Tom Waits, songs (lyrics and video clips)

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Tom Waits

Thomas Alan Waits
(born December 7, 1949) is an American singer-songwriter, composer, and actor. Waits has a distinctive voice, described by one critic as sounding "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months and then taken outside and run over with a car."[1] With this trademark growl, his incorporation of pre-rock styles such as blues, jazz, and Vaudeville, and experimental tendencies verging on industrial music,[2] Waits has built up a distinctive musical persona. Waits has also worked as a composer for movies and musical plays and as a supporting actor in films, including The Fisher King, Bram Stoker's Dracula, and Short Cuts. He has been nominated for an Academy Award for his soundtrack work on One from the Heart.

Lyrically, Waits' songs are known for atmospheric portrayals of bizarre, seedy characters and places, although he has also shown a penchant for more conventional ballads. He has a cult following and has influenced subsequent songwriters, despite having little radio or music video support. His songs are best known to the general public in the form of cover versions by more visible artists — for example "Jersey Girl" performed by Bruce Springsteen, "Downtown Train" performed by Rod Stewart, and "Ol' '55" performed by the Eagles. Although Waits' albums have met with mixed commercial success in his native United States, they have occasionally achieved gold album sales status in other countries. He has been nominated for a number of major music awards, and has won Grammy Awards for two albums, Bone Machine and Mule Variations.


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Waits
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:14:04 by Ion »
Στο ίντερνετ όλα διίστανται.
W4tt4n4b3


σα(ρε)μαλι

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T ain't no Sin

When you hear sweet syncopation
And the music softly moans
T aint no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones

When it gets too hot for comfort
And you cant get an ice cream cone
T aint no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones


Just like those bamboo babies
Down in the south sea tropic zone
T aint no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:20:26 by Ion »
I can live everywhere in the world, but it must be near an airport -and a pharmacy, I would add.

Δεν είναι ο ύπνος της λογικής που γεννάει τέρατα, αλλά ο άγρυπνος ορθολογισμός που πάσχει από αϋπνίες.



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Singapore

We sail tonight for Singapore
We're all as mad as hatters here
I've fallen for tawny moor
Took off to the land of Nod
Drank with all the Chinamen
Walked the sewers of Paris
I danced along a colored wind
Dangled from a rope of sand
You must say goodbye to me

We sail tonight for Singapore
Don't fall asleep while you're ashore
Cross your heart and hope to die
When you hear the children cry.
Let marrow bone and cleaver choose
While making feet for children shoes
Through the alley
Back from Hell
When you hear that steeple bell
You must say goodbye to me.

Wipe him down with gasoline
Till his arms are hard and mean,
From now on boys this iron boat's your home
So heave away boys.

We sail tonight for Singapore
Take your blankets from the floor
Wash your mouth out by the door
The whole town is made of iron ore
Every witness turns to steam
They all become Italian dreams
Fill your pockets up with earth
Get yourself a dollar's worth
Away boys, away, boys, heave away

The captain is a one-armed dwarf
He's throwing dice along the wharf
In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King
So take this ring

We sail tonight for Singapore
We're all as mad as hatters here
I've fallen for tawny moor
Took off to the land of Nod
Drank with all the Chinamen
Walked the sewers of Paris
I drunk along a colored wind
I dangled from a rope of sand
You must say goodbye to me
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:21:44 by Ion »
I can live everywhere in the world, but it must be near an airport -and a pharmacy, I would add.

Δεν είναι ο ύπνος της λογικής που γεννάει τέρατα, αλλά ο άγρυπνος ορθολογισμός που πάσχει από αϋπνίες.


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Swordfishtrombones

Well he came home from the war with a party in his head
And modified Brougham DeVille
And a pair of legs that opened up like butterfly wings
And a mad dog that wouldn't sit still
He went and took up with a Salvation Army Band girl
Who played dirty water on a swordfishtrombone
He went to sleep at the bottom of Tenkiller lake
and he said "gee, but it's great to be home."

Well he came home from the war with a party in his head
And an idea for a fireworks display
He knew that he'd be ready with a stainless steel machete
And a half a pint of Ballentine's each day
And he holed up in room above a hardware store
Cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears
And he put a spell on some poor little Crutchfield girl
And stayed like that for 27 years

He packed up all his expectations he lit out for California
With a flyswatter banjo on his knee
With a lucky tiger in his angel hair and benzedrine for getting there
They found him in a eucalyptus tree
Lieutenant got him a canary bird and skanked her head with every word
And Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song
And he got 20 years for lovin' her from some Oklahoma governor
said everything this Doughboy does is wrong

Now some say he's doing the obituary mambo
Now some say that he's hanging on the wall
Perhaps this yarn's the only thing that holds this man together
Some say he was never here at all

Some say they saw him down in Birmingham
Sleeping in a boxcar going by
And if you think that you can tell a bigger tale
I swear to God you'd have to tell a lie
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:24:02 by Ion »
I can live everywhere in the world, but it must be near an airport -and a pharmacy, I would add.

Δεν είναι ο ύπνος της λογικής που γεννάει τέρατα, αλλά ο άγρυπνος ορθολογισμός που πάσχει από αϋπνίες.



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I'll be Gone

Tonight I'll shave the mountain
I'll cut the hearts from pharoahs
I pull the road off of the rise
tear the memories from my eyes
and in the morning I'll be gone
I drink 1000 shipwrecks
tonight I'll steal your paychecks
I paint the sheets across my bed
the birds will all fly from my head
and in the morning I'll be gone
take every dream that's breathing
find every boot that's leaving
shoot all the lights in the cafe
and in the morning I'll be gone
I bet 1000 dollars
I have a french companion
I tie myself below the deck
I pull the rope around my neck
and in the morning I'll be gone
it takes a life to win her
there is a drum of bourbon
800 pounds of nitro
his boots are thunder as he plays
there is a stone inside it
tonight his bones will ride it
I'll need a tent to hide it
and in the morning I'll be gone
and in the morning I'll be gone
and in the morning I'll be gone
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:25:14 by Ion »


wings

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Tom Waits - Just the Right Bullets

There is a light in the forest
There is a face in the tree
I'll pull you out of the chorus
And the first one's always free

You can never go hunting
With just a flintlock and a hound
You won't go home with a bunting
If you blow a hundred rounds

It takes much more than wild courage
Or you'll hit just the tattered clouds
You must have just the right bullets
And the first one's always free

You must be careful in the forest
Broken glass and rusty nails
If you're to bring back something for us
I have bullets for sale

Why be a fool when you can chase away
Your blind and your gloom
I have blessed each one of these bullets
And they shine just like a spoon

To have sixty silver wishes
Is a small price to pay
They'll be your private little fishes
And they'll never swim away

I just want you to be happy
That's my only little wish
I'll fix your wagon and your musket
And the spoon will have his dish

And I shudder at the thought of your
Poor empty hunter's pouch
So I'll keep the wind from your barrel
And bless the roof of your house
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:27:03 by Ion »


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Tom Waits - November

No shadow no stars
no moon no cars
November
it only believes
in a pile of dead leaves
and a moon
that's the color of bone

No prayers for November
to linger longer
stick your spoon in the wall
we'll slaughter them all

November has tied me
to an old dead tree
get word to April
to rescue me
November's cold chain

Made of wet boots and rain
and shiny black ravens
on chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
you're my firing squad
November

With my hair slicked back
with carrion shellac
with the blood from a pheasant
and the bone from a hare
tied to the branches
of a roebuck stag
left to wave in the timber
like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout
go away blow your brains out
November
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:29:07 by Ion »


wings

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]

Jockey Full of Bourbon   

Edna million in a drop dead suit
Dutch pink on a downtown train
Two-dollar pistol but the gun wont shoot
Im in the corner on the pouring rain
Sixteen men on a dead mans chest
And Ive been drinking from a broken cup
Two pairs of pants and a mohair vest
Im full of bourbon, I cant stand up

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

Schiffer broke a bottle on morgans head
And Im stepping on the devils tail
Across the stripes of a full moons head
And through the bars of a cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
Flamingo drinking from a cocktail glass
Im on the lawn with someone elses wife
Admire the view from up on top of the mast

Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, your children are alone

I said hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, your children are alone

Yellow sheets on a hong kong bed
Stazybo horn and a slingerland ride
To the carnival is what she said
A hundred dollars makes it dark inside
Edna million in a drop dead suit
Dutch pink on a downtown train
Two-dollar pistol but the gun wont shoot
Im in the corner on the pouring rain

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:30:39 by Ion »


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Flash Pan Hunter

(Tom Waits/William Burroughs)

The flash pan hunter sways with the wind
His rifle is the sound of the morning
Each sulfurous bullet must have it's own wit
Each cartridge comes with a warning
Beware of elaborate telescopic meat
it will find its way back to the forest

For Wilhelm can't wait
To be Peg Leg's crown
As the briar is strangling
The rose back down

His back shall be my slender new branch
It will bend, it will sway in the breeze
As the devil does his polka
With a hatchet in his hand
As a sniper in the branches of the trees
As the vulture flutters down
As the snake sheds his dove
Wilhelm's cutting off his fingers
So they'll fit into the glove

For Wilhelm can't wait
To be Peg Leg's crown
As the briar is strangling
The rose back down
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:33:21 by Ion »


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Tom Waits - Invitation to the Blues

Well she's up against the register with an apron and a spatula,
Yesterday's deliveries, tickets for the bachelors
She's a moving violation from her conk down to her shoes,
Well, it's just an invitation to the blues

And you feel just like Cagney, she looks like Rita Hayworth
At the counter of the Schwab's drugstore
You wonder if she might be single, she's a loner and likes to mingle
Got to be patient, try and pick up a clue

She said "How you gonna like 'em, over medium or scrambled?",
You say "Anyway's the only way", be careful not to gamble
On a guy with a suitcase and a ticket getting out of here
It's a tired bus station and an old pair of shoes
This ain't nothing but an invitation to the blues

But you can't take your eyes off her, get another cup of java,
It's just the way she pours it for you, joking with the customers
Mercy mercy, Mr. Percy, there ain't nothing back in Jersey
But a broken-down jalopy of a man I left behind
And the dream that I was chasing, and a battle with booze
And an open invitation to the blues

But she used to have a sugar daddy and a candy-apple Caddy,
And a bank account and everything, accustomed to the finer things
He probably left her for a socialite, and he didn't 'cept at night,
And then he's drunk and never even told her that her cared
So they took the registration, and the car-keys and her shoes
And left her with an invitation to the blues

'Cause there's a Continental Trailways leaving local bus tonight, good evening
You can have my seat, I'm sticking round here for a while
Get me a room at the Squire, the filling station's hiring,
And I can eat here every night, what the hell have I got to lose?
Got a crazy sensation, go or stay? now I gotta choose,
And I'll accept your invitation to the blues.
« Last Edit: 21 Nov, 2008, 14:36:45 by Ion »


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Tarapia tapioco. Prematurata alla supercazzola o scherziamo? - Come se fosse antani anche per lei soltanto in due, oppure in quattro anche scribai con cofandina; come antifurto, per esempio.


 

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