Saturday, September 30, 2006

Wonderful Class of the Love (Phil Collins)

Language: Spanish

This is a high school song for me; a friend of mine (whose initials were also J.G., incidentally) liked it, I think, for the cheesiness. Or possibly she didn't like it, and she just liked mocking it. It's really hard to tell. Maybe her mother liked it, and J.G. just liked it because it was familiar: this is a definite possibility, since her mother also had lots of Linda Ronstadt and Barbra Streisand laying around the house. Which reminds me -- I should totally do "Don't Know Much" sometime.

Anyway. Phil Collins is a tool, but this can't really be news to anybody. And dorkitude and coolness are only inversely related up to a point: when you become enough of a wanker, any further geekiness only makes you cooler. I don't think Phil Collins is at this point yet (he's very close, I think, to the point of minimum coolness, down there with Michael Bolton, Will Ferrell, and Celine Dion), but it's happened for other people (e.g. Zamfir, Tammy Faye Baker, etc.).


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

I must do everything when I'm feeling blue: what
a glance you must take, then. I'm not so blue
when you are near me. I can feel his heart fight itself, like
you. Can you hear that breathing, near my ear, which
you obtained? Baby, you wouldn't agree to a wonderful class of love.

You always returned to give me your wish, on your can.
In all things and at any times: any that you wish.
Ooh, when I shake the lips, beginning to kiss,
I cannot control the interior that you shake.
Baby, you wouldn't agree that you obtained a wonderful class of the love. Ooh . . .

I must do everything when I am feeling blue: what
must you take later? A glance? I'm not so blue
when I am in its arms. Nothing I look like concerns me.
My entire world could break: you care?
Baby, you wouldn't agree, that you obtained a wonderful class of the love.
We obtained a wonderful class of love,
we obtained a wonderful class of love, ooh,
we obtained a wonderful class of love.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

I Want Myself Sedated (Ramones)

Language: Portuguese

Stayed home from work today because I've been having some unusual stomach stuff this week, which I won't describe. It wasn't what you'd call incapacitating, but it was unpleasant, and it certainly made my life better to not have to stand up for eight hours on top of that. I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe it was stress-related (because it often is), and this might still be the case, though I'm not, when it comes down to it, aware of anything that's stressing me out particularly at the moment.

But possibly some sedation might be helpful. Either I'd relax and it'd go away, or I'd sleep through it.

I don't really have any personal memories associated with this song. It's one of those songs that I somehow just "know" without ever having been introduced. There are people like that, too, who are just kind of always around in the background somewhere, and eventually they're familiar enough from seeing them around all the time that you have some sort of vague friend-ness happening with them.


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

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go:
I want myself sedated.
Nothing to make,
no part to go into --
I only want myself sedated.
The airport started it
and set a
plan: the haste of the haste of the haste,
before I go insane.
I cannot control that finger: oh me, oh my.
I cannot control my brain.
Oh, none of the hos
put me in a wheelchair. I only
started. ("To me, and not to me.")
Before I go, the lease shows the haste of the haste of the haste.
I cannot control my fingers;
I cannot control my foot-fingers.
Oh, oh, none of the hos.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Possibilities (Let's Make Money From a Series) (Pet Shop Boys)


The photo here to the right of the post is a cast photo for the TV show "Beauty and the Geek," which according to its first-season promos was brought to us by "the daring mind of Ashton Kutcher." Just take a moment to get your head around that.


I actually liked the show, despite hating "reality" shows as a genre and having more or less sworn never to watch one again a few years back. The main thing I dislike about this sort of show is the artificial conflict producers feel compelled to generate: I would actually be more interested in seeing people getting along in a completely ridiculous situation than in seeing people fighting for money. But whatever. Clearly I'm the exception. This group mostly did get along, which is maybe why I kept watching.

For the record: I was rooting for Erika and Joe.

Anyway. The basic premise was, a bunch of pretty-but-dumb girls team up with a bunch of geeky-but-smart guys, complete various pointless tasks, and eliminate one another gradually until there's a single couple standing, who wins money. This song was used as the theme song for the show, which was not only wildly appropriate but saved Ashton Kutcher's daring mind the trouble of choosing someone to write a new theme, which wouldn't have been as good anyway.

I'm told that this song is basically the mission statement for the Pet Shop Boys as well.


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

I obtain the brains, you'll obtain the views:
let's make money from a series.
You obtain the brawn; I'll obtain the brains:
let's make a series.
I had a sufficient plan, from jerking around in all the mess: I
parked my automobile outside, which frightened it. I'm not working: I don't.
I look for the participant. Someone fixed the thing, which got after it.
Ask this question: do you want to be rich?

I obtain the brains, you obtain the views:
let's make money from a series.
You obtain the brawn, I'll obtain the brains:
let's make money from a series.
They did a study in the Sorbonne; you can say they gave me a form
to put on. We could be perfected in mathematics.
Program the computer; I can select the time.
If you have an inclination to do crime, then I get you.

Oh, there are many possibilities
if you know when to accept them, you know?
There'll be many possibilities --
or if not, then, you can make them, break them. I'll make.

I obtain the brains, you obtain the views:
let's make money from a series.
Let's make a series from
[Aahhhhh - bu di ba di, yes da Di du]

I know smog to be single-minded, you see.
How do feel about it? I assume you'll come on a jaunt with me.
I look for a participant, regardless of the expenditures.
I eat seriously, you know: it makes my feelings thoughtful.

Let's [obtained the brains]
make [obtain the views]
Let's make money from a series. [Oooh! money!]
[let's] You obtained the brawn,
[make] I'll obtain the brains:
let's make money from a series. [Oooh! money!]
I obtained the brains, [obtained the brains]
you obtain the views: [obtain the views]
let's make a series of money, from money. [Oooh! money!]

Saturday, September 23, 2006

They're Futile (Carly Simon)

Language: German

I believe Margaret Atwood once said something to the effect of, if you write something and call it nonfiction, then everybody will assume you made it all up, but if you call it fiction, then everybody wants to know who all the characters were in real life. This is interesting, to me.

Way too much time and thought has already gone into trying to figure out who this song is about. Check out the Wikipedia post on the subject. Granted, some of this is because Carly Simon herself has given conflicting answers on the matter, saying sometimes that the song is a composite of several lovers, and sometimes that it's a specific person, so she's partly to blame for the continued interest. But even so, the song seems to me like it's actually about her. Fuck the guy: you're supposed to be paying attention to what her experience was, and how she feels about it. No wonder the guy's vain: he's the part of the song the whole world is interested in. Forget Carly Simon.


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

You went into the party on a yacht. You went in such a way that
your hat, which was strategically immersed under an eye,
was an apricot. Your scarf
had an eye on the mirror, while you watched a gavotte.
All the girls would be your partners, and they
would be your partners, and . . . which ones of them?

You dreamed you're futile; thus, you think this song is probably over.
(Thus, you are futile.) I bet you're thinking that this song isn't
yours. That's not it?

Before you had me to unite the years, I was rather naïve. Still, when we
formed such a pretty pair -- well, we
would never go for that. And you,
however: you gave things away, one of which loved you. They were the dreams.
I had my coffee. Clouds were united with
clouds, and in my coffee...

She said I had some dreams, and clouded my coffee.
Clouds were in my coffee, and,
well, you went up to your horses in Saratoga. Naturally, I heard that and then flew
up to New Scotland in their Lear jet.
The sun was eclipsed, over
there where you saw the time. You should see well; you won.
(And if not, you are that whole you with
any underworld spy.) The close woman friend of a
close friend is a woman, and is.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

You Swing Like a Hurricane (Scorpions)

Language: German

Special greetings to visitors from and!

German is a special language in a lot of ways, but it's particularly nice when it comes to the verb "to rock." Once sent through Babelfish and back, "rock" winds up "swing." (Any German-speakers in the audience who might be able to explain?) I don't think this particular song is the best possible example, and probably neither was "We Swing You" (Queen), but someday, I'll hit the right song, and then you'll see how great the rock-to-swing transformation is. This song just winds up sounding vaguely snooty.

Though let's give me extra self-referentiality points for using German on a band which is itself German.


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

In former times, the morning sun was from
yesterday evening, according to my cat.
She comes purring and quite shaken,
and scratches my skin in a way
which explains. Another such sin must be wrong.
The females are hungry: therefore
give their tariff well, and draw in
more of their days. Come around to
new places. To go,
I have to leave him: it's
time for an appearance.

I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.

My body burns; it begins to cry.
Off comes the desire, it loudly breaks the senses:
desire is in the framework.
Until fair breaks form,
she must loose her storm
with someone I select.
The nights are designating me:
must I go?
The hungry wolves are
let run. The appearance -- he
licks its lips, he's ready,
on the hunt for love
at the first pass this evening to win.

I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

If I Had Boats (Lyle Lovett)

Language: Russian

Work is going okay. I guess. Kinda. Home is the bigger stressor now, because the objects in it have a bad tendency to move around, or disappear, or turn into other objects, while I'm at work. I'm not saying I'm the world's best housekeeper or anything, but when I lived by myself and needed to find something, I always could. This is not the case in the new place.

Rearranging furniture relaxes the husband, he says, and it stresses me out. So there's, like, a fundamental difference in priorities, or ability to handle change, or something. He says that it's going to stop soon, once everything finds a place, but we've been living here now for about six weeks, and it's accelerating, if anything. Objects we debated placement of for a week are packing their bags and leaving entirely, just as I get used to them. My own stuff mysteriously detaches itself from its electrical outlets. This has all been discussed previously, more than once, but doesn't seem to be working.

So having a boat to go out on is appealing, even though I never really learned how to swim. Not sure how I feel about the pony: it would have had more appeal when I was a little girl. But the boat -- it would be nice to be able to go someplace where things didn't move around or vanish or mutate unless I wanted them to. Even if it were a very small boat, and I occasionally had to shovel some manure.


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

If I had a boat, then
I'd go out on the ocean,
and if I had a pony,
it would go on my boat.
And we would be able to hold everything together
and go out on the ocean:
me on my pony, on my boat.

If I were Roy Rogers
(who I'm assured would be single),
I couldn't bring him to marry Dale.
It'd be me, launching
us to the movies. You'd go
after this; we'd purchase them a boat
and sail at sea.

If I had a boat,
then I'd go out on the ocean,
and if I had a pony,
I'd be on my boat with it.
And our smog, all together,
would go out. On the ocean,
on my boat: me on my pony.

Smart men were secretly disguised;
they obtained Tonto,
which made the free work dirty, Tonto reasoned.
But Tonto was smarter
in the daytime, and said,
Kiss my ass, kemosabe,
I purchased a boat,
I'm outside in the sea.

If I had a boat,
then I'd go out on the ocean,
and if I had a pony,
I'd be on my boat with it.
And our smog, all together,
would go out. On the ocean,
on my boat: me on my pony.

If I were as lightning,
I'd have sneakers.
I'd arrive, and go
wherever I pleased.
And I'd frighten 'em away by the shadow shaft,
and I'd frighten 'em away by the bright pole,
but I wouldn't frighten away my pony
on my boat, at sea, outside.

If I had a boat,
then I'd go out on the ocean,
and if I had a pony,
I'd be on my boat with it.
And our smog, all together,
would go out. On the ocean,
on my boat: me on my pony.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Others Don't Come 'Round Here (Tom Petty)

Language: Greek

Tom Petty has done all right for himself, given that he's not extraordinarily beautiful or talented. Discuss.


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

Hey! Others don't come 'round here.
The other, it doesn't come 'round here, no.
Search anyone:
Hey! Others don't come 'round here, no.

I have given into the attitude.
I have given into the attitude.
I have given into the attitude.
Wait for the others: I have stopped.
This love takes in more power.

The others don't come 'round here, no.
The others don't come 'round here, no.
The others don't come 'round here, no.
The others don't come 'round here, no.

I feel another you;
my door darkens you.
Search anyone:
Hey! The others don't come 'round here.

I have stopped; I stop.
I have stopped; I stop.
I have stopped, so you stop. My emotions are mixed, and
I have stopped. I request that she finish the honey – recognize it.

Hey! No others come 'round here.
The other, it doesn't come 'round here, no.
The other, it doesn't come 'round here, no.
The others don't come 'round here, no.

That attitude walks under the road.
Others don't come 'round here, no.
Is it who you expected?
The others don't come 'round here, no.
Search anyone:
Hey! No others come 'round here.
Hey! I request the honey. The others don't come 'round here, no.
Search anyone:
(Ah, oh, ah, ah.)
The others don't come 'round here, no.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Shout (Tears for Fears)

Language: Dutch

First off, let's do note, because it's kind of amusing, that Tears for Fears becomes "Cracks for Apprehension" once it's been run through Babelfish in Dutch. This is slightly more interesting than what happens to "Tina Turner" in Italian, but not as good as what happens to "Tori Amos" in Italian.

I did not have a good day at work. Also I was offered a promotion. The two events weren't related to one another while I was at work, but my answer to one of these is likely to be influenced heavily by the other.

And there were other problems, which we'll not get into.

I don't really think that posting this song is going to be all that terribly useful as a venting mechanism, but I'm trying to do what I can, lest the husband suffer disproportionately for it.

The Babelfished song actually wound up sounding like it's about male prostitution. For all I know, though, that may be what the original song was about. Who knows who cares why bother.


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

let it all these things
have me from outside.
Come on,
I can say that to you.

Your soul doesn't progress
in violent times,
and (blank) would have have sold well in black.
They really really would have known which track.
One opinion:
which working boy for you?
You named them all "good-bye."

For a joy, you wouldn't have jumped:
a kiss, a shout -- they must
give you a living.
Return this cold hell, and give in to that "you-for-them" way.
Ice them, since
we'll live to tell the tale. (I hope.)
When you shouted,
the guard took you below, and you had
a mind to change your love of your heart. I could really break.

That Wonderful Peace (Louis Armstrong)

Language: Russian

These days, you only hear this song when something ridiculously sappy (the "Family Matters" theme) or achingly ironic ("Bowling for Columbine") is going on, but that doesn't make it a bad song necessarily. It does make it, plausibly, a bit of a cliche.

According to Wikipedia, "What a Wonderful World" was written in 1968 "as an antidote for the increasingly racially and politically charged climate in the U.S.," specifically for Louis Armstrong, because he appealed to whites. This doesn't make the song, or its writers, bad, by any stretch of the imagination, but it does lead me to think differently about the song.

It's not that I don't know that people use music to try to influence one another, and that this sort of calculation goes on all the time, regarding who is marketable to which segment of the population, and what lyrics would be more acceptable or less acceptable -- I guess it had just not occurred to me that this sort of thing might have started a lot earlier than I had considered that it might have. I guess I sort of had this romantic view of all songs pre-1976 (or so) being the spontaneous outpouring of emotion into music, by people who then shlepped the songs around to various labels, refusing to alter their artistic vision, until Fame happened. Blah blah blah, dedication to their artistic vision, blah blah blah, believe in the music and the audience will come to you, etc.

It's kind of especially disillusioning with respect to this song in particular, because it's so short and simple and easy-looking. I mean, you don't hear this song and immediately think, oh, it must have taken a dedicated army of jazz songwriting technicians to produce this.


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

I see our green shafts, red roses too,
I see that they bloom, which is for me, and for you,
they think to themselves, "That wonderful peace of ours."

I see the skies of blue, clouds of whiteness,
the bright blessed days, the night darkness (most sacred to itself),
and (I think) that wonderful peace.

The rainbow flowers in the sky so sufficiently
find the sides of people going past. (Also on
the friends that shake hands: I see them.) To speak, as you make
them say to you, "I love you, actually."

I observe babies crying. As I hear it, they begin to grow:
I won't learn more than they will. (To know this is very
wonderful.) And I never think of their peace.

The rainbow flowers in the sky, so sufficiently
situated on the sides of people going past, are also
speaking as friends. I see you make the hands shake: you make them.
He speaks: "they actually love me."

As I begin to observe it, I hear babies cry. They grow,
you know. (It will be you that they're never gonna teach.
They won't know the entire series better than I.)
I think to myself, wonderful peace, and
yes, he thinks to himself, wonderful peace.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Eat Rich People (Aerosmith)

Language: Russian

I would like to be able to comment on the five-year anniversary of 9/11, but since everybody else already has, or is, or will be, there's not much left to be said. I'm suspicious of the annual memorial orgies: I don't think they're meant to serve the interests of the families so much as the interests of certain politicians.

And, really, hasn't 9/11 done more than enough for GWB and Cheney already?


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

I overslept good, up this morning
on the bed's incorrect side,
and I got to thinking
about all those things you spoke
(about usual people,
how they make you sick).
If hopes are called back, calling on you after this kicks,
then I'll make this trick.

The reason I'll be sick of your complaining
about how many calculations (and with me completely sick about your bitching),
your poodles and your pills, is
even I cannot exactly see any humor
about your road. I don't think life
can make it more for you.
With this here fork and knife . . .

Eat rich people: they are only good for one thing.
Eat the rich: accept one bite now - come back for much more.
Eat the rich: gotta get this from my chest of drawers.
Eat the rich: accept one bite now, then rest from the spitting.

So I head upward to my shrinker,
and I said to him, "Since I was made after you
said it would go to hope, 'the best' means you diet, yeah?
You have a certain fun, which
doesn't bubble?" Explosion. Go
on the rude people, get rich people off,
you will not get any reasoning from anxiety
when you eat that kinda food.
They're on, now smoking up junk fastenings,
and after this they get rigid. They go with themselves,
and they'll be dancing in the yacht club
with Biff and Uncle Muff,
your swine. There, one good thing occurs to Pearl.
When your mosque can try their shit,
they go real good with the Orientation wine.

Wake up your past, little-one, youth will be there by the half.
(Which will not actually be a date, but changes nothing.)
Ruth, you're an immense slammer, babe, but you
gotta learn to carry yourself as if
you will be swinging from a pearly strobe.
And now contemplate all the answers you obtained. Lo, were you
yourself? They obtained the right key, the incorrect key. But yo, baby ho!

Good in all things: believe
that you cannot purchase money, exactly. After this, got it?
No stomach pain will be
from pie eating, which is humble.
I believe the "Rags to Riches"
will not continue. Your inheritance;
your Poupon. Therefore, my gray friend assumed,
shove him up on your ass!

Eat rich people: they are only good for one thing.
Eat the rich: accept one bite now - come back for much more.
Eat the rich people: you won't stop me now, I'll be goin ' crazy.
I eat the rich people: that'll be my idea of a good time, baby.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Physically (Olivia Newton John)

Language: German

I remember a sort of guilty confusion about this song, when I first heard it. I understood that there was something kind of dirty about it, or at least that there was dirty intent, but had no idea what this might be in reference to. And then it didn't help that it was frequently presented as being about aerobics, because of the video, which was in retrospect a pretty transparent ploy to keep the prudish from paying attention to the lyrics but managed to confuse me still further.

Also interesting: Olivia Newton-John is apparently the granddaughter of Max Born, who won the 1954 Nobel Physics Prize for his work on the probability density function of the Schrodinger Equation (q.v.). There's probably a joke to be made in there somewhere, but damned if I can figure out what it is. Some kind of "physics"/"physical" pun, no doubt.


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

I know the legends of all things; you received
a good discussion.
(May a touch straighten my form.)
I don't mean that you "know" yourself; what
took you to that familiar restaurant? That
film suggested
speaking to the left, then giving it anything.
It was horizontal.

We leave you a systematical test, systematical test;
I would like to remain physical.
We leave a systematical test: receive it in
your body. Your body received the discussion, so leave me to hear it. Speak
your body to me; let me hear it speak.

I am, I am being good.
Patiently trying to hold my hands on the table,
I'll back this thing strongly. I get it,
if you know what I mean.

I is surely, you understands, my criterion, which
we know each other that, religiously
you began to know that you get from
the animal in me

[chorus 3 times]

We leave you an animal, animal,
I'll receive the animal:
it would like to be received. (The animal in us left.)
Hear me: your body lets itself speak.
Your body lets me hear itself speak.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Widow of the Professional (Tori Amos)

Language: Portuguese

And here we have another case where the lyrics didn't make all that much sense to start out with. The resulting lyrics are probably more grammatical than Tori Amos's original lyrics, but it's still tough to get much information from them. I do like the idea of a "business hit," like a "Broadway hit" or "hit TV show." Business seems to me to be exceptionally prone to fads, like six-sigma or just-in-time-manufacturing, but I don't think you'd call any of these a "hit," exactly.

In any case, I would probably go see a show called "Sensation Who Makes it as a Congressman," though. Especially if it were about an interesting sensation, like the feeling that something bad is about to happen to somebody you don't like, or the feeling of stepping on a dead mouse in your closet, which happened to me once.


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

The deer excrement, the honey,
the slag well of
my edges: to bring it close to
those brains (yes) doesn't establish
how we start to be great.
Boy, we only start to be great.

My Daddy as a starfucker
that's only mine. Daddy sells his baby, as
that's only mine. As daddy goes
to that business hit,
"Sensation Who Makes it as a Congressman." It's
functioning in the family.
(Who goes to hit a business?
It makes a sensation, as the congressman
functions in his family.)

He rests his shoulders, cream, and peaches
in all parts. How much can you see in such a Judas way?
That pretty angel calls it "that
Muhammad Ali re-run we started." Each one the prism of that
perfect honey, brings it close to the edges.
What ratio of the boy (Yes, the one of the landslide)
is called the great principle? One boy started to be . . . .

Mary of China, there
can be more candy. The white, the brown, the mother
will supply it, will supply it,
will supply it, will supply it.
A hard tap on it gives me peace and love.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Nine Up to Five (Dolly Parton)

Language: Dutch

I've been quiet lately: work doesn't leave me a lot of time for this sort of thing. Sorry about that. The big news from the Guilford Estate is that the husband has been laid off from his job, which actually turns out to be the best thing for everybody involved, in some respects, but it was a little strange and abrupt, and so now there's some confusion.

I, meanwhile, have settled into a quietly resigned discontent about my own job: the first couple weeks were emotional and disappointing and all that, but I'm acclimating. Mainly I just dislike the owner, who is always around, and is condescending and mildly insulting all the time. One of those older Midwestern businessmen who enjoy the whole "boss" gig, who don't really need you to be jumping around like they're commanding you to, but enjoy the power-tripping. Whether this is actually any worse than the ones who pretend that they're your pal and develop friendships so you'll work yourself to death for them, I don't know.

But anyway. The man really bugged me at first, and then I asked someone, "So, is there any reason to hope, maybe far off in the future at some point, that [boss's name] might stop speaking to me as if I'm a moron, or lazy?" and was told no, that he's just like that with everybody, don't take it personally. This doesn't help a lot, but there's some perspective in there somewhere.

Anyway. About the song. I've always loved "Nine to Five." Or possibly I've just always loved Dolly Parton. I don't know why she's not still popular: I mean, I get that it's not fashionable to have talent, these days, what with the New Country thing that's been happening in the last twenty years or whatever, but come on. Surely we could make an exception for Dolly Parton. So what if she's a little twangy? Woman's a fucking national treasure, for Chrissakes.


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

Tumble and stumble outta bed, to the kitchen,
pour themselves an ambitious head.
Yawning, "Try life," to stretch themselves,
and jump in the shower, where the blood starts to come.
The movement of the streetpumps starts the
people, as I jump on the job of nine-up-to-five.

Active nine to five - what a manner in which to make up a living.
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

"Service for those up to five-nine," and the devoted would think,
I want you; an honest promotion
would move me ahead.
The employer seems to deserve to leave, but
people must get that from me sometimes, I'll swear. Mmmmm...

They omit your dream, only
to shatter your attention to them. To pay
you is only one step on the chef-man's ladder.
You got to dream, but he will never take that.

On your boat with the same friends, a lot
who reach within your ship. The day guard's on.
The tide's gonna roll you already, and it's gonna turn, and it's gone.

Active nine up to five - what a manner in which to make up a living.
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

Nine up to five: yes, your true life wants them,
rich men. I think that you're game, and it
would discourage them, no question. What calling
goes with your life? And, if you want it, do you spend that funnily?

Active nine up to five - what a manner in which to make up a living
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

Nine up to five there, yes, your better life wants them. True,
you're a game for rich men, but you dream. It is that, and
no question would discourage them. What calling
goes? Spend that life funnily, if you want.