The same old scary night in the Bronx
In the club they’re playing a blues by the Stones,
shady characters at bar counter, filled up with whiskey and margaritas.
All of a sudden the door goes “slam”, the one-eyed man comes in with news:
“reliable tip! They whisper that cannons have gone bang!”
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows who did it,
maybe the gangland or the advertising men.
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows why,
maybe he stepped out of line against some coffee industries.
At the police station the commissioner says: “it’s no big deal!
What happened won’t stop us, criminals won’t win!”
But panic has spread out in the streets by now
Nobody leaves home, nobody wants troubles
and nobody trusts in TV-calls for calm anymore.
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows who did it
Maybe the gangland or the advertising men
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows why
maybe he stepped out of line against some coffee industries.
Down in the streets gangs of stressed accountants in double-breasted blazers,
“if I won’t sell you out, you will do that, for a hundred liras or little more!”
Vogue’s faces are legends to us, overly-attractive actors are the only heroes,
instead he was a real star, but he won’t come back.
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows who did it
Maybe the gangland or the advertising men
They killed Spiderman, nobody knows why
maybe he stepped out of line against some coffee industries.