Oscar Wilde died in bed Several floors above my head Living well beyond his means In that crazy Paris scene Rain falls down in sheets so clear No one ever calls me here Traveling by my self these days I'm into jazz and felt berets Far from the that old eastern shore Searching for strange metaphors I don't want to be another victim of fashion I don't want to see my name in the paper each day Leave that to the young Turks They're more handsome and dashing Posing for paparazzi's down Laguna way Down in the metro I feel the world start to multiply Bastille, rubber wheels, spiked heels, subterranean lullaby Met an African prancer, a hemisphere dancer Spied the ghost of Brassens We smiled at the secret we shared And I hid it like contraband
Quietly making noise, making noise Starts with kindergarten toys Not too soft not too loud Just enough to draw a crowd Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise Followed the beat, I found myself in this patois spot
Outside a blizzard was blowing but inside the joint was hot Zouk songs, rubber thongs, sing-a-longs The words flew right by my face Rhythm and motions, a blamma jamma potion You cannot erase
Quietly making noise, making noise Pissin off the old killjoys Glass packs on a hot Mustang A Telecaster with a twang Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise
Singers and writers and poets Have flocked here for centuries The city of light is built upon mountains of memories Baritone saxophone, monotones Speak of the voice I've heard before It's a lasting impression A Gypsy expression you cannot ignoreTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
