The Blue Light [Live At The Palladium - 10/31/81 - Show 1]

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Your ethos, your pathos Your Porthos, your Aramis Your Brut Cologne You're writing home You are hopeless, your hopelessness Is rising around you, rising around you You like it It gives you something to do In the day time Hey buddy, you need a hobby You are tired of moving forward You think of the future And secretly you piddle your pants The puddle of piddle Which used to be little Is rising around you, rising around you You like it It gives you something to do In the night time [Verse 2] Oh well, you travel to bars You might go to Max's Kansas City, but that That's not much fun anymore Oh, you might even go down to the Mudd Club But all that's down there anymorе is Burglars and villains and so forth Oh, where do you go and What do you do when you'rе so lonely? I don't wanna wear your hat right now, thank you very much Oh, what a lovely balloon, it's going by so nicely Well, maybe you'll go to the library You'll go to an art gallery You'll go someplace where you can Pick up a girl that you might like But you're such an asshole They never wanna go with you, do they? They look at you and go "Hey, who wants to be with this putz, right?" You're a lonely guy And the Gilded Grape is all burnt down Your life is really in trouble And all around you theres nothing but Evangelists and republicans, oh no You'll go anywhere, you'll do anything Just so you can hang out with the others The others Just like you Afraid of the future And I don't blame ya Because the future is scary (Yes, it sure is) Well, the puddle is rising It smells like the ocean A body of water to isolate England And also for primer The oil in patches All over Atlantis, Atlantis, Atlantis Phew, Atlantis They could really get down there The plankton, the krill The giant underwater pyramid The squid decor The big ol' giant underwater door The dome, the bubbles, the blue light Light, light, light, light Blue light Light, light, light Blue, blue light, blue light The seepage, the sewage, the rubbers, the napkins Your ethos, your pathos Your flag pole, your port hole Your language You can't even speak your own fucking language You can't read it anymore You can't write it anymore Your language Your meat loaf Don't let your meat loaf Heh, heh, heh Your Micro-Nanette Your Brut Cologne Rising