Tag Archives: song

La vie est belle (Life is Beautiful) Song by Indochine


Life is Beautiful

 

My banker thinks that I might need somebody to help me

Whereas, my shrink  says that I actually need somebody to love me

The passing time always leads us to face ourselves

If it’s not me, who’ll resolve my problems?

I’ve heard it, ‘you overcomplicate things’

Try to better see how much life is beautiful, open your arms

I told myself, ah, that life is beautiful

Maybe for you, who lives like you’re in a dream

Dressed in gold and silk

Ah, life is beautiful

Ah, life is beautiful

Mom sees me becoming an architect or a doctor

I work at the plant, my boss sees me as worth nothing

Dad told me ‘being a musician is not a job’

Let me close my eyes until tomorrow, at least

I’ve heard it, ‘you overcomplicate things’

I’ve heard it, ‘you overcomplicate things’

Try to better see how much life is beautiful, open your arms

I told myself, ah, that life is beautiful

Maybe for you, who lives like you’re in a dream

Dressed in gold and silk

Ah, life is beautiful

Ah, life is beautiful

I’ve heard it, ‘you overcomplicate things’

Try to better see how much life is beautiful, open your arms

I told myself, ah, that life is beautiful

Maybe for you, who lives like you’re in a dream

Dressed in gold and silk

Ah, life is beautiful

Ah, life is beautiful

 

Lyrics and Song by Indochine

 

Seven Days by Sting with Lyrics


Seven Days

“Seven Days” was all she wrote
A kind of ultimatum note
She gave to me, she gave to me
When I thought the field had cleared
It seems another suit appeared
To challenge me, woe is me
Though I hate to make a choice
My options are decreasing mostly rapidly
Well we’ll see
I don’t think she’d bluff this time
I really have to make her mine
It’s plain to see
It’s him or me

Monday, I could wait till Tuesday
If I make up my mind
Wednesday would be fine, Thursday’s on my mind
Friday’d give me time, Saturday could wait
But Sunday’d be too late

The fact he’s over six feet ten
Might instill fear in other men
But not in me, the mighty flea
Ask if I am mouse or man
The mirror squeaked, away I ran
He’ll murder me in time for his tea
Does it bother me at all
My rival is Neanderthal, it makes me think
Perhaps I need a drink
IQ is no problem here
We won’t be playing Scrabble for her hand I fear
I need that beer

Monday, I could wait till Tuesday
If I make up my mind
Wednesday would be fine, Thursday’s on my mind
Friday’d give me time, Saturday could wait
But Sunday’d be too late

Seven days will quickly go
The fact remains, I love her so
Seven days, so many ways
But I can’t run away
I can’t run away

Monday, I could wait till Tuesday
If I make up my mind
Wednesday would be fine, Thursday’s on my mind
Friday’d give me time, Saturday could wait
But Sunday’d be too late
(Sunday’d be too late)
Sunday’d be too late

Do I have to tell a story
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met
It’s a big enough umbrella
But it’s always me that ends up getting wet

Songwriters: Gordon Sumner (Sting)

I want a girl by the band Cake (then totally smashed up and changed by Me.


 
I want a girl with a mind like carbon
who gives life to everything
in my world.
I want a girl who knows me well
and holds me to it.
I want a girl with heels that click
And eyes that dance like fireflies
I want a girl with deep sentiments
Who’s passionate, thorough, and true
She’s playing with her hair
She’s giving me a smile
As her laughter fills my ears
as I  bend her over the chair.
I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket.
I want a girl who stays in bed
I want a girl who stays up late
I want a girl with corruptible possibilities
Who’ll go skinny dipping with me on a  first date.
With fingernails that dig deep
And a voice with dark menace that invites me in.
I want a girl with a meteoric sense about her
I want a girl with delicious resolve
At  Barnes and Nobles we will meet periodically
We’ll start to kiss over fantasy and the occasional
sonnet.
She wants a car that uses a stick
She wants a car that will get her there at times
instead of my d*$!
She’s changing her name
From Miss to Mistress
She’s trading her life  for something better not found in life
I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket
by Philip Wardlow sort of  2017  🙂

Song of Her


 

She’s now my melancholy,
my folly
my quarter note
never full.
She’s the one that spun
away
after I played her over and over.

A glissando of whims, wonderment, and woe
up then down
Sliding, ever sliding
to that natural progression
where our music was surely meant to go
Inevitably
to fade, fade, fade, away
and come to
its final
rest.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Jacky 0 + Mumi – Right Where It Belongs (Nine Inch Nails live cover)


Right Where it Belongs

See the animal in his cage that you built
Are you sure what side you’re on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built
Everything where it belongs
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart
And it’s all right where it belongs

What if everything around you
Isn’t quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want it to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself find yourself afraid to see?

What if all the world’s inside of your head?
Just creations of your own
Your devils and your gods all the living and the dead
And you really oughta know
You can…

 

The Needle lifts up


 

Round and round and round and round and round
the needle gliding effortlessly
dragging over the unseen bumps
in a well worn groove
where it can’t climb out.

Of its own accord,
the needle lifts,
and shifts
back to the start and begins again
its shitty little song.
You might think robotic seeming in its prescribed nature,
but there is oh
so much less thought behind it’s action
For it’s been simply
fit together with
molded parts long ago
just so
to enable this
action over and over.

This spinning piece of compressed black vinyl
on edge, dips and wobbles
to mine eye.
Warped beyond belief.
Perhaps once laid out in the sun
or caught in the hot backseat
I never did take good care of them.

So as the needle lifts up yet again,
I remove the old record from its place
Hold it delicately in hand
Then gripping tightly
Swiftly bring it down to
meet the wooden corner edge.

I pick up the broken bits,
deposit every last piece
in the trash.
Then remove the plastic wrap
from a newly minted song
never heard
and carefully put it down
to spin.

Lifting the needle up
off its cradle
I kiss it softly to the
disc.

To hear something fresh.

by Philip Wardlow 2017