Lonesome, slightly too proud to live in the present,
you wonder what use it is to spend so much time on it.
This arpeggio is a trap, where is the way out?
You think of it, lay siege to it and end up
more lonesome than ever.
You cross out, you despair, cries and whispers
You run around in circles, burry yourself and drink far too much.
That's bad, you can't help it. That night is hell.
Where is the way out? More lonseome than ever,
more lonesome than ever.
This perverse song1 full of the best of intentions
is a tough nut to crack. Who do you think you are2?
All around you there's war, hunger, misery.
You're getting soft, bro. Where is the way out?
More lonseome than ever.
It's always a great mystery, a heavy secret,
all that mankind can do, all this relentless,
radical and bloodthirsty anihilation of his brethren.
He needs all his talent, more lonesome than ever.
This picture of a woman in white near the border
who's been lying in the dust for a while.
There is the jet lag, I shouldn't have mentioned her.
Was not the right moment. I'm more lonesome than ever.
I'm more lonesome than ever.
1. a pun on "La chanson de Prévert"2. comparing himself to Master Gainsbourg, apparently :)