queuing to see tonight's play.

A man behind me talks to his young lady
He's happy that she is expecting his baby,
His wife won't be pleased but she's not been round lately.

The girl was so dreadful we left in a hurry
We escaped in the rain for an Indian curry,
At the candle lit Taj Mahal.
My lips to a napkin I called for a taxi
The invite of eyes made it tense but relaxed me,
My mind took a devious role.

The cab took us home through a night I'd not noticed
The neon club lights of adult films and Trini Lopez,
My arm around love but my acting was hopeless.

We crept like two thieves from the kettle to the fire
We kissed to the sound of the silence that we'd hired,
Now captured, your love in my arms.
A door opened slightly a voice spoke in worry
Mum went to bed without wind of the curry,
Our secret love made its advance.

Like Adam and Eve we took bite on the apple
Loose change in my pocket it started to rattle,
Heart like a gun was just half of the battle.

. . .


There's no tomorrow
When you feel sorrow,
There's just the evening
There's just the night,
To drink the feelings
Right out the ceiling
There's no tomorrow, now there's tonight.
There's no remembers
There's no pretenders,
There's just the weakness
There's just the thought,
So drink those troubles
Through several doubles
There's no tomorrow, 'cause life's too short.

There's no expression
There's no aggression,
There's just the sadness
There's just the pain
So drink to mysteries,
With one more whiskey
There's no expression, I'm drunk again.

There's no tomorrow
When you feel hollow,
There's just the barman
To lend an ear
So drink to lovers,
If there are others
There's no tomorrow, tomorrow's here.

. . .


Bar illuminations shiver
Shadows on the street
The Cypriot sailors
Find the world back at their feet
Endless days of tobacco nights by the radio
I wonder if they'll ever go to heaven
The beer mats are wading
In a table of froth
The bar girl is serving
With a check drying cloth
She'll bend over backwards even though she's knackered
I wonder if there'll have her up in heaven

Like the sailors I walk home, it's six a.m.
Heaven's round the corner in a comfortable bed
And I love her.

The officers and seamen
Elbow places at the bar
Words that tempt the goddess
Don't leave beats upon the heart
But she'll service his pleasure
And never know the treasure
That his wife keeps forever up in heaven

The first light of the morning
Proves too much for the street
No one sees each other
Just their presence there to meet
Your chin takes to stubble at the sight of a funnel
And the gangplank is no trouble up to heaven

. . .


The crown of the kingdom is given to the woman
The kingdom of the kitchen where she says she shouldn't,
There on the stainless steel her cigarettes and matches
Whistles to the radio to every hook she catches,
But the frowns
Eider downs,
Tie her down
But she likes to wear the crown of the kingdom.
She like the recipes a touch of oriental
Steaming up the windows burning egg on metal,
Sees in a catalogue a shiny new appliance
Another role swallowed by the wonders of science,
Lobster hands
Omelette pans,
Understand
How the crown can stick like jam in her kingdom.

He's been so busy and she's been neglected,
The problem is computed and always it's rejected,
Out of her heart I catch a spark,
And being smart
The crown is left out in the dark now there's no kingdom.

Fed up with the glory she abdicates her title
Sitting at a bar stool she gives her day's recital,
The family watch in horror
As she staggers up the hallway
Makes herself a sandwich
As they're looking through the doorway,
She goes to bed
Leg by leg,
Nothing's said
There's no crown upon her head there's no kingdom.

Press the button on the toaster
It's a woman's world,
Tuck the sheets in on the bed
It's a woman's world,
Take your apron from your holster
It's a woman's world,
Shoot the crown off of your head
It's a woman's world.

. . .


You've left my ring by the soap,
Now is that love?
You cleaned me out you could say broke,
Now is that love?
The better better better it gets
The more these girls forget
That that is love.
You won't get dressed you walk about,
Now is that, is that
A teasing glance has pushed me out,
Now is that, is that
The tougher tougher tougher it gets
The more my lips frequent
Now that is love.

Beat me up with your letters, your walk out notes,
Funny how you still find me right here at home.
Legs up with a book and a drink,
Now is that love that's making you think.

You've called my bluff I'm not so hot,
Now is that love
My assets froze while yours have dropped,
Now is that, is that
It's the cupid cupid cupid disguise
That more or less survived
Now that is love.

Beat me up with your letters, your walk out notes,
Funny how you still find me right here at home.
Legs up with a book and a drink,
Now is that love that's making you think.

You've made my bed the finger points
Now is that, is that love
The more you more you more you cool down
The easier love is found
Now that is love.

. . .


I wrote her name on a bar mat
She had a peculiar bonnet,
But a youngish damsel figure
With her tongue tied to a trigger,
She seemed a total killer
Her face all filled with filler,
Her face a painting palette
I stomached all her habits,
Sipped her snow balls poshly like a judge
But left her lipstick traces on her mug.
We watched each other closely
She looks like Bela Lugosi,
She asked me for a ride home
I felt around for my comb,
And in the bar room mirror
I combed right through her figure,
She wiggled through the car park
Into the pit of my heart,
Sat herself beside me in my van
A ring on every finger of her hand.

She lived down by the river
A flat the council give her,
Wallpaper very scenic
Her outlook very beatnik,
We watched the close and weather
Then through the door he entered,
Short sleeves and arms of iron
And me with just my tie on,
She said the lodger's used to this by now
I'd handled all the bull but not the cow.

Behind her velvet sofa
I found myself back sober,
She kept an old acoustic
She never ever used it,
A gift for me with a capo
A six string with an f-hole,
We made the strangest couple
A Laurel and Hardy double,
I learnt to play her favourite country songs
With one or two chords always going wrong

. . .


She unscrews the top of her new whisky bottle
And shuffles around in her candle-lit hovel
Like some kind of witch with blue fingers in mittens
She smells like the cat and the neighbours she sickens
The black and white T.V. has long seen a picture
The cross on the wall is a permanent fixture
The postman delivers the final reminders
She sells of the silver and poodles in china

Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled and labelled with love

During the wartime an American pilot
Made every air-raid a time of excitement
She moved to his prairie and married the Texan
She learnt from a distance how love was a lesson
He became drinker and she became mother
She knew that one day she'd be one or the other
He ate himself older and drank himself dizzy
Proud of her features she kept herself pretty

Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled and labelled with love

He like a cowboy died drunk in a slumber
Out on the porch in the middle of summer
She crossed the ocean back home to her family
But they had retired to roads that were sandy
She moved home alone without friends or relations
Lived in a world full of age reservations
On moth-eaten armchairs, she'd say that she'd sod-all
The friends who had left her to drink from the bottle

Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled and labelled with love

Drinks to remember I, me and myself
Winds up the clock and knocks dust from the shelf
Home is a love that I miss very much
So the past has been bottled and labelled with love

. . .


We talk about each other
On our wrap around couch,
And live out all the romance
In our little town house.
I never fit the shower
And she never sews the threads,
And so we find our feelings
In other people's beds.
And if the grass seems greener,
But it turns out to be blue
The garden of Eden isn't quite the place for you.
Don't be surprised if I'm gone under the spell,
Of some other witches' wand
Ringing someone else's bell.

Meeting on the motorway
Your lover boy blue,
Steaming up the windows
With your last breath of youth.
Don't you think I see it
Your handbag's full of notes,
I'm feeling like the punch line
In someone's private joke.

Our eyes don't seem to contact
Never much to say,
Except perhaps excuse me
Or pass me the ashtray.
I see him waiting for you
As you go off to work,
I'm left to draw conclusions
While I button up my shirt.

. . .


Eyebrows plucked and toenails cut,
I'll pick you up with a little luck, all prim and proper.
Shaven legs and calls to Fred,
It all depends o' alright then, I can not stop her.
The makeup box has always got,
Ever such a lot of odds and sods, in there to offer.
She needs paints to make her face,
And make her late again and again
So I'll knock her
The tick is tocker.
Mumbo jumbo words to say,
Are you coming out,
Coming out,
Coming out to play?
With a broken nose on a sunny day,
I would bet,
I would bet,
None of these girls would ever care,
Or get upset.
Or get upset.

Short and fat with a fishnet hat,
And a hungry cat in a nice new flat, with her Scrabble.
Sits by the phone when she's all alone,
And on her own it's a mental home, full of babble.
Writes with charm to uncle farm,
With a broken arm in a broken barn, feeds the cattle.
She hears the hens as she takes the pen,
And it's now and now it's then [and now and then a little arab friend],
She would saddle.
The dip is dabbled

Kissing curls and boyish girls,
For all the pearls in all the world, wouldn't have me.
If I had oil and money to spoil,
I'd mix with loyal and I get some royal, little lassie.
I'm up at nine down the line,
To watch the time 'till half past five.
I wish they'd sack me
She's at home the milkman's home
To have a farm and seeds to sow
It makes her happy
The chip is chappie.

. . .


She left her school for the factory
From pocket money to a salary,
From a pac-a-mac to a compact case
And every morning she inspects her face.
She discovers pulling pints in pubs
That the good looks will never cover up for
Her dumbness in taking the stock
Sees her reflection in a butcher's shop.
She finds it all quite rare
That her meat's all vanity fair.

She has her eyes on medallion men
Who get her home on the dot at ten,
She combs her hair when she gets excused
The deal she wants always ends up screwed.
Paints her nails on the bathroom scales
Gargles her breath like a landed whale,
Her beauty is as deep as her skin
Keeps her eyebrows in a tobacco tin.
She poses foot on the chair
Coconut shy but vanity fair.

In her vanity case her compact case
In her compact case her eyes,
Not bad for a sister
But her vanity's fair and her sense of humour's dry.
She comes home late with another screw loose
She swears to have had just a pineapple juice,
Falls asleep fully clothed in her bed
With her makeup remover by her head.
And she might not be all there
But her dream's all vanity fair.

. . .


She wants to give up love for good
She kicks the fence and splits the wood,
She cries her eyes out in the rain
She swears aloud and so again,
She feels messed around.
She takes her coat off as it pours
The passing daytime she ignores,
Sits with a problem on a bench
And with her heel she digs a trench,
She feels messed around.
She rips her skirt and tears her dress
Climbing over his garden fence,
Mud on her mourning as tears still fall
She's in no mood for his love at all,
She feels messed around

Her door won't shut, her match won't light,
The bulb went out, her skirts too tight,
She feels messed around.
The words don't match, her heart won't heal,
The phone won't pip, her fruit won't peel,
She feels messed around.

She left herself open for him all the time
But always kept off of his cloud,
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Have come to mess her around.

. . .


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