PINK FLOYD FANS NEDERLAND

Operator: Floydian Theo

 

Overige Songs door Roger Waters songteksten

ZOGENAAMDE "HELD-OVERS" VAN HET K.A.O.S.-PROJEKT:   1. Get Back To Radio                                     Like an ember Glowing in the dark I have almost grown cold Frozen like a soldier Standing by the flag-pole Like a player they all said was too old I have been tempted To hand in my key But I am never alone I feel you are with me I will not be a packet of crap on MTV I am a man I will not be a number Get back to radio Get back to radio Now I am a flame I will be a fire again Carolyn Ann, give me your hand Like a volcano Getting ready to blow The new generation waits by its radio God bless Bob Geldof Get back to radio Get back to radio Get back All you want was a chance 2. Going To Live In LA   Molly stood still in the rain and wept Young Benny kicked stones down the courthouse step The police linked arms in a line to hold back the crowd How much longer Mum, said Ben Why's that policeman kicking that man Can we have a bit of jam on our bread today Then the whistle blew and the gates swung back Wave, said Molly Ben waved his cap At two eyes looking through a little slot Like someone dying in a letter box And Molly said Say goodbye to the valley Say goodbye to the rain Through the miracle of telecommunications In the private sector We got a message today Your Great Uncle David, your great Uncle David The one who went to the USA The one with the swimming pool and the palm trees And the big dog, the big dog Has asked you to stay, to stay And you're going, going, going To live in LA Going, going, going Oh, Hollywood hills Oh, midnight thrills Benny, your time has come Oh, oh, Benny, don't drink the water Stay away from the cocaine slaughter Oh, Benny, you don't get caught, you'll have some fun And I'm going into him Benny, Benny ??? Benny, be cool, don't drink the water ??? Benny, stay away from the boss' daughter And there is a hundred miles of sushi bars And Pastel convertible cars And up on Mulholland Drive Where Warren Beatty locks himself in his safe at night just to stay alive Nothing's going on   3. Molly's Song Jim: O.K., let's get back to Billy Billy Yo, Billy" Billy: I'm sorry, Jim I was miles away keeping an eye on Molly Jim: You were keeping an eye on Molly I thought Molly lived in Wales Billy: Through enhanced surveillance satellite I can read a newspaper from five hundred miles high, Jim Jim: Let me get this clear You're trying to tell me that you can keep an eye on Molly by hacking into a government's satellite. Come on. Hold tight Baby, feel the starlight There is a glow in the sky tonight Moving, could be a satellite Is it friendly Then, will it bring me closer to thee Heart to heart Or will it keep us apart, Ben Benny, Benny, Ben When you coming home 'Cause I need you, Ben And I want you, Ben Right now, right here, Ben Benny, Benny, Benny Since you've been gone I've been so lonely, Ben And I'm missing you, Benny And I know you are too Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh Benny, Benny, Benny When you coming home It's not a home without you, Benny And I'm missing you so much Day and night, night and day Goodbye, little spy in the sky They say that cameras don't lie Am I happy, am I sad Am I good, am I bad Ooh, oh, Benny, Benny, when you coming home I miss you   Lost Boys Calling (van het album The Legend Of 1900) Come hold me now I am not gone I would not leave you here alone In this dead calm beneath the waves I can still hear those lost boys calling You could not speak You were afraid To take the risk of being left again And so you tipped your hat and waved and then You turned back up the gangway of that steel tomb again And in Mott Street in July When I hear those seabirds cry I hold the child The child in the man The child that we leave behind The spotlight fades The boys disband The final notes lie mute upon the sand And in the silence of the grave I can still hear those lost boys calling We left them there When they were young The men were gone until the West was won And now there's nothing left but time to kill You never took us fishing Dad And now you never will And in Mott Street in July When I hear those seabirds cry I hold the child The child in the man The child that we leave behind   Each Small Candle (op het live album In The Flesh) Not the torturer will scare me Nor the body's final fall Nor the barrels of death's rifles Nor the shadows on the wall Nor the night when to the ground The last dim star of pain, is held But the blind indifference Of a merciless unfeeling world Lying in the burnt out shell Of some Albanian farm An old Babushka Holds a crying baby in her arms A soldier from the other side A man of heart and pride Breaks ranks, lays down his rifle And kneels by her side He binds her wounds He gives her food And calms the crying child She gives him absolution then Across the great divide He picks his way back through the broken China of her life And there at the kerb The samaritan Serb turns.. Turns and waves.. goodbye And each small candle Lights a corner of the dark... When the wheel of pain stops turning And the branding iron stops burning When the children can be children When the desperados weaken When the sea rolls into greet them When the natural law of science Greets the humble and the mighty And the billion candles burning Lights the dark side of every human mind Each small candle Lights a corner of the dark...   Knockin’On Heavens Door (op het album: Best of Flickering Flame: The Solo Years volume 1 )   Mama, take this badge off of me... I can't use it anymore... It's getting dark, too dark to see... Feel I'm knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Mama put my guns in the ground... I can't shoot them anymore... That long black cloud is coming down... I feel I'm knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...   Flickering Flame (op het album: Best of Flickering Flame: The Solo Years volume 1 ) When my neurons conspire to redirect my thoughts Away from divorce and competitive sports Back to the place where all rivers run to the sea Then I……………..I shall be free (repeat above line) On a see-saw in a strange land The jackdaw sat on the cardinals hand And the vicars pray And the planners plan what to do On a back seat in a court room  sat Molly Malone and Leopold Bloom Until the police came down with a (numbero????) And swept them clean Like Geronimo  Like Quinn the Eskimo Like Blackfoot And like the Arapaho Like Crazy Horse I'll be the last one to lay down my gun……… They'll sound Their final round On the open road in a ballroom A pick up band plays me a tune When the coloured girl sing I feel my heart swing When I know a song hits the right note When a clearing in the sky saves an old boat When an answer strikes the mote (mote is a spec of dust) From my own eye Like Geronimo  Like Quinn the Eskimo Like Blackfoot And like the Arapaho Like Crazy Horse I'll be the last one to lay down my gun……… They're the same beyond the next plain I'll feel the heat of the flickering flame On an African Plain by a thorn tree My old friend Philippe is waiting for me Que Sera Que Sera What ever will be will be When a friend dies and the tears rise From that deep well that never runs dry And the women break their braces (could be bracelets) And the men take their whisky outside In a pretty tier on the rouse en de lear The red velvet curtain pulls back to reveal The place where the dark side meets the angel in me……….. the angel in me When my synapses pause in their quest for applause When my ego lets go of its end of the bone To focus instead on a love that is precious to me Then I……………..I shall be free (repeat above line)   Leaving Beirut (nieuwe song vanaf 03-09-2004 verspreid via internet) So we left Beirut Willa and I He headed East to Baghdad and the rest of it I set out North I walked the five or six miles to the last of the street lamps And hunkered in the curb side dusk Holding out my thumb In no great hope at the ramshackle procession of home bound traffic Success! An ancient Mercedes 'dolmus ' The ubiquitous, Arab, shared taxi drew up I turned out my pockets and shrugged at the driver " J'ai pas de l'argent " " Venez! " A soft voice from the back seat The driver lent wearily across and pushed open the back door I stooped to look inside at the two men there One besuited, bespectacled, moustached, irritated, distant, late The other, the one who had spoken, Frail, fifty five-ish, bald, sallow, in a short sleeved pale blue cotton shirt With one biro in the breast pocket A clerk maybe, slightly sunken in the seat "Venez!" He said again, and smiled "Mais j'ai pas de l'argent" "Oui, Oui, d'accord, Venez!"   Are these the people that we should bomb Are we so sure they mean us harm Is this our pleasure, punishment or crime Is this a mountain that we really want to climb The road is hard, hard and long Put down that two by four This man would never turn you from his door Oh George! Oh George! That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small  He beckoned with a small arthritic motion of his hand Fingers together like a child waving goodbye The driver put my old Hofner guitar in the boot with my rucksack And off we went " Vous etes Francais, monsieur? " " Non, Anglais " " Ah! Anglais " " Est-ce que vous parlais Anglais, Monsieur? " "Non, je regrette" And so on In small talk between strangers, his French alien but correct Mine halting but eager to please A lift, after all, is a lift Late moustache left us brusquely And some miles later the dolmus slowed at a crossroads lit by a single lightbulb Swung through a U-turn and stopped in a cloud of dust I opened the door and got out But my benefactor made no move to follow The driver dumped my guitar and rucksack at my feet And waving away my thanks returned to the boot Only to reappear with a pair of alloy crutches Which he leaned against the rear wing of the Mercedes. He reached into the car and lifted my companion out Only one leg, the second trouser leg neatly pinned beneath a vacant hip " Monsieur, si vous voulez, ca sera un honneur pour nous Si vous venez avec moi a la maison pour manger avec ma femme "  When I was 17 my mother, bless her heart, fulfilled my summer dream She handed me the keys to the car We motored down to Paris, fuelled with Dexedrine and booze Got bust in Antibes by the cops And fleeced in Naples by the wops But everyone was kind to us, we were the English dudes Our dads had helped them win the war When we all knew what we were fighting for But now an Englishman abroad is just a US stooge The bulldog is a poodle snapping round the scoundrel's last refuge   "Ma femme", thank God! Monopod but not queer The taxi drove off leaving us in the dim light of the swinging bulb No building in sight What the hell "Merci monsieur" "Bon, Venez!" His faced creased in pleasure, he set off in front of me Swinging his leg between the crutches with agonising care Up the dusty side road into the darkness After half an hour we'd gone maybe half a mile When on the right I made out the low profile of a building He called out in Arabic to announce our arrival And after some scuffling inside a lamp was lit And the changing angle of light in the wide crack under the door Signalled the approach of someone within The door creaked open and there, holding a biblical looking oil lamp Stood a squat, moustached woman, stooped smiling up at us She stood aside to let us in and as she turned I saw the reason for her stoop She carried on her back a shocking hump I nodded and smiled back at her in greeting, fighting for control The gentleness between the one-legged man and his monstrous wife Almost too much for me   Is gentleness too much for us Should gentleness be filed along with empathy We feel for someone else's child Every time a smart bomb does its sums and gets it wrong Someone else's child dies and equities in defence rise America, America, please hear us when we call You got hip-hop, be-bop, hustle and bustle You got Atticus Finch You got Jane Russell You got freedom of speech You got great beaches, wildernesses and malls Don't let the might, the Christian right, fuck it all up For you and the rest of the world  They talked excitedly She went to take his crutches in routine of care He chiding, gestured We have a guest She embarrassed by her faux pas Took my things and laid them gently in the corner "Du the?" We sat on meagre cushions in one corner of the single room The floor was earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform Some six foot by four covered by a simple sheet, the bed The hunchback busied herself with small copper pots over an open hearth And brought us tea, hot and sweet And so to dinner Flat, unleavened bread, + thin Cooked in an iron skillet over the open hearth Then folded and dipped into the soft insides of female sea urchins My hostess did not eat, I ate her dinner She would hear of nothing else, I was their guest And then she retired behind a curtain And left the men to sit drinking thimbles full of Arak Carefully poured from a small bottle with a faded label Soon she reappeared, radiant Carrying in her arms their pride and joy, their child. I'd never seen a squint like that So severe that as one eye looked out the other disappeared behind its nose Not in my name, Tony, you great war leader you Terror is still terror, whosoever gets to frame the rules History's not written by the vanquished or the damned Now we are Genghis Khan, Lucretia Borghia, Son of Sam In 1961 they took this child into their home I wonder what became of them In the cauldron that was Lebanon If I could find them now, could I make amends? How does the story end?  And so to bed, me that is, not them Of course they slept on the floor behind a curtain Whilst I lay awake all night on their earthen bed Then came the dawn and then their quiet stirrings Careful not to wake the guest I yawned in great pretence And took the proffered bowl of water heated up and washed And sipped my coffee in its tiny cup And then with much "merci-ing" and bowing and shaking of hands We left the woman to her chores And we men made our way back to the crossroads The painful slowness of our progress accentuated by the brilliant morning light The dolmus duly reappeared My host gave me one crutch and leaning on the other Shook my hand and smiled "Merci, monsieur," I said " De rien " " And merci a votre femme, elle est tres gentille " Giving up his other crutch He allowed himself to be folded into the back seat again "Bon voyage, monsieur," he said And half bowed as the taxi headed south towards the city I turned North, my guitar over my shoulder And the first hot gust of wind Quickly dried the salt tears from my young cheeks. To Kill The Child (nieuwe song vanaf 03-09-2004 verspreid via internet) The child lay In the starlit night Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light How strange to choose to take a life How strange to choose to kill a child Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel Our standard of living, could this be a reason That we would choose to kill the child That we would choose to kill the child  Allah, Jehovah, Buddah, Christ Confucius and Kali and reds, beans and rice Goujons of sole, ris de veau, ham hocks Lox bagels and bones and commandments in stone The Bible, Koran, Shinto, Islam Prosciutto, risotto, falafel and ham Is it dogma, doughnuts, ridicule faith Fear of the dark, or shame or disgrace That we would choose to kill the child That we would choose to kill the child  It's cold in the desert And the space is too big The rope is too short And the walls are too thick I will show you no weakness I will mock you in song Berate and deride you Belittle and chide you Beat you with sticks And bulldoze your home You can watch my triumphant procession to Rome Best seat in the house Up there on the cross Is it anger or envy, profit or loss That we would choose to kill the child That we would choose to kill the child Take this child and hold him closely Keep him safe from the holy reign of terror Take this child hold him closely Take this child to the moral high ground Where he can look down on the bigots and bully boys Slugging it out in the yard