[Lucien21]

Oh it has Black - Wonderful Life.

I had that album and played it to death.

Here I go out to sea again
The sunshine fills my hair
And dreams hang in the air

Gulls in the sky and in my blue eyes
You know it feels unfair
There's magic everywhere

Look at me standing
Here on my own again
Up straight in the sunshine

No need to run and hide
It's a wonderful, wonderful life
No need to hide and cry
It's a wonderful, wonderful life

Sun in your eyes
The heat is in your hair
They seem to hate you
Because you're there

And I need a friend
Oh, I need a friend
To make me happy
Not stand here on my own

Look at me standing
Here on my own again
Up straight in the sunshine

I need a friend
Oh, I need friend
To make me happy
Not so alone
Look at me here
Here on my own again
Up straight in the sunshine

[Intrepid Homoludens]

I love you, Lucien.

I had the Wonderful Life album on cassette back then and I played it to death. Goddamn he has the dreamiest voice! And cripeys, can he write lyrics. I'm thinking of just hunting down the cd version, along with his follow up album of which I also had the cassette and loved dearly.

Hey baby, love the way you walk
Got a knock-kneed swing that goes back and forth
I could lose myself in the curve of your hips
Aching to kiss your sweet lips

And hey baby, I love your eyes
They're sea green but they seem twice as deep
And like a man crossing the Bridge of Sighs
I am afraid to sleep

And miss the sweet breath of your rapture!
The sweet breath of your rapture!

< faints >

[nihil]

I think the 80ies (plus the late 70ies) were the most creative and inspirational time pop-music has seen so far. Bands like The Clash, The Smiths, The Cure, Pet Shop Boys, Joy Division / New Order, Duran Duran, Human League, Sisters of Mercy / The Mission, Soft Cell, Nick Cave and and and ... I wish I had a time-travel-machine now :-)

[pinkgothic]

Ooh, we're posting lyrics now? Thenigottadothattoooo...

Luxuria - Flesh

By the Egyptian Gate,
I wait in my penance vest.
I've never been so lost before,
so I-can't-help-myself-possessed.
I want to be torn through
the material of your flesh.

Your husband lies unconscious
on Samuda's precipice -
I drink in the dead night air
and your astringent kiss.

She's slovenly lovely,
he's a moth over opium.
So long time stone cold sober,
now marked down for delirium.
Her perfume draws his blood out
and back, back to this asylum slum.

One man, one woman,
walk around Newington Green;
the worst case of resemblance
in N16.

I hate having to desire you,
hate feeling this again.
I hate having to desire you,
in common with other men.

My fellow creature-gods look out
to be mutually blessed.
This therapeutic age leaves them cold,
so fashionably distressed.
But I just want to be torn through
the material of your flesh.

"Cheer up, it'll never happen," they said.
"Not every candle burns;
lighting up these lonely nights
in this century of germs.
So ... many ... happy ... r-r-returns."

"Cheer up it'll never happen," they said.
"We're here on your behalf."
"It already has," I said.
They evaporate and laugh.

I hate having to desire you,
hate feeling this again.
I hate having to desire you,
in common with other men.

The best in life,
it's nothing special,
remember who said it.
Our lives are running,
oh, my little death.
This is forever,
the final edit.

*follows Intrepid's example - faints*

[Crunchy in milk]

I have the complete (or close to) discography of Depeche Mode randomly shuffling at the moment.