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I've got this phosphorescent portrait of gentle Jesus meek and mild | <noinclude>{{Lyrics for|Bedlam}}</noinclude> | ||
I've got this phosphorescent portrait of gentle Jesus meek and mild<br> | |||
I've got this harlot that I'm stuck with carrying another man's child | I've got this harlot that I'm stuck with carrying another man's child<br> | ||
The solitary star announcing vacancy burned out as we arrived<br> | |||
The solitary star announcing vacancy burned out as we arrived | They'd throw us back across the border if they knew that we survived<br> | ||
And they were surprised to see us<br> | |||
They'd throw us back across the border if they knew that we survived | So they greeted us with palms<br> | ||
They asked for ammunition, acts of contrition and small alms<br> | |||
And they were surprised to see us | <br> | ||
And I might recite a small prayer<br> | |||
So they greeted us with palms | If I ever said them<br> | ||
I lay down on an iron frame<br> | |||
They asked for ammunition, acts of contrition and small alms | And found myself in bedlam<br> | ||
I wish that I could take something for drowning out the noise<br> | |||
Wailing echoes down the corridors<br> | |||
<br> | |||
And I might recite a small prayer | I've got this imaginary radio, and I'm punching up the dial<br> | ||
I've got the A.C. trained on the T.V. so it won't blow up in my eye<br> | |||
If I ever said them | And everything I thought fanciful and mocked as too extreme<br> | ||
Must be family entertainment here in the strange land of my dreams<br> | |||
I lay down on an iron frame | And I'm practicing my likeness of St. Francis of Assisi<br> | ||
And if I hold my hand outstretched<br> | |||
And found myself in bedlam | A little bird comes to me<br> | ||
<br> | |||
I wish that I could take something for drowning out the noise | And I might recite a small prayer<br> | ||
If I ever said them<br> | |||
Wailing echoes down the corridors | I lay down on an iron frame<br> | ||
And found myself in bedlam<br> | |||
Escaping from the fingers that were stretching through the bars<br> | |||
Wailing echoes down the corridors<br> | |||
I've got this imaginary radio, and I'm punching up the dial | <br> | ||
The player piano picks out "Life Goes On"<br> | |||
I've got the A.C. trained on the T.V. so it won't blow up in my eye | The ring tone rang out "Jerusalem"<br> | ||
Into the pit of sadness<br> | |||
And everything I thought fanciful and mocked as too extreme | Where the wretched plunge<br> | ||
We've buried all the innocents<br> | |||
Must be family entertainment here in the strange land of my dreams | Now we must bury revenge<br> | ||
<br> | |||
And I'm practicing my likeness of St. Francis of Assisi | They've got this scared and decorated girl strapped to the steel trunk of a Mustang<br> | ||
They drove her down a cypress grove where traitors hang and stars still spangle<br> | |||
And if I hold my hand outstretched | They dangled flags and other rags along a coloured thread of twine<br> | ||
They dragged that bruised and purple heart along the road to Palestine<br> | |||
A little bird comes to me | <br> | ||
Someone went off muttering, he mentioned thirty pieces<br> | |||
Easter saw a slaughtering, each wrapped in bloodstained fleeces<br> | |||
Then my thoughts returned to vengeance, but I put up no resistance<br> | |||
And I might recite a small prayer | Though I seemed a long way from my home<br> | ||
It really was no distance<br> | |||
If I ever said them | <br> | ||
And I might recite a small prayer<br> | |||
I lay down on an iron frame | If I ever said them<br> | ||
I lay down on an iron frame<br> | |||
And found myself in bedlam | And found myself in bedlam<br> | ||
Bowing like an actor acknowledging applause<br> | |||
Escaping from the fingers that were stretching through the bars | Playing the Crusader who was conquering the Moors<br> | ||
When he knew the consequences, but he won't admit the cause<br> | |||
Wailing echoes down the corridors | Wailing echoes down the corridors<br> | ||
The player piano picks out "Life Goes On" | |||
The ring tone rang out "Jerusalem" | |||
Into the pit of sadness | |||
Where the wretched plunge | |||
We've buried all the innocents | |||
Now we must bury revenge | |||
They've got this scared and decorated girl strapped to the steel trunk of a Mustang | |||
They drove her down a cypress grove where traitors hang and stars still spangle | |||
They dangled flags and other rags along a coloured thread of twine | |||
They dragged that bruised and purple heart along the road to Palestine | |||
Someone went off muttering, he mentioned thirty pieces | |||
Easter saw a slaughtering, each wrapped in bloodstained fleeces | |||
Then my thoughts returned to vengeance, but I put up no resistance | |||
Though I seemed a long way from my home | |||
It really was no distance | |||
And I might recite a small prayer | |||
If I ever said them | |||
I lay down on an iron frame | |||
And found myself in bedlam | |||
Bowing like an actor acknowledging applause | |||
Playing the Crusader who was conquering the Moors | |||
When he knew the consequences, but he won't admit the cause | |||
Wailing echoes down the corridors | |||
Latest revision as of 06:28, 22 April 2009
Bedlam
I've got this phosphorescent portrait of gentle Jesus meek and mild
I've got this harlot that I'm stuck with carrying another man's child
The solitary star announcing vacancy burned out as we arrived
They'd throw us back across the border if they knew that we survived
And they were surprised to see us
So they greeted us with palms
They asked for ammunition, acts of contrition and small alms
And I might recite a small prayer
If I ever said them
I lay down on an iron frame
And found myself in bedlam
I wish that I could take something for drowning out the noise
Wailing echoes down the corridors
I've got this imaginary radio, and I'm punching up the dial
I've got the A.C. trained on the T.V. so it won't blow up in my eye
And everything I thought fanciful and mocked as too extreme
Must be family entertainment here in the strange land of my dreams
And I'm practicing my likeness of St. Francis of Assisi
And if I hold my hand outstretched
A little bird comes to me
And I might recite a small prayer
If I ever said them
I lay down on an iron frame
And found myself in bedlam
Escaping from the fingers that were stretching through the bars
Wailing echoes down the corridors
The player piano picks out "Life Goes On"
The ring tone rang out "Jerusalem"
Into the pit of sadness
Where the wretched plunge
We've buried all the innocents
Now we must bury revenge
They've got this scared and decorated girl strapped to the steel trunk of a Mustang
They drove her down a cypress grove where traitors hang and stars still spangle
They dangled flags and other rags along a coloured thread of twine
They dragged that bruised and purple heart along the road to Palestine
Someone went off muttering, he mentioned thirty pieces
Easter saw a slaughtering, each wrapped in bloodstained fleeces
Then my thoughts returned to vengeance, but I put up no resistance
Though I seemed a long way from my home
It really was no distance
And I might recite a small prayer
If I ever said them
I lay down on an iron frame
And found myself in bedlam
Bowing like an actor acknowledging applause
Playing the Crusader who was conquering the Moors
When he knew the consequences, but he won't admit the cause
Wailing echoes down the corridors
