nice, nice, nice, Andrea
my heart smile, ache,
burn, quake, even
if only just sli-
ghtly more-
so than
..just
b4
quid pro quo:
Although I’m disappointed that this is the only version I can find of RW doing
Flickering Flame live (the quality is poor at best ~ listen to the audience skirmishing
with words of indignation; that means by which we take sides and break communication
so excellently unconscious of our dehumanized folly from whence the handling, the torrent,
the platten press to loose ourselves so completely from our best acts, has come),
I hope along with the lyrics you can see, as I saw the parallels (perhaps) that
you meant to draw with your quid pro quo: …that lovely lady who smiles
like Pocahontas after a long, trying, but presumably pleasant journey,
that all so often we are all seeing some of the same things together.
Flickering Flame http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2nVAZXJRUQ
When my neurons conspire to direct my thoughts
Away from divorce and competitive sports
Back to the place where all rivers run to the sea
Then I shall be free
Then I shall be free
On a see-saw in a strange land
The jackdaw sat on the cardinals hand
And the fiddlers played
And the planners plan what would be
On a back seat in a court room
sat Molly Malone and Leopold Bloom
Until the police came down with a new broom
And swept them clean
Like Geronimo
Like Quinn the Eskimo
Like the Blackfoot
And like the Arapaho
Like Crazy Horse
I'll be the last one to lay down my gun...
And when the bell sounds for that final round
I'll be there
On the open road in a bar room
A pick up band plays a new tune
When the coloured girl sing
I feel my heart spoon
When a new song hits the right note
When a clearing in the sky saves an old boat
When an answer strikes the mote
From my own eye
Like Geronimo
Like Quinn the Eskimo
Like the Blackfoot
And like the Arapaho
Like Crazy Horse
I'll be the last one to lay down my gun...
They're the same beyond the next plain
I'll feel the heat of the flickering flame
On an African Plain by a thorn tree
My old friend Philippe is waiting for me
Que se passe Que se passe
What ever will be will be
When a friend dies and the tears rise
From that deep well that never runs dry
And the women break their bracelets
And the men take their whisky outside
In a pied 'a' terre on the rue St. Denis
The red velvet curtain pulls back to reveal
The place where the dark side meets the angel in me...
the angel in me
When my synapses pause in their quest for applause
When my ego lets go of its end of the bone
To focus instead on a love that is precious to me
Then I shall be free
Then I shall be free
