Isle of Gilligan (Sherwood Schwartz)

You might have thought with lines like “The first one kills and skipper too much” this was the theme from Lost, but nope. TV Theme Song Friday, which should be moved to Thursday for the alliteration if we plan to stick with it, and which is being published Saturday this week because I can't get my act together at all, introduces the Theme from Gilligan’s Island by Sherwood Schwartz, as performed by The Eligibles.
N.B. The Wellingtons sang the version that didn’t namecheck the Professor and Mary Ann, whom everyone I know were hoping would fall in love with each other. This never happened, a lesson for all of us, I think.

-S

It feels right, only for the back. And you will hear one tale,
Tale of the one of a trip fateful
That it starts on board of this port of this very small ship.
Sailing kills! It was a powerful man, to skipper brave and certain.
Five passengers had adjusted the sail that day for an excursion of three hours,
An excursion of three hours.

To start, started rough time,
A very small ship was launched,
If not for the courage of the group
That fearless minnow would be lost,
Minnow, either.
Lost.

The adjusted land of the ship in the coast of this uncharted isle of the desert
With Gilligan
Skipper too much,
Millionaire and its wife,
The Star of Film
The professor and Mary Ann,
Here in Isle of Gilligan.

Thus, this is tale of castaways, they is here for a long, long time,
Them will have that to make more better of the things, it uphill is a scaling.
The first one kills and skipper too much,
Will make it much more better,
To make the other comfortable one,
In the nest of the console.

No telephone, neither light neither engine cars,
Not an only luxury,
As Robinson Crusoe, so primitive!
How much it can be?

It, thus, joins us here each week, my friends,
You are certain to start a smile,
Of seven castaways run aground,
Here in Isle of Gilligan.

Night of the Difficult Day (Beatles)

Language: Russian

It's true that when you get domestic, you find things. Sometimes I find twist-ties and paper clips and stuff. Though usually it's just dust bunnies.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There will be a night, and a difficult day. (I work as a dog.)
Whichever night or difficult day it will be, I must sleep as a periodical.
When I get domestic, I will find things.
I feel all right with you.

You know, I work the entire day in order to obtain that money.
You purchased necessary things, and it was worth it
to hear you say you'd give it to me.
So why do I begin on earth?
Is everything to moan? 'Cause when I get one by you,
you know, it feels approved.

It seems the domestic will be all right. (When I
am feeling that domestic, you hold me tightly, tightly: owww!)

So why begin to moan on earth?
'Cause I will, if I get to you by one.

You know, I feel approved when I'm domestic.
It seems that all will be right, when I'm feeling domestic.
Will you hold me tightly (yeah, tightly)?

There will be a night and a difficult day. (I work as a dog.)
Whichever night or difficult day it will be, I must sleep as a periodical.
When I get domestic, I will find things.
I feel all right with you.
you make me feel all right with
you. You feel all right to know me.
You know me; you feel all right.

Uptown Girl (Billy Joel)

Language: Russian

When does a city become large enough to have a "downtown" and "uptown" neighborhood? Does somebody just declare it so, one day?

Iowa City, where I live presently, has a downtown but not (to my knowledge) an uptown. Will it get one, at some point? And when it does get one, how will you know when you're in it? Or is there some kind of technical definition, having to do with "up" and "down" in some way, so that Iowa City might have an uptown without anyone referring to it as such? Is it maybe just a part of town where everybody has a positive attitude? (And if so, why would this uptown girl in the song want to hang out with Billy Joel anyway?) These are the things that I think about, when it's late at night and I'm trying to think of interesting things to say about Billy Joel, which so far has happened only two times in my entire life but was difficult both times.

Tune in later, when I'll be investigating the difference between "backstreet boys" and "frontstreet boys." I suspect something sexual is involved.

-Jessi

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Uptown girl
lives in peace uptown: she
never had the rear of a street guy, I bet.
She told her mama why I never bet in her.

The uptown girl will attempt: I'm gonna be nearby.
She lives in her peace of white bread, which
is long in proportion to the hot jar of blood, as with any
urban person. And now she looks for it: me.

He knows when she
wants his time. From him
it spills upward, and
upward, and makes reasons when

he sees it. He's not exactly so rough, is he?
I won't, because I find the love
which is with you, uptown girl.
(Peace is in uptown, you know: I saw it.)
She is tired of her toys of the get-high type,
vs. present moments from boys. She is, and it's
uptown; it's got selection.

Uptown girl: you know I cannot make
your pearls' purchase possible,
but possibly someday, my ship will arrive, and
that will form the guy. (Understand: I'm inside of it.)
Also, I will win after this.

When she goes for a walk, she
looks precise, and when she speaks,
she will say it to me.

She will say it's not so rough, not
exactly, because I am located in the uptown love.
And girl, she lives in her peace of white bread. (Which is it?)
To any length, within proportion, as with the jar of hot blood,
and now she looks for the urban person
(me).

Uptown girls.
There she will be, by my uptown girl,
which is in the love I find, you know.
You're it, with uptown girls;
you know which: my uptown girl.
I will be in love with the uptown girl,
you, my uptown girl,
you know I will be in love
by an uptown girl, with
my uptown girl.

Milk Shake (Kelis)

Language: Dutch

It's hard for me to come up with anything to say about this one, but then, I could never come up with much to say about the original song, either.

-Jessi

{X} My milk shake brings boys to all the yards,
and they are better than you. As it is,
damn better than you. It is my right:
I must charge, but you could teach me.

My milk shake brings boys to all the yards,
and they are better than you. As it is,
the right is better than you. Damn.
I must charge, but you could teach me. {/X}

I want it from you,
the thing that makes me want.
The guys go out crazily
because their opinions lose them.
I have moaned in the manner in which I
think. It's time.

{y:} Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer:
guard it warmly.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer –
the boys.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer,
warm drawers on it.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer:
the boys wait. {/y}

{X}

I see you,
for you want me. Are
these boys freaks that teach techniques?
Only captive robbers cannot be bought.
Watch it, if you are malignant.

{y}

{X}

Oh, as soon as everyone is involved, you
will look at this.
So, you must maintain that charm of yours.
(Halo time!) Maintain your
perfect mixture the same, only become
more. What will you then
have, afterwards? Then he eyes
your squint. Be taken to scent.

American Cake, Part II (Don McLean, Madonna, et al)

The translated chorus, both here and in Part I reminds me of that Gwendolyn Brooks thing that you think is really great and clever the first time you read it, but due to the law of diminishing returns or something, each subsequent viewing leaves you a little less excited.* You know how a lot of things are like that?

OK, but so Part II comprises the verses where this song always achieved a perfect mélange of enticing and repelling my high school self. It’s here that McLean’s references seem to spiral inward into such self-aware specificity that the exponentially increasing levels of analysis it seems to be inviting from the listener are kind of what makes it, like, suck? Like the song likes to think that it’s the enigma machine, but really it’s one of those first-attempt-at-a-poem poems where Everything is Actually a Stand In for Something Else. Blahhg.

But, happily, these are also the verses that the Brady Bunch included in their truncated cover version on the album Meet the Brady Bunch, which, when I heard it in college, allowed me to feel just a bit superior, because while by then I had outgrown those childish things, I could imagine the six Brady kids poring over the lyrics and FREAKING OUT because this is the half of the song McLean designed to make suburban teens freak out.

Attic-dwelling, literalist Greg would be all, “The three men he admires most are The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly,” and idealist Marcia would be all, “No, it’s RFK, JFK and MLK,” and that Blakean mystic Jan would be all, “No, it’s the literal Holy Trinity,” but Cindy, little Cindy, looking at a framed picture (Is it Robert Reed? I can't make it out), would spake as a child:

You thay. You’re
Gonna leave. You
Know it’th a lie. You
Know that. Will
Be the day. When I
Die soon

Also, “Fun bird”? WTF, German language?

-Samantha

* Actually, I take it back -- I just listened to it and when
you hear her read it, it makes it OK again. Though
that's not the case with this song.


Helter (more “skelter”) at a summer more swelter.
The birds flew away with a precipitation protection,
Eight miles highly and fast falliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
It landed, against the rules, on the grass.
The players tried for a forward run,
With the fun-bird on the supplementary income in a form.

Half the temporal air was a sweet odoriferous substance now,
While the Sergeants played a marching melody.
We rose completely, in order to dance,
Oh, but we never received the probability!
Because the players tried, catch, to take;
The marching volume rejected to furnish.
Do you recall, what the day was uncovered, which the music died?

We caught on to sing, So long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee? Was it drying!
The good old boys whisky drank (and rye)
And singing, this'll is the day, which I die.
This will is the day, which I die.

All -- oh -- and we were there in a place,
Which a production, which was in the area without time,
To the left again to begin lost.
So concerned: Jack is speedy! Jack is fast!
The Jack Lightning, which sat on a candle owner,
Caused a fire, is the only friend of the devil.

Oh -- and I, it on the stage, watched out there,
My hands became in the fists of a stranglehold.
No angel, who was carried in Hell,
Could break that spell (Satan’s).
And during the flames strongly into the night climbed,
In order to light up the offering candle,
Saw I that Satan, with joy, laugh the day,
Which the music died

It sang so long, it misses the American cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but... the levee, was it? Drying,
The good old boys whisky drank (and rye)
And singing, this'll is the day, which I die.
This'll is the day, which I die.

I met a girl, who sang the blue
And I asked it for somewhat lucky messages,
But she straight-smiled and turned away.
Forwards, I went, down to the holy memory,
Which I heard the music years became,
But the man said there that the music would not play.

And in the roads: the children cried,
Cried the loving. And the poets dreamed.
But a word was not spoken;
All church-bells were defective.

And the three men admire I most:
The father, son and the holy spirit,
Reached her last course for the coast
The day, which the music died.

And they sang:
So long, so long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee was drying.
And they (good old boys) drank whisky and singing rye.
Being is the day, which I die,
These is the day, which I die.

You sang:
So long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee -- was it drying!
The good old boys drank whisky and rye.
This are to sing the day, which I die

American Cake, Part I (Don McLean)

Language: German

Samantha and I have divided this one between us, because it's really really long and, frankly, I didn't think that I was capable of dealing with the whole thing. (Samantha is, I think, just humoring me. Which is fine with me as long as I don't have to do the whole thing.)

I should admit that I really hate this song. I mean really, really hate. This hasn't always been the case, or at least it doesn't seem like it. But in my part of the Midwest, no matter where you are, it seems like there's at least one radio station that will play this song about every six to eight hours. At the moment, where I'm living, there are two such stations: one of them also plays "Me and Bobby McGee," a song I actually did like at one time, at least three times a day, and the other one also plays "Livin' on a Prayer," by Bon Jovi, like every other hour.

The "Livin' on a Prayer" thing is a little easier to deal with because I always hear "It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not" as "It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not." So I prefer that station.

Anyway. So I hate this song through sheer overexposure. I have no idea whether it's a good song or not, I don't know what it's about, all I know is that I want Don McLean to die. Repeatedly, if necessary. And anyone who wants to write a twenty-minute song called "The Day 'the Day the Music Died,' Died" is just going to have to have to think long and hard about whether or not that's a good idea.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A long, long time before,
I can remind myself calmly,
I used to like this music of educated smiles.
I mean, I knew, and, if probability had
let those people dance, then possibly I could,
and they would (for a while) be lucky.

However, I would supply a shiver
with each paper. (I, who
formed February!) Bad messages on the door;
I couldn't undertake the further stages.

Remind me if I cried, if I could not.
I read over his widowed bride, when
something deeply within me
affected the daily music, which died.

So good-bye, Miss American Cake.
Levee drove the Chevy to the mine,
but Levee was drying the
good old boys, and they were drinkin' whisky and singing "Rye!"
I am the day; this'll die.
Which day is this? I'll die!

You wrote the love book,
and have faith in your God, above the
Bible. Such a way explains it to you.
Can you believe in rock roles,
store your death in soul music,
and can you teach dances to me, or how one slows material down?

You're in the love with him; I
dance to that, because I see you know the gymnasium property.
They both stepped away from your shoes.
Man, I dig that blue rhythm.

I was a lonely broncing youth
with a pickup truck and a dollar pink carnation,
but I knew that luck was from
the day when the music died.

I caught on to sing,
"Good-bye, Miss American Cake."
Levee drove the Chevy to the Mine.
Levee was drying, but he
drank whisky and the good old boys' rye.
I'll die singing, "Which day is this?"
This day is the day in which I'll die.

For 10 years, we're on ourselves, which is
[Samantha] moss. Fat now grows on a stoner,
but that's not like it used to be.
When the fun bird sang for the king and the queen,
it sang in a coat it borrowed from James Dekan.
And you: a voice came from me, (from which of us?), and . . .

Oh, the king looked down, and during this,
the thornbird stole his crown. (Fun!)
The court room was rearranged;
a judgment pronouncement was returned. No,
Marx and Lennon read a book, during
practice by the park. In the quartet,
we sang dirges in the darkness, and
the music died that day.

We sang,
"Good-bye, Miss American Cake!"
Levee drove to my Chevy,
but was it drying, Levee?
The old rye, and good whisky boys, drank,
singing, "And this is the day which'll die.
This day will die, which is me."

She-Battle (Cyndi Lauper)

Language: Dutch

And the somewhat anticlimactic conclusion of the Bop Trilogy. I say "anticlimactic" because there's no "bop" anywhere in the song now, so you wouldn't know it was part of the trilogy without outside knowledge of the song. This might be a pecularity of Dutch, to translate "bop"s. On the other hand, if you had to come up with a word to turn "bop" into, you could do a lot worse than this.

-Jessi

Well, tonight I see each of them in tight blue jeans –
boys in the blue pages of an illustrated magazine.
I've thought well of ultrasound. Hey,
oop, I take a new sensation from the she-battle.

Huh. I assume a lion wants to roar with the
south. Wanna get me? I'll go, yes. What's more,
a twinge saves nine on time, they say. Hey,
I'll improve that: if a blind person says to them, "end
the she-battle," then the she-battle will go. Oop!

She battle, he battle, we battle,
I battle, you battle, they battle-battle,
Lu's a battle, she's a battle,
(I'll battle Lu. Does she battle?)
Oo, oo, she-battle, she battles them.

Hey-hey, they say I chaperone
because I can't stop making a mess in the dangerous area.
I will make myself better; and I'm not worried, no.
Still, the law will annoy. (Ain't against it: no, no.)
Oop, they battle, the battle becomes them.

She battle, he battle, we battle,
I battle, you battle, they battle-battle,
Lu's a battle, she's a battle,
(I'll battle Lu. Does she battle?)
Oo, oo, she-battle, she battles them.

Mmmbop (Hanson)

Language: Russian

The second in the "Bop" trilogy. This is probably a little rough around the edges still; I've been occupied with some other stuff and didn't put a lot of time into this. However, I figure it's still okay, on the grounds that most people probably weren't aware that "Mmmbop" had any words besides "Mmmbop." Even if I didn't modify stuff very heavily, it'll still be surprising to people. Or so goes the theory.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You have many relations in this life, which it is, therefore,
but only one or two million will continue.
You go entirely through pain and strife,
then you turn your tail end and they're gone so rapidly.

Oh yeah, they're gone so rapidly.

Oh; so some actually worry which possessions to further,
at the end, only some will be there. They
begin to lose hair. When do you get old, and
can your attentiveness still speak to me?
Can your attentiveness still speak to me? Attentiveness, oh.

Mmmbop, ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes
oh yeah, ba dop duba ba mmmbop makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes

Oh yeah, yeah, they are gone in "mmmbop."

Will you plant the seed, plant the flower,
plant the rose? You can plant any one of those,
contented, in order to find out which one grows of it. The planting
will be secret: no one knows which he is near.
It will be secret: no one knows which he is near.
Oh, no one knows.

Mmmbop, ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes
oh yeah, ba dop duba ba mmmbop makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes
Mmmbop, ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes
oh yeah, ba dop duba ba mmmbop makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes bop,
ba dop duba ba makes

House Doesn't Come to Drink (With Lovin' in Mind) (Loretta Lynn)

Language: Portuguese

Fans of the TV show "House" should be especially pleased by this entry, which is very nearly even factually accurate within the confines of the show. There's a random and uncorroborated bit of homoeroticism at the beginning, but otherwise it more or less confirms what we know: Dr. House doesn't go places to drink, probably because places where people go to drink have, you know, people in them, plus he's probably already drunk most of the time and therefore doesn't need to go anywhere.

Also, when he does drink, he doesn't do so because of love. 'Cause that would involve loving someone in the first place. And don't even talk to me about Sela Ward. He doesn't love her. You know it, I know it, the comotose patient in room 449 knows it. He doesn't even love himself, and if I've learned anything from all my years of television-watching, it's that If you don't love yourself, then nobody else can love you. So Q.E.D.

I assume the "she" who types a lot during the song is Dr. Cuddy, but I'm not sure we've ever actually seen her typing anything, so I'm calling this unconfirmed for the time being. Anybody who has any information about typing during the show should e-mail me.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Well you thought that I'd be above waiting,
the last night you loaded that home. When you
been with all the boys, it's finished for you,
and you're partially firm.

But liquor and love
don't only mix:
behind the license, the bottle, or me,
House don't come to drink, and he
loves within his mind.

None come to drink. House does not
joust in his sojourn of the mind,
for he loves the city. Back in with
what you can find: she doesn't see.
Because if you want that, she will type the
needs (the well, the mine).
None of the love: you don't
come home to drink, thus,
loving's not within your mind.

You never examine me anywhere.
Because you're always gone,
I woke up one night, and placed many
up here, where I cried out all alone.
And then he comes inside, kissing in me –
it happens at all times.

House doesn't come to drink;
none of his number do. With loving in mind,
House doesn't come to drink.
In his joust of the mind, loving it, with a sojourn
in the city, he's back
and he doesn't see what you found,
because if you want to type this up,
well, you don't need no love of mine.

Thus, House doesn't come to drink
with loving in his mind.
No, House doesn't come to drink
with loving in his mind.

Unskinny Bop (Poison)

Language: Russian

I know what a "She-Bop" is, but I never quite understood whether "unskinny bop" was supposed to mean something or not. Perhaps it's a guy thing. This may turn out to be Part I of a "Bop Trilogy," along with "She-Bop" and "Mmmbop." Stay tuned.

-Jessi

So. Have you gotten jumpy?
Yeah? Why can't you sit still?
You wanna force me, like gasoline, and
leave your filling when you got me? Yeah?

Every time I touch honey,
you get hot. By you,
you want to make love,
you never stop. Which are you?
You come up for air after
you press me to the floor:
it goes further into your head.

Unskinny bop
I blow absently. Exactly.
Unskinny bop, bop
The entire night and day.
Unskinny bop, bop, bop, bop,
Which is it exactly? It plays at love.
Unskinny bop,
in order to say more nothing.

You look so funny. My bite
got you to love; therefore I was acting strangely. Oh.
Too many bees were in your copper; you got
another. In your will, I'm exactly a page, a word. Yeah, yeah.

Every time I touch honey,
you get hot. By you,
you want to make love,
you never stop. Which are you?
You come up for air after
you press me to the floor:
it goes further into your head.

"Love won't make you what you'll be," is my saying: it
won't be your love. But write on that.
I can see to your good copper side correctly.
At the end of the race, let's see who's riding us.

Right will be,
untruth will be by.
Left: hell. It goes on.

The Rabbet is in the Heart (Dee-Lite)

Language: Italian

The whole one-hit wonder phenomenon is odd to me. I mean, I never had their album, so I can't say for sure, but I doesn't seem to me like Dee-Lite were any worse at what they do than, say, the Bee Gees, who did something similar, and yet the Bee Gees racked up lots of hits and Dee-Lite didn't. Even if your point of comparison is the B-52s (also similar, though in a different way), there's no real rhyme or reason to who gets famous and who languishes in semi-obscurity.

Which I think there's something in Ecclesiastes about one-hit wonders. (Eccl. 9:11, specifically, though the whole book works pretty well if you're, like, Toni Basil, and you're wanting to put things into perspective.)

In any case, they all seemed personable enough. Maybe there was some heavy Ecstasy use or something. Bands often blame drug abuse when something goes awry. Or maybe Lady Miss Kier blew all their money on wigs: stranger things have happened.

In any event: fare well, Dee-Lite. I wish we'd had more time together.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[sample:]It's going to dance,
it's going to dance,
it's going to dance,
and possess a sure diversion.

A cold one turned upside down on my rear end,
I maintain it with satisfaction. It filled up when we were made.
What satisfaction will come of that? (I) I could not ask the other one.
(I, I, I)
No, I couldn't ask another:
I'm not digging your rabbet that deeply.
Walls? Only the bridge.
My plate from supper, my succotash desire. (sing the child)
I couldn't ask another. (Uh-huh, for uh-huh)
(I, I, I)
No, I couldn't ask another.

The rabbet is in the rabbet,
the heart is in the heart.

The rabbet is in the rabbet
of the heart.
(ah-ah-ah-ah)
Their rabbet is in hula.
The rabbet of the heart
(ah-ah-ah-ah)
is in the rabbet.
The heart is in the (ah-ah-ah) heart.

We move towards the nth circle, going through the depth
to Horton. I feel that.
(Oh,) I couldn't ask another,
(I, I, I,) no, I couldn't ask another spirit to DJ. (spirit)
He said to me, "It was on a seam that cannot be sold."
He's exquisite, not incorrect: I'm just catty, and vanquished.
(I) They could not ask another one to you. ***

(Sing)

The rabbet is in the rabbet of the heart
(Ah-ah-ah-ah, ne-na-na-na-na)
is in the rabbet of the heart,
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
is in the rabbet of the heart,
the rabbet of the
(Ah-ah-ah-ah)
heart is in the rabbet of the heart: is in the heart.
(Ah-ah-ah)

The rabbet is in the rabbet of the –
(Ah-ah-ah-ah, yeah)
heart is in the rabbet of the –
(Ah-ah-ah)
heart is in the rabbet of the heart is in the –
(Ah-ah-ah)
heart.

Digging in the Pollutant (Peter Gabriel)

Language: Greek

Dirt would be bad enough, but pollutant? Peter: just stop digging already. Start a support group or something.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Something within, dark and adhesive:
this doesn't take all hour. This powerful
sentiment cannot be continued, no way.
Very much as this, too.

This time, has it gone too much?
You have this long time: does it go to you too much?
You have this long time: you go much too far.
You, I said; you, I said; you, I said; you, I said.
This time you have it: I go too much.
I have too much time. You long to go to this.
You go too far, this time; I have much longer.
You I said, you I said, you I said, you I said.

You don't speak precisely;
nothing leads behind it.
It doesn't keep your hands in the tire,
it doesn't turn round.
He is for real, this
digging in the pollutant eve.
I need the support, with
digging in the pollutant.
Finds the places that took harm;
opens the places that took harm.

I find more to look at,
closer in. As blind as much above. So? Take
him in my head, consider him. I consider a toe in.
I consider him in my sex, this place of mine that goes.

This time has gone too much.
You have gone too long. This much time,
this long time, you have gone too far.
I said much to you, said to you, "you, I said; to you, I said."
This time I have it: you go too much.
I have to go too far, this time. You long much.
You, I said; you, I said; you, I said; you, I said.

Digging in the pollutant eve,
with the support I need.
Digging in the pollutant,
I took harm, in order to find the places. I
opened the places in order to take that harm.

Digging in the pollutant,
in order to we find the harmed places we took.

One (U2)

Language: French

And then there are songs where I develop a bit of contempt for the writing while I'm going through the Babelfished version, unlike Rain During November. I think this one was at least moderately successful, in terms of being forced into a different topic than the original, but thus far, I'm just not that impressed with the material I get to work with.

Maybe it's just how many times I had to hear this song when it was new. All those videos (wasn't this the one where there was the blue, shadowy version, and the buffalo version? Was there a third? It seems like there was a third.), all that personal detail about a song ("there was a real divorce!") that's so impersonal it could fit a lot of break-ups. I got tired of it. Forgive me, Mr. The Edge.

But oh well. We should probably move it along, and bump up the ends of this amusement. May have to bump harder than usual.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Is he becoming better, or the same? Do you feel
he will facilitate your thing, or
maintain that you're obliged to blame somebody?
I have one word for you.

Love is one "life need."
We obtain love, to divide up in the night:
him, it, you. Baby, don't worry about the sheets if you –

I disappointed you (or your mouth).
It's bad taste to leave it in you,
but you never want the love act made, which
I go without, with you, and, well, it's . . .

Of this too-late evening,
the past trails away outside, in the light.
We have him becoming better (or the same): you feel
he will facilitate the thing. On to it, you!
You obliged somebody to maintain your "blame." That word . . . .

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

One love life a night, where it is needed:
in love for the one we get.
Divide yourself, him, it. Don't you worry about the sheets, baby.

It's bad taste to leave you.
I disappointed your mouth, which never acts.
Made you want the love, and in I go.
With you or without you, who – ? Well, it's as it is. . . .

To the trail outside. This evening we have the light of years.
The past is in too late, but we are not the same ones we obtain.
We hold one to hold one; we pass.

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

You did not give me too much more than I asked,
and now all anything gets us is years.
We are not the same goods; we are wounded.
I have that one, but then do we still "do it to it?"

You love a temple of words, a higher love than law.
Is a temple higher than a love of law? I ask you.
You make me enter, to "love," but then is the creeping:
I can't hold y'all above what I obtained myself,
and when you obtain it, it's wounded.

You get one love life, to do what you . . . .
The one, the other, the blood brothers, a life with one of my sisters.
Life is not the same to one of us, but we are as one.
We get to hold what we hold.

One . . . life.

One.

Television Theme Song Friday Presents “Forming Our Dreams, You Come Applicable!” (Norman Gimbel and Charles Fox)

While we were considering setting up some kind of PayPal donation fund to get something better than dialup for the Guilfords, we were thinking of All the Things that Have Been Struck by Lighting in the History of Earth, and then it hits us: You know who was struck by lightning? The Big Ragu!

Yes! Carmine Rugusa, in Laverne and Shirley’s seventh season memorably (um, to me) was struck by lightning and yet still went on to be cast in a Broadway production of Hair sometime later toward the end of the series. So take heart, Jessi!

We hereby inaugurate Television Theme Show Friday with the theme song from Laverne and Shirley, “Forming Our Dreams, You Come Applicable”.

[Please note that designating today “Television Theme Show Friday” doesn’t necessarily mean that we’ll do this again.]

[We just had a crush on Carmine when we were young and wanted to talk about him.]

[We are using the Royal We to deflect some of our hidden shame.]

[Yes, we know the word “one” is missing in the first line; that's how it came out]

Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
Habitual bungler, born loser,
Hare pepper connected.

We will do it!
Give us each possible probability, we take it.
Give us each possible guideline, we break it.
We will let our dreams come applicable.
They do our way.

Nothing becomes us now,
Straight in front and on the rail back now turns.
We will let our dreams come applicable and will do it our way.

There is nothing, which we do not try,
Never belongs to the impossible word.
This mark is not stopping we there. We will do it!

On your marking, you receive sentence, and go you now,
A dream receiving, and we know straight now,
We, our dream come, will let applicable

And we do it our way! Our way!
If you let all come our dreams applicable,
And you do it our way! Our way!
Let all our dreams come applicable,
For me and you



[P.S. I still love you, Carmine]

Crashes of Lightning (Live)

For those who either don't already know, or wouldn't care if they did know, my apartment building, or at least something in the vicinity, was struck by lightning last Tuesday, which sucked. Mainly because it knocked out my phone service, which has since been restored. However, restoration of the phone service means that I was able to find out that my modem got fried. Consequently, there's going to be a bit of a hiatus on my end, until such time as I can get on-line from my home.

Anyway. So this was the only song that seemed appropriate, under the circumstances. I don't recall, and didn't write down, what language it went through. Let's say Dutch. Everybody likes Dutch.

-Jessi

UPDATE: It turns out that the song was run in Greek. (Sorry, Sammie.) My modem remains fried, but the husband's wasn't, so we've switched them out and I have access again, though it seems somehow slower than it used to be, and it was already really slow. (I'm not complaining, though I will be soon enough.)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The lightning crashes: the shout of a new mother.
Her placenta falls in the floor.
That angel opens her eyes, and
places confusion in
the doctor before he can even close the door.

Lightning. An old mother crashes and dies of the
intentions in the floor. Her fall
closed her angel's eyes.
That confusion was all hers:
the baby now belongs in the under-room.

Oh, now he considers returning again; the
Air Forces are rolling a thunder that engraves,
pulling from the ground center again.
I can consider him.

The lightning is shattered; the mothers of the new cry,
waiting for him in this moment.
That angel opens her eyes,
presents the pale blue colored iris,
circles and hides the glory: puts it outside.

We Have Constructed this City (Starship)

Which bridge did the peculiar and intrusive air traffic reporter reference in your city? Here in Brooklyn, it was the George Washington, but if one were to buy the album in 1985, and if one were my age at the time, one would perhaps be surprised that it was a different city that was built of rock and roll by the creaking, gasping, calculating band members.

And maybe one would have felt a bit hurt by this cynicism. Why did they do it? Don’t they need somebody to love? Wouldn’t they love somebody to love?

This is from the Italian, just like radio itself.

-- Samantha

We have constructed this city.
We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.

It has constructed this city.
We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.

Opinion: you do not know it, or you do not recognize my face.
Opinion: taken care who is not gone to that kind one of the place.
Knee in depth in the hoopla, having sunk in your fight.
Too many instabilities that eat on the night.

Marconi played the mamba, listened to the radio.
Not if remembered: of you have constructed them this city,
Has constructed this city on the cliff and the seam?

We have constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.
It has constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.

Someone that plays always the parlor games.
Who takes care itself? They are always changing the society names.
We wish as soon as to dance here. Someone has stolen the phase.
They call them irresponsible. It writes them outside of the page.

Marconi plays the mamba, listens to the radio.
You if it remembers of has constructed them this city,
Has not constructed this city on the cliff and on the seam

We have constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.
It has constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.

Other Sunday is right,
In the old police tired with the way
Has obtained the grip of the coil of arrest.
The OH, then, we have lost hardly the beat.

Who counts the monies under the bar?
Who guide the sphere of destruction in two guitars of the cliff?

She does not say to us that you have them need of,
Because we are the ship of shocks
that they try the America,
coming through your schools

(I am observing outside the surplus that bridge of the stringed instrument of the gate gilded outside the other full Saturday of sun gorgeous, not seeing those rejecting to the traffic bumper)

not remembered of (member)(member)

(Than what is your favorite wireless station, in your favorite wireless city? The city from the bay, the city that oscillates, the city that never sleeps)

Marconi played the mamba, listened to the radio,
Not if remembered of you have constructed them this city,
Has constructed this city on the cliff and the seam?

We have constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.
It has constructed this city. We have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.

It has constructed this city, we have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam.
It has constructed this city, we have constructed this city on the cliff and the seam

(we have constructed, we we have constructed this city) has constructed this city
(we have constructed, we we have constructed to this city)

(repeats and fades)

We Swing You (Queen)

Language: German

Never a big fan of the original song, or of Queen in general, actually. But this is one of the reworkings that I think might have a shot at an independent life, if someone bothered to get it performed and produced by a reasonably talented group of people. I'm sure Weird Al Yankovic knows a guy who knows somebody. And I've been expecting a swing-revival-revival to happen just any second now.

I don't know what the copyright status on such a thing would be. The words are different, and the music would have to be different, especially in the chorus, but I could see lawyers making a case regardless.

But anyway. If you're part of a moderately talented band, and you're looking for a way to break into the mainstream with a novelty hit, become a one-hit wonder, and die penniless and broken of spirit, this could be the way to go. And you could always try other Babelfished German songs as a follow-up: "Swing You Like a Hurricane," "I Love to Swing and Roll," "Let's Get Swung" (?), until something worked.

Just think about it.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Friend, you're a boy who leaves large noises.
Playin' in the roads is what a large man does daily,
mud on you, to face
your large dishonor.
Kickin' your box over completely, the place
received singing.

We will, we swing you.
We will, we swing you.

Friend, you're a hard man,
Shoutin in the road, which goes, "Take a young man in the – to the world, daily."
You face your blood;
your large dishonor
kept your flag wavin' over the whole place.

We will, we swing them.
Singin'!
We will, we swing you.

Poor man, are you a friend of the old man?
Pleadin' with your eyes, you form something of a daily peace,
you set good mud on your face.
Your large dishonor
kept backing you into your place. (Someone better.)

We will, we swing you.
Singin'!
We will, we swing you.
Everyone!
We will, we swing you
We will, we swing you

Sun Of the Jail (Soundgarden)

Language: Spanish

I almost want to say, this has got to be a glitch of some kind, but I hope it's not.

Black Hole, run through Spanish, returns Jail, but Black-Hole, with the hyphen, ends up Black-I pierce. It doesn't make sense for a hyphen to matter so much, but in any case you've gotta admit, equating jail and black hole is a pretty awesome thing for a language to do. Black holes as prisons for light waves, prisons as lightless holes: both ways it not only works but elucidates. Way to go, Spanish! (Or maybe Babelfish!)

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ill in my eyes,
nobody knows in disguises.
The serpent hides the face, lies
in the sun's heat. My boils of dishonor, that the
stench of the summer
watches underneath the dead black sky,
call my name through the cream,
and I will hear him shout again

Sun of the jail, you
don't come far
to wash rain.
The sun comes from the jail: you, you.

Not stuttering, humid cold
and tired wind robs hot friends.
The time for the honest men goes away,
and sometimes also serpents who wish.
My youth walks far in my shoes. A dream
and request to maintain
hell-sent sky.
Nobody sings more absently than you.

Sun of the jail, you
don't come far
to wash rain.
The sun comes from the jail: not
you, not you.

(Hang my head, drown my fear
as soon as you all disappear. . . .)

The Devil Decreased to Georgia (Charlie Daniels Band)

Completing the trilogy of songs that played on my parent’s preferred radio station when I was young and that impressed upon me the consequences of the choices one makes in life, is this, a song that my parents then and I now view with a certain amount of embarrassment. The sheer literalness of the Faustian bargain portrayed here is why one cannot listen to a good 60% of Christian Rock without being overcome by confused pity, but here the hard shellac of 25 years of irony helps out a bit.

Was “Country” better before it lost the vestigial tail “-and Western”? I don’t know, but I like how Johnny wins not by outwitting the Devil by discovering a small technical loophole in the contract or something like that (which smacks of Elitist East Coast Liberalism), but simply by dint of the fact that Being an American Automatically Means You Are Better Than the Devil (which was John Abizaid’s runner-up name).

Just look at Charlie Daniels:
Was this the face that lunched a thousand chips?
And ain’t that America?

N.B. In Russia, the Devil goes up to Georgia, a nice touch, but this is from the Dutch, where the sun increases and Old Scratch must decrease. Gentlemen, start your monotonic functions.


--Samantha Moss


The devil decreased to Georgia. He sought a soul to steal.
He in was binds because he was mannered, and he was prepared to make an agreement.
Then he, concerning these young people came who play, saw and it on fiddle hot
And the devil on hickory stump jumped and said: “The boy let me tell you which --
I assume you it did not know, but I am also fiddle player
And as the care you’d to take dare, I now into a bet with you.
You turn rather good fiddle-game, but give the devil, to boy, to have been appropriate:
I bet fiddle of gold against your soul, because I think I improve be then you.”

The boy said: “Johnny of my name, and it a sin can be,
But I will take your bet, you will regret, because I am the bests that ever.”

Johnny, you resin up your arc and plays your fiddle hard
Because the hell break separately in Georgia
And the devil the cards address.
And, if you win, you get this gleaming fiddle which are golden,
But if you lose, get the devil your soul.

The devil put its case open and he said: “I this show to start,”
And the fire flew of its finger tops since he are up arc rosined.
And he drew the arc concerning its ties and it made an angry “SIS” consonance,
Then joined a link of demons, and it sounded something as this

[music containing the “SIS” consonance -SM]

Then, the concluded devil, Johnny said: “Are well, you rather good, Old Son,
But will sit as that President, right, and one can there you show how it would be done

Do the fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”

[music that is frankly less interesting than the earlier music -SM]

The devil bent its head because he knew that he’d beat
And he empty that golden fiddle said on the spot at the feet to Johnny
Of Johnny: “The devil comes only on back if you want ever try again
Because I you once told, you son of a female is,
I the bests that ever.”

And he played fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope,
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”

Loco (Patsy Cline)

Language: Spanish

Sort of a shout-out to my friend Liz, who I knew two jobs ago. (Hi, Liz!) More often than not, we used to sing this together whenever it came up on the stereo; it was a thing. Probably you had to be there. Anyway.

This could maybe have been stranger if I'd worked on it a lot longer, but there aren't really all that many words in it to work with, and half of them are the word "crazy," so this is probably as good as it gets within a reasonable period of time. One minor cheat here: Babelfish actually does translate "loco" back from Spanish into "crazy." I just undid that part of the translation because it makes it sound more interesting, and because I think "loco" is acceptable as an English word, as far as I know.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Loco,
a loco person to feel so single.
I am loco,
a loco person to feel so blue.

I knew
that you would love me while you wished,
and then someday
you would leave for somebody new.

Why do
I let preoccupation worry me?
Wond'rin'
what in the world I made?

Loco
to think that my love could maintain him.
I am loco for tryin' that,
loco for cryin' and I
am loco for lovin'.

Loco you,
to think that my love could maintain him
I am loco for tryin' that,
loco for cryin'
and I am loco for lovin' you.

Rain During November (Guns 'N Roses)

Language: Russian

Sorry I've been slacking off here. It's been sort of a busy last few days.

So now we come to "Rain During November." I remember seeing this song in endless rotation on MTV, once upon a time, but however many times I saw it, I never noticed what it was about. There was a famous (for the time) model in the video, I remember, and something about roses changing color, and a funeral scene, and of course lots of rain, but if I'd ever known that it was a breakup song, I'd forgotten that by the 500th time I saw the video. Which this was back in the days when MTV played videos occasionally.

It could, of course, be debated whether the song actually lost anything by being turned into a big-budget special effects extravaganza. Breakup songs are common, and pretty much all alike, after all.

In any case, going through the lyrics for this one, even if they weren't, for the most part, the actual lyrics, increased my respect for the song, and the band. Which was unexpected.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When I look into your eyes
I can see delayed love,
but darling, when I hold you
you make yourself feel the same
in order not to know me.

Nothing continues forever, because
hearts can change, and we both know
it's difficult to hold candles
in the cold rain during November.

After this is a much longer period
of precisely attempting to kill pain,
but lovers always come and lovers always go
and nobody actually prevents it.

Today: take a walk away.
If we can accept time
and place the line on it,
then I can rest my head.

Knowing that you're entirely mine,
if you want to fall in love with me after this,
darling, don't, or I will end up
on a walk into the cold rain of November.

You, for a while, on your –
You, for a while: entirely independent,
for a while. They make you
unaware that
you need a certain time, entirely independent.

I know holding the open heart, though difficult,
it'll even seem that outside friends
will harm you, but if we could cure you,
then the broken heart would
not be out of order, to charm you sometimes.

Me for a while – which was on some times.
Me for a while, each entirely independent,
for a while, they make you not know you need, in order . . . .
For a while, entirely independent myself.

When your fears subside
and shadows still remain,
they know from me that
you can fall in love with me,
when no one will be left.
So don't charge or
ever reason out the darkness;
we can still find where the road is.
'Cause nothing continues indefinitely,
even cold rain, during November.

Make you think that you don't need someone,
you make yourself think that you don't need someone,
which each someone needs. You aren't only alone. You aren't only someone.

Janie's Obtained Those Guns (Aerosmith)

Language: Russian

Nothing to say.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[dum dum dum dum] Janie's obtained those guns.
[dum dum dum dum] "Honey, have you made do?"
[dum dum dum dum] will be the sound of my gun.
[dum dum dum dum] Honey, have you made do?
[dum dum dum dum] There will be a sound.

Janie's obtained a gun,
Janie's obtained a gun.
Her entire peace after me, after me,
unbuttoned from being seen in the sun.

Did she make her papa directly? Does she make it?
Did she place you on the end?

They said when Janie was arrested
he was found under the train,
but men had it coming. Now that Janie's obtained a gun,
it will never not be like this.

Janie's obtained a gun
Janie's obtained the gun legally.
I initiated her dog day.
Now she is on the run.
She tells me it is untrue now.
Did her dad make her?
He raised a small baby with a jack;
that man has got to be insane.
He speaks through the letters that were located under
the lightning and thunder; he knew
that someone must stop the rain.

Break into a run,
run away from a pain.
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah.
They did break into a run,
run away from absent pain.
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,
They did break into a run,
run away, run, run away.

Janie's obtained a gun
Janie's obtained the gun legally.
I have initiated her dog days, each on the run.
Does she do her papa now?
This will be Janie's I.O.U.;
The latter must accept it, in order to reduce the light,
and to place a bullet into his brain,
no one believes she said it to me. Which mind is it?
Man was like a sleeze.
He will never not be the same.

Break into a run,
run away from a pain.
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah.
They did break into a run,
run away from absent pain.
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,
They did break into a run,
run away, run, run away.

Janie's obtained a gun,
Janie's obtained a gun,
Janie's obtained a gun,
to each one on the run.
Janie's obtained the gun legally, after her dog day.
I started it now; everyone is on the run
because Janie's obtained a gun.
Janie's obtained the gun legally, after her dog day
I started it now; everyone is on the run.
Janie's obtained the gun.

Human Behavior (Bjork)

Language: Russian

I've had the bad fortune to be embroiled in a really unpleasant conversation elsewhere on the net over the last eighteen hours or so, so I'm not feeling real fond of humans right now. Bjork is more right than wrong here. Off a little bit on the "always satisfies" part, though.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

if you always get close to humans
and human behavior
to obtain confusion, prepare

will be no definite logic
to the human behavior, but
it is irresistible

will be no map
for the human behavior

they are terribly moody, but
after this, unexpected happy turns
(but, oh, involvement in the exchange to obtain
human emotions always satisfies)

will be no map and
compass
would not help

on the human behavior

Ghana Jones (Counting Crows)

Language: Russian

In one of those inexplicable Babelfishy things, "Mister Jones" came up "Ghana Jones" in a couple places, when I put the lyrics in, so I made this his name throughout.
I never cared all that much for the original song one way or the other, though I bought the album so maybe I'm misremembering my enthusiasm for the song. In any case, I certainly didn't pay any attention to the lyrical obsessiveness about beauty: I was more interested in the gray guitar.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I was down on the New Amsterdam
staring at this yellow-hair.
Through negotiation, Ghana Jones strikes the girl
with this black-haired flamenco dancer.
Her father plays guitar. Thus far, she dances, which it was
unexpectedly beautiful. It's
something we want, beautiful. Everything they
desire was beautiful. I
dance through the morning, therefore this silence comes
to cut Maria off: downward, upward.
Some of their Spanish dances are shown to me,
passed to me as a bottle, by Mr. Jones.

Belief in myself
helps me to believe anything. In
it is someone I want to be, who believes me.
Speak to Ghana Jones, and I stare: fairy tales,
on the most beautiful women.
"She sees you not. Ah. She sees me not."

You, smiling bright in the lights,
coming into the stereo end to
be lonely. You cannot love it, when you each
paint yourselves. You will never color my image, I of the
sulfur. The blue in color, redly and blackly,
colors all of the most beautiful,
which will be very very meaningful.
My favorite color is mostly gray:
yesterday it felt symbolic. I'm this
guitar I would purchase. Picasso, he knew then: if I (by gray)
even look into the future, I game Ghana Jones.
The most beautiful women stare on:
"I don't think so. You look at it. I'll look at myself."
To stand it, in the headlight,
I purchased a gray guitar:
it will fall in love with me. I will never not be lonely when each one
wants to be my lion. I
want to pass as a tomcat: each one he
obtained want to be large large stars.

We reason differently,
but for us, they're everything that believes because I don't.
I believe in anything. In myself, we
want to be necessary, to believe someone, and I am.
Mr. Jones and I stumble through the region
(itself the most beautiful women); oh yeah, we will stare at it.
Are you there, man? Someone will perfect us, for which I obtained it.
"That's it for want: I desire someone funky."
"Exactly."
"She was to be, a little. . . ."
Bob, the son of Ghana Jones, will fall in love with you when she's by Dylan.
Ghana Jones can be funky, in proportion to you. Each one is nearly as valid as whom?
When I look at the television, I (on video) will myself be staring.
(I want to back that correctly: I stared at me, saw myself,
in order to be large stars.) We all want to,
but we do not know – we do not know why, as we
fall in love with each. (When I will it.) But
I'm valid, nearly happy, in proportion to myself. It can be as it's to be.
By my and Ghana Jones' will, we were gonna be large stars . . .

The Riders of Ghost in the Sky (Stan Jones)

Yes, you heard me: Stan Jones, which is why it’s “cowpoke” and not “cowboy”. I’m looking at you, Johnny Cash (“Johnny The Available Money” in Russian, N.B.).

This song is the basis for my understanding of “theology”.
--Samantha

Old cowpoke went to go of one dark and windy day,
On the ridge it rested in proportion to it, it went along its road
When, immediately, mighty the herd of the red color eyed of cow,
Was, which it he saw to hurry through the ragged skies, raises cloudy draw.

Their brands find still on the fire and their hooves were made of their steel,
Horns they were, which black and shiny and their hotter respiration you could feel
Bolt and fear it went through it, in proportion to they, they thundered to sky
It saw that the riders arrived strongly, and it heard their mournful cry

The riders of ghost
Yipie iego oh Yipie ii ay
In the sky

Their side, gaunt of their eye, was soiled to their jackets; by entirely self-possessed with sweat were
Which they, they will go strongly to the bolt that herd and they not will be grasped they
But to reason they obtains go forever in a number upward in the sky
On horses snorting fire... in proportion to they will go strongly, those that they cry

Riders they were relied further by it, and it heard one bell its name
“If you, you want to preserve your soul from hell, riding on our change
In the cowboy of a number after this your roads today, or with us you will go
To attempt to grasp this herd of the devil through these infinite skies.”

Riders of ghost
Yipie iego oh Yipie ii ay
In the riders of the ghost of sky
In the riders of the ghost of sky
In the sky

These Will Be Days (10,000 Maniacs)

Language: Russian

The original of this song is weird. It talks about how "you" will at some point remember "these days," which worked, because, yes, I remember a specific occasion when I saw the video for this song on MTV. But mainly what I remember about the occasion is the act of recording something that I was supposed to remember later: that is, the song, though fraught with personal associations and emotions for me, carries only personal associations and emotions which reference the song itself and the immediate environment in which I first experienced the song. Which may have been the whole intention in the first place, to make it memorable.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

These will be days, which you will recall.
Never before, and never in this factual form,
I promise never to bequeath entire peace in this warm way.
And you feel in proportion to them;
you know they truly
are blessed and lucky.
You truly are that touched.
Something will grow, and it will bloom in you.

These will be days, which you'll recall.
When it's able to hurry above you: the desire
to be part of the miracles. You see it yourself
in each hour.

You know they truly are blessed and lucky,
that you are truly touched. Something will grow, and it will bloom in you.
These will be days.

These days will be days which could fill you with laughter. These days, as long as you don't break, you could feel the shaft of light make a road through your side.
And when you make yourself, you'll know how you intended to be:
see signs, know their meaning.
Truly, you'll know how you intended to be;
he speaks to you, you know those signs.

The Player (Kenny Rogers)

I know, I know he's not really saying them, as in "know when to fold them" -- he's saying 'em. But 'em goes into French as 'fin de support and back into English as 'fine of support, and I feel this extra obfuscation is doing a disservice to a man who makes such fine wood-fired rotisserie chicken.
-- Samantha

The evening of a hot summer
On a train leap for nowhere,
I met the player; we were both too tired to sleep.
Thus, we took turns fixedly looking at,
Out of the window, the darkness
Until the trouble caught up with us,
And it started to speak.

It said, "Wire, I made a life out of the faces of the people of reading,
And knowing what were their charts
Besides they held their eyes.
And if you do not occupy yourselves of my stating,
I can see that you are out of the ace.
For a taste of your whiskey,
I will give you a certain council."

Thus, I gave my bottle to him
And it drank, in bottom, of my last swallow.
Then it strolled a cigarette and asked me a light.
And the night obtained the peace of death,
And its face lost all the expression
Known as: "If you will play the game, boy, you obtained to learn how to play it right."

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made.

"Each player knows that the secrecy with survival
Can what throw far, and can what keep.
Since one gaining of each hand and a loser of each hand,
And the best than you can hope for must die in your sleep."

And when it to speak finished,
It returned towards the window,
Crushed out of its cigarette and faded with to sleep far.
And some share in the darkness
The player, it broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace which I could keep.

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made."

Mandy (Barry Manilow)

Language: Russian

I woke up with this one in my head. I'm taking this as a sign that I need to post it today.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I recall my life that completely;
cold ice goes downward, as on rain.
The man's shadows,
weeping through the side window of night, and
in the morning. Night goes in

exactly one more day;
People pass my happy road.
In their gazing eyes,
I see a memory which I never had.
They are as happy as you made me.

Oh Mandy, in the best way,
you arrived without assuming, and gave,
but I sent you away.
Oh, Mandy, in the best way,
you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,
and to Mandy today – oh, me!

I coast on the edge of time;
I went for a walk when my love was
grabbed up. Climbing uphill in the world,
my reason located break-ins,
and in turn, nothing rhymes.

Oh Mandy, in the best way,
you arrived without assuming, and gave,
but I sent you away.
Oh, Mandy in the best way,
you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,
and to Mandy today – oh, me!

Ironic (Alanis Morissette)

Language: Russian

For a while, as a joke, every time someone said "ironic" in my presence, I would come back with, "Yeah. It's like rain on your wedding day." Not too many people caught that I was mocking them, the song, and whatever they were talking about, simultaneously. Or maybe they did and they were just being really subtle about hating me. Of course, I did this whether people were using the word correctly or not, which may have confused things. (Oh, come on. Like you don't have idiosyncrasies. It's better than what I said whenever somebody got naked in the middle of a busy street: "Thank you, India.")

The sad truth is, Alanis Morissette has a lot more influence on the actual usage of words (and thus, on the contents of future dictionaries) than pedants like myself. Ironic, save in academic circles, now means things like disappointing, surprising, counterintuitive, unfortunate or co-incidental. That's the bad news.

The good news is, there's now an opening for a neologism that means what ironic used to mean, though it'll take maybe twenty to forty years before ironic is completely useless, so until the new word is established we're all going to be saying things like "What do you mean, 'ironic?' Like, ironic ironic, or co-incidental ironic?" and "How is that ironic? Oh, you mean ironic like rain on your wedding day. Gotcha." a lot in casual conversation. So, you word-coiner types, be thinking about that.

Which by the way, since I'm here: Morissette has since declared that the only ironic thing about "Ironic" is that there's no irony in it, with the implication that this was the plan all along. This is similar to the way religious leaders try to salvage inconsistencies in scriptures by saying something paradoxical yet meaningless, and should be ignored.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Old ninety-eight, turned by a man.
It did it ironically. (Win the lottery,
and next day it'll be a black fly in your chardonnay.)
Which pardon will be the condemned men's camera?
2 minutes later, it'll be ironic, don't you think?

As rain on your wedding day,
which'll be a free ride.
You'll already pay them; it'll be good.
They didn't exactly listen to you; one would think,
it'd do to calculate the game.

Mr. Bezopasn was frightened to fly; he'd packed his trunk,
he'd kissed his little-ones good-bye,
he awaited his entire damn life in order to accept that flight,
and the plane broke. "This was in the best way, but it's not glorious --" Did he think it,
and isn't it ironic?

As rain on your wedding day,
which'll be a free ride.
You'll already pay them; it'll be good.
They didn't exactly listen to you; one would think,
it'd do to calculate a good life.

It has a funny road that steals up on you when you think,
"All is approved, and everything goes correctly,"
and life has a funny road to help you outside when you think,
"Did it all go incorrectly, and does it all blow up in your side?"

Street traffic congestion in the when you'll already be last, and
no-dinner-jacket-breach sign on your cigarettes,
they're as 10 thousand spoons, when everything you want is at their knife.
They meet the man of my dreams, and after this, they meet his most beautiful husbands and it'll be with irony, don't you think?
I think a little too ironic, actually, yeah.

As rain on your wedding day,
which'll be a free ride.
You'll already pay them; it'll be good.
They didn't exactly listen to you; one would think,
it'd do to calculate a good life.

It has a funny road steal up on you,
and life has a funny road to help you outside.

Each One Knows (Leonard Cohen)

Language: Russian

This was one of the first ones I thought of, but it took a really long time to do and was kind of a pain in the ass. A long series of short statements is rough, because either Babelpop will just flip a couple words around and call it done, or it'll scramble everything so thoroughly that things wind up three lines away from where they started: there doesn't seem to be any middle ground at all. However, I'm not unhappy with the way it turned out.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

each one knows that they are loaded screws
each rolls up crossed fingers
each knows the war's above that
each one knows the lost good guys
each one knows the fight was fixed
by the poor (stay poor),
rich people get rich
that'll be how it goes

each one knows
each one knows, that boat flows
each one knows that its captain lies down
each one broken, obtained this feeling
as if their true father died, or their dog,
each pockets their speaking
each one wants the chocolate box
and a long raised rod
each one knows

each one knows that you love me baby,
each one that makes you actually known.
each one knows that you were accurate,
or you assume a night or two of pliability
each one knows you're discreet, therefore
they were. you must meet many people exactly
without your clothing and
each one knows

each one knows, each knows
which as it goes
each one knows

each one knows, each knows
which as it goes
each one knows me

each one now knows that it's never, or
each one knows that it's by me, or by you
each one knows that you live forever
when you've made two lines.
each one knows the cotton will matter,
still picking rotten old blackjoes
for your ribbons
and union, and
I know each one.

each one that the plague knows, comes.
each one knows that she's moving rapidly
each one knows that the naked men and women
are shining the past artifacts,
each one knows the deadly places. So it is that there will be
a meter on your bed: it will show what will be.
Each one knows me.

Each one knows that you find anxiety,
each one knows you to the end.
From the blood on top of Golgotha, cross
to Malibu Beach.
Each one knows isolation will be coming, that
takes most of one heart's sacred view
before it blows
and each one knows

each one knows, each knows
which as it goes
each one knows
Oh, it is what each one knows, each knows
which as it goes
each one knows
each one knows

Lithium (Nirvana)

Language: Spanish

This one was also done through Spanish. "It's not going to crack itself" is an interestingly ambiguous sentence: is it an assurance, or is it a declaration of impatience?

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm so happy, 'cause I found my friends today. They're in my head.
I'm so ugly, but that is acceptable: you're so the cause. We broke our mirrors. Tomorrow is Sunday. He cares for me daily, and they don't scare me.
My cause ignites candles. I've found God in the glare.

yes [repeated]

It's acceptable that I'm so single. I shaved my head, and I'm not sad.
And perhaps I must just blame all that I've heard on myself.
And I'm not safe, so I'm excited. I can't hope to satisfy him there and not care.
I'm so calloused, but that's acceptable. My will is good.

yes [repeated]

I please him. It's not going to crack itself;
it needs. It's not going to crack itself.
I want to have you. It's not going to crack itself.
I'll kill him; it's not going to crack itself. [repeated]

I'm so happy, 'cause I found my friends today. They're in my head.
I'm so ugly, but that's acceptable: you're so the cause. We broke our mirrors. Tomorrow is Sunday. He cares for me daily, and they don't scare me.
My cause ignites candles. I've found God in the glare.

yes [repeated]

Man of Pianos (Billy Joel)

Language: Spanish

I did this one in Spanish as well, mostly because I was curious about what Babelfish would do with the "la la la" parts. So how'd that work out for me? Ennh. Could have been worse.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday. The nine regular shufflers of the crowd
and an old man there next to me, making his tonic and gin love:

He says, "Son, could you play one melodically?
I'm not really safe; that's how it goes.
It's sad and sweet, and the Complete One knew it
when I borrowed the clothes of a younger man."

The one of the one of,
of gives of (of of),
gives of gives of gives of (of of).

Sing us a song, you are the man of pianos.
Sing us a song tonight,
we are all for humor,
in one melody, you feel us.

Now Juan in the bar is my friend
who gets to drink me for free,
and he's fast to ignite a joke with his smoke,
but he would be above, somewhere.
Something says, "I think that this account is slaughtered, send me."
The smile worked, far from his affluent face.
"I could be a cinema star if she were safe;
she could leave this place."

Oh, the one of the (the one of the),
one of the the one of gives: of, of, of,
gives of, gives of, gives of, of, of.

Now Paul is a real-estate-property-novelist
who never had time for a wife
and he is talkin ' with Davy
and he still has on navy
and he's probably for the military life.
And the waiter is politically practiced
as the businessmen get slowly spotted;
yes, they're sharing a drink called only "solitude,"
but drinking is better.

Saturday. It's a quite good crowd,
and the one in charge gives a smile
'cause he knows she's been comin' to see me
to forget the life awhile.
Sounds like a carnival piano
and the scent of the microphone is a beer
and they're feeling the bar, bread and opinions
in my jar, "Man, what are you doing here."

Oh, the one of the the one of,
the one of the the one of gives of
of of, gives of gives of gives of of of.

Return From San Francisco (Magnetic Fields)

Tonight: A Very Special Babelpop!

Language: Spanish

My husband is out of town this weekend (not in San Francisco but that's not important), and things around the Guilford estate are pretty low. So I decided that to cheer myself up, I'd try to do a topical song. Though this one probably doesn't count as "pop," (I doubt that it was ever a single), and isn't even entirely appropriate in places (like the ending), it's the best I could come up with in the fifteen minutes I spent thinking about it.

I didn't do as much of the customary elaborate twisting that I usually aim for, as a result of the exceptional circumstances.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Return from San Francisco –
that cannot be everything,
when you lack of all New York City.
The disc boys that you must,
distract them from your novel.
Remember enough that I am tremendously in love with you
You need me
as the the wind necessitates trees to blow inside
as the moon needs poetry
you need me

Return from San Francisco
and kiss me, I am unemployed, smoking.
I lack doing the wild thing with you.
I will remain myself – you, I don't think so
but what I do is all preoccupation.
Package the purses, call the taxis
and hurry them to me, to the house.

When you betray me
betray with the kiss that you curse.
Never I have remained upon this so late.

Oops! . . . I F***ed It Another Time (Britney Spears)

Language: Portuguese

First: I decided to try something new here, and ran this song through Portuguese instead of Russian, as all the previous songs have been. I don't see that it made much difference.

Second, the title is a bit of a stretch, but probably not the way you think: when I ran this through Babelfish the first time, the title came out "Oops! ...I f4 it another time." It didn't seem that far out of the way to go for the joke. This didn't happen, though, any of the other places in the song with the same words, so I'm at a loss to explain why. I just know that it happens consistently with the title.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

I think that I did it another time:
I made them believe I am more than a baby
Oh the friends could seem crushing
but it doesn't mean I'm serious.
Losing all my directions –
that's just typical me.
Oh baby's baby.

Oops... I did it another time:
I played with his heart, started losing in the baby game.
Oops, baby...
You think that I'm in the love,
that I myself am emitted from above –
I'm not really this innocent.

You see, my problem is this –
that I'm dreaming. Moved by
the heroes' desire, derived from them.
I cry out, "Give attention to the days!"
Can't you see me? Thus, a fool in many ways,
but losing all my directions –
that's just typical me.
Baby, oh

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

["Everything on board"
"Britney, before you go, there is something I want her to have."
"Oh, pretty, but wait one minute, yeah isn't this... "
"Yes it is."
" But I thought that old woman left it to fall in the ocean's extremity, good baby."
"I was low. I started it for you."
" Oh, I must not have it."]

Oops... I did it another time,
started losing his heart in this game.
Oops, baby! You think that I am emitted from above –
I'm not really this innocent.

The Mysterious Roads (U2)

Language: Russian

This one's the last of the Roads Trilogy ("The Daily Winding Road," "We Were the Road," "The Mysterious Roads"), though there may be more roads popping up in the future; they just won't be part of the trilogy. You know, I haven't had a good trilogy in quite a while. The X-Men movies, I guess, would be my last one, and "good" is kind of a stretch there. There should be more trilogies in the world, I think. But I digress. Enjoy the song:

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Johnny's taking a jaunt with your sister's moon;
its pale, light room is prevented from filling you up inside.
You live illegally. They
ate from the can, and
you run away from the love. You don't understand.

She's slippy:
you slip down.
She'll be there when you strike the earth.

It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right by her.
(He moves onto the mysterious roads.)
It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right by her.
(He moves onto the mysterious roads.)

Taking Johnny diving in the rain with your sister;
he let her talk. You cannot explain about things.
The contact, in order to cure it, must . . . .
To hurt it one must steal.
If you want to kiss the sky better, learn to kneel more.

of (on your boy of elbows)

It'll be by a wave,
she who turns its tide.
Man sees it inside the child of – ?

It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right by her.
He moves onto the mysterious roads.
It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right.
He moves onto the mysterious roads.
It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right.
Lift days of my nights; illuminate upward.

One day you will look,
and you will see rear.
You held them
by this love, where
we could stand you. (Thus far.)
We could move you there; at this moment,
you follow this feeling.

It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right by her.
He moves onto the mysterious roads.
It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right.
He moves onto the mysterious roads.
It's all right, it's all right, it'll all be right.

We move through the spirit's motions
in mysterious roads of the miracle days.
Which is she? She moves with it,
she moves with it. Lift my days,
my nights: illuminate it upward.

Penguins (Lyle Lovett)

Language: Russian

I think a lot of people misunderstood this song. It's really very simple, though. Lyle is for the penguins, so the penguins are sensitive to his needs. Co-dependent? Maybe. But not excessively complicated.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm not for fancy automobiles,
for the diamond rings
or film stars,

I am for the
lord of penguins.
I'm for the penguins.

Throw your money from the door;
we'll all sit around
and observe as it becomes snow.
I am for,
oh, the lord of penguins.

I'm for the penguins
so penguins are sensitive
so penguins are sensitive
penguins are so sensitive
to my needs

so penguins are sensitive
so penguins are sensitive
penguins are so sensitive
to my needs
my needs
my needs
my needs

so penguins are sensitive
so penguins are sensitive
penguins are so sensitive
to my needs
my needs my needs
to my needs [repeated]

We Were the Road (Barbra Streisand)

Language: Russian

(This is the second song in my "road" trilogy.)

Here Barbra informs us that "Memories may be beautiful, yet too heavy, to recall in sequence." It's so true. Once time I had a memory that weighed nineteen pounds, and I never ever remembered it in sequence. It was all unstuck in time, like Billy Pilgrim. Crazy shit. A couple times I think it was even somebody else's memory. So Barbra is a pretty wise chick. Let's all take her words to heart:

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Memories
Like angles of my reason –
memories and misty watercolors.
We were expensive,
the scattered images
of leftward smiles,
after we gave the smiles to one another,
for we were the road.

Can it be that it was so whole, simply after this,
or did time rerecord each line?
If they made a chance, they'd do all of us again.
Tell me about us. Could we?

Memories
may be beautiful, yet
too heavy, to recall in sequence.
We simply forget to select.

So it will be by laughter
that we recall
(when we recall)
we were the road.

So the laughter will be,
which we'll recall
(when we recall)
we were the road.

Shake It Up (Devo)

Language: Russian

Blogger's been having some problems lately; hopefully these have all been worked out now. To make up for the lack of an overnight post, I give you "Shake It Up," a reworking of "Whip It." Except that sometimes it's still "whip." Ah, the capriciousness.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

crack that pliable whip
slip the past step
on the tail end
mother breached the refusal

when a problem comes forward
they must shake it up
before cream sits outside too long
you must shake it up
when something goes incorrectly
you must shake it up

now shake it up
into the form
of upward form
it gets more direct
they go
make a front
attempt the forward movement
reveal it
not too late
in order
to shake him up
whip it good

when a good time turns around
you shake it up,
you won't live it down
if we don't shake them up
no one gets their road
when they don't shake it up

I say whip it
shake it up good

The Daily Winding Road (Sheryl Crow)

Language: Russian

Nothing to say. How's everybody doing? Are you ready to rock? Anybody? Let's bump up the ends of this amusement!

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I hitched this ride with the repairman of on-sale automatons,
he says this road never went downward more than twice.
He was high on intellectualism;
I am not there (but the gallop of the views of the glorious pamphlet inside
prevented us). It goes, lay back, it delights in exhibition.
It gets each high, it gets each low,
these will be those days when nothing goes.

The daily winding road,
in which I get somewhat closer,
The daily bleached sign.
I get a little closer to the penalty of feeling.

He has a daughter who causes Easter;
she was brought on Tuesday night
I was really interested in why I feel so entirely one,
why I will be a stranger in my own life's gallop.
Inside, I prevent us
from lying back, delight in each exhibition.
It gets high, each gets me low,
these will be days when nothing goes

The daily winding road,
in which I get somewhat closer,
The daily bleached sign.
I get a little closer to the penalty of feeling.

I floated in seas of anarchy,
my veins on the coffee and nicotine.
I am interested if all things, which I saw were always real,
were it, then had they always actually occurred?

Sledgehammer (Peter Gabriel)

Language: Russian

I want people to start saying "Let's bump up the ends of this amusement!" in songs. Like what "Let's get this party started" used to be. Probably a long shot, right?

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You could have a vapor train
if you would lay your tracks down precisely.
We could have flying airplanes
if you brought back your blue sky.

Everything is what you make it be.
I will be you, a bell, anything –
we could have a large dipper,
to go up and down, around the bends.
We could have you bumper an automobile,
bumping up the ends of this amusement.

I never want to be your sledgehammer.
Why don't you make my name your bell?
Oh, prevent my becoming your sledgehammer.
This will be my testimony.

(shows me around your fruitcage:)
Because I will be by your honeybee,
open up your fruitcage,
where I can be as sweet as fruit.

I want to be your sledgehammer
why don't you make my name your bell?
Which sledgehammer would improve your bell?
It places your reason on standby.
I'm any sledgehammer.
This can be my testimony.
I'll be your sledgehammer.
I'll prevent any doubt there was.
I eat sledge, sledge, sledgehammer.

I kicked the habit shed, so
now my skin will be a new substance.
I am inside, dancing (we go inside to dance).
Oh, you will not be my exhibition.
I will show you my exhibition;
I will show you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
I intend you, only you, you.
He came through to build that power structure
and build up what it sets in action.
I gave rhythm;
I was also given rhythm.
You're going to feel that force is constructed in you:
it comes further, after it goes further,
which helps you to make it.
[yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah]
I gave you rhythm;
I was also given rhythm.
We make rhythm all day and night.

I Leave it to the Plane Engine (John Denver)

Language: Russian

There's a puzzle sort of feeling to Babelfishing that I didn't expect when I started this. By which I mean, it's been a while since I came up with a phrasing that made me laugh out loud or anything, and by now Babelfish isn't doing anything with the Russian that can surprise me.

But getting a pile of gibberish dumped in your lap and then trying to sort it into something coherent has the same sort of feel to it that a crossword puzzle, or a Sudoku, has: you know there's a solution out there somewhere, and it's only a matter of time until you find it, but between now and then there are hundreds of tiny little decisions to be made, internal logics to follow, and so on.

Because of this, I have very little objectivity about which of these are good or bad or amusing or whatever. I don't think this one worked that well: maybe Babelfish didn't give me enough strangeness to work with, or maybe I didn't do enough to change it. But in the hopes that there may be other schools of thought on the matter. . . .

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go,
your door cost me here. I hate you to oversleep: a goodbye opinion.
But by dawn, it breaks, the previous morn will be there.
A taxi awaits, it blows its horn. It's narrower than I am, thus more lonesome.
I could begin to cry.

So kiss me and smile for me, say that you await me,
hold me so you'll prevent me from going.
I leave it to the plane engine, don't know when I'll be back again.
Oh, babe, I hate to go.

There are many times I have pushed you downward;
therefore, many times I played all around,
I'll say now they won't intend anything to you.
Each place, where I am, I'll think of you; each song I sing, I ripen for you;
When I come back, I will bear your engagement ring.

So kiss me and smile for me, say that you await me,
hold me so you'll prevent me from going.
I leave it to the plane engine, don't know when I'll be back again.
Oh, babe, I hate to go.

You came to leave now. One more time than time prevented me from kissing you,
then it's, "Close your eyes, I'm located on my road."
Dream about the days to arrive, so when I leave I won't be leaving alone.
About the time, it's what I say:
I leave it to the plane engine, don't know when I'll be back again.
I leave it to the plane engine, don't know when I'll be back again.

On Up (4 Non Blondes)

Language: Russian

This song is going to miss some people, I'm pretty sure. It was one of those deals where either you were listening to a lot of pop music at the right historical moment, or you weren't. But if you need your memory jogged, there's a (highly recommended) performance (not exactly by the original performers, it should be said) here.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Twenty-five years, and my life still
attempts to get up that large, large hill of hope
for the designation.
AND I WAS CARRIED OUT RAPIDLY WHEN I KNEW IT:
PEACE WAS MADE UP BY THIS BROTHERHOOD OF MAN
FOR THE MIDDLE-CLASS.
And so I cry sometimes
when I lie in bed,
in order to get everyone away from
my head,
and I feel a little specific.
Therefore, I spill in the morning,
and I step outwardly,
and I assume deep respiration,
and I get real high
and scream over my lungs, "Go further?"

And I say,
hey hey hey hey, said
hey, is it further to me?

Ooh, ooh, ooh,
and I attempt, oh my God I do (He judges with me);
I attempt it every time I'm in these institutions.
And you will pray to me, oh God,
to mole me, to mole each day,
for the turn.
Therefore I weep sometimes
when I'm lying in the bed,
in order to get everyone away from
my head,
and to me it does feel a little specific.
Therefore I spill it in the morning,
and I step outwardly,
and I assume deep respiration,
and I get real high
and scream over my lungs, "Go on?"

And I say,
hey hey hey hey, said
hey, is it further than I am?

Twenty five years, and my life still
attempts to get up that large large hill of hope,
for the designation.

I'll Still Be Living (Pearl Jam)

Language: Russian

There are some very nice on-line sites for lyrics (Example), though in almost every case, the lyrics you can pick through appear to be user-submitted and indifferently edited. Some people are more careful about their spelling than others, which can lead to untranslatable words, or invented words. Some people are more conscientious about spellin' words the way ever'body sing 'em; some people Like To Capitalize The First Letter In Every Word Of The Song, for unknown reasons.

The person who gave us lyrics for this song (for the record, not from the site linked above) paid special attention to recording all the non-word noises, the "oohs" and "aahs" and "heys" and "yeahs" that are there more for punctuation than anything else. I never know what to do with these, since I don't really like reading them, and I don't like trying to edit around them, but at the same time, they're part of the song, and in some cases are the only vocalizations for large stretches of time, so mainly I've been leaving them in.

Read around them if you like. Nobody will mind.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Son, she said, I've obtained a small story for you.
You thought your dad was nothing, but...
(Thus far, you've sat home, independently, from period 13.)
Your real dad was to die. They're distressed you didn't see him,
but I was glad we had a talk...

Oh, oh, I'm still living
hey, I, oh, I'll still be living
hey I, oh, I'll be still living
hey... oh...

Oh, she goes for a walk, slowly, through the room of a young person
she said it was finished... for you.
I cannot recall that.
Nothing to this very day, with the exception of the blood, blood...
Oh, you know where.
Now I can't exactly see. (You yourselves will stare...)

I'll still be living
Hey, but I, I'll be still living
hey boy, I, I'll still be living by –
by, by . . .
I'm still living, yeah
Ooh yeah...
yeah yeah yeah...
oh... oh...

Something is incorrect, she said, in the best way of course.
"Will you still be lively?" is what she said.
Oh, but I deserve to be. Is that the question?
And if then, then if then,
then answers: it answers.

Oh, I'll still be living
hey I, oh, I'll still be living
hey, but I, I'll be still living
yeah I, ooh, I'm still living
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah