| Song | Never to Be Next |
| Artist | Marc Almond |
| Album | Jacques |
| 作词 : Brel, Buck | |
| Wholely naked | |
| My my worn towel serving as loin cloth | |
| Face turned red | |
| Hands clutching at soap and froth | |
| (next, next) | |
| I was barely 20 | |
| And we were over 100 | |
| Being the followers of the one who led | |
| (next, next) | |
| I was still 20 | |
| When my innocense was revealed | |
| In a mobile brothel of an army | |
| In the field | |
| (next, next) | |
| Maybe i would have liked | |
| A little touch of tenderness | |
| Maybe a word | |
| Or maybe a caress | |
| But no | |
| (next, next) | |
| It was not waterloo | |
| And it was not arcole | |
| It was the moment | |
| When i regreted missing school | |
| (next, next) | |
| But i swear on hearing that sergeant | |
| Who was not worth tuppens | |
| It was a dirty trick that | |
| ? made his armies of impotence | |
| (next, next) | |
| I swear by the head | |
| Of my first bout of syphillis | |
| It's that voice | |
| That voice that sticks | |
| Like a fist | |
| (next, next) | |
| That voice that stinks of garlic | |
| Foul drink and crud | |
| It's the voice of nations | |
| And the voice of blood | |
| (next, next) | |
| And since then | |
| Each woman in the heat | |
| Of succuming in my skinny arms | |
| Seems to be murmering | |
| Next, next | |
| Next deary, next sonny | |
| All the followers of the world | |
| Would hold each others hand | |
| For in my delerium, well i scream and demand | |
| He's next....well i'm not delerious | |
| I act as a reasoner | |
| Say, it's more humiliating to be the followed | |
| Than the follower | |
| (next, next, next, next) | |
| One day i'll cut my legs off | |
| Or even become a nun | |
| I'll hang anything | |
| So long as i'm not anyone | |
| Never to be next | |
| Never to be next | |
| Never to be next | |
| Next, next | |
| Please don't pick me next | |
| Never to be next | |
| I want never...never...never....never....never....never to be next |
| zuò cí : Brel, Buck | |
| Wholely naked | |
| My my worn towel serving as loin cloth | |
| Face turned red | |
| Hands clutching at soap and froth | |
| next, next | |
| I was barely 20 | |
| And we were over 100 | |
| Being the followers of the one who led | |
| next, next | |
| I was still 20 | |
| When my innocense was revealed | |
| In a mobile brothel of an army | |
| In the field | |
| next, next | |
| Maybe i would have liked | |
| A little touch of tenderness | |
| Maybe a word | |
| Or maybe a caress | |
| But no | |
| next, next | |
| It was not waterloo | |
| And it was not arcole | |
| It was the moment | |
| When i regreted missing school | |
| next, next | |
| But i swear on hearing that sergeant | |
| Who was not worth tuppens | |
| It was a dirty trick that | |
| ? made his armies of impotence | |
| next, next | |
| I swear by the head | |
| Of my first bout of syphillis | |
| It' s that voice | |
| That voice that sticks | |
| Like a fist | |
| next, next | |
| That voice that stinks of garlic | |
| Foul drink and crud | |
| It' s the voice of nations | |
| And the voice of blood | |
| next, next | |
| And since then | |
| Each woman in the heat | |
| Of succuming in my skinny arms | |
| Seems to be murmering | |
| Next, next | |
| Next deary, next sonny | |
| All the followers of the world | |
| Would hold each others hand | |
| For in my delerium, well i scream and demand | |
| He' s next.... well i' m not delerious | |
| I act as a reasoner | |
| Say, it' s more humiliating to be the followed | |
| Than the follower | |
| next, next, next, next | |
| One day i' ll cut my legs off | |
| Or even become a nun | |
| I' ll hang anything | |
| So long as i' m not anyone | |
| Never to be next | |
| Never to be next | |
| Never to be next | |
| Next, next | |
| Please don' t pick me next | |
| Never to be next | |
| I want never... never... never.... never.... never.... never to be next |