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She looked like she learned to dance from a series of still pictures |
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She's madly excited now, she throws her hands up like a tulip |
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She looks like an illustration of a cocktail party |
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Where cartoon bubbles burst in the air, |
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Champagne rolls off her tongue like a second language |
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And it should have been her biggest night |
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The satellite looks down on her as she begins to cry |
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All over the world at the very same time people sharing the same sorrow |
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As the satellite looks down her darkest hour is somebody's bright tomorrow |
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He pulled on a cigarette, in the crook of his first finger |
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Felt the static electric charge of her perfect hour-glass figure |
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As he undressed her with his eyes her weakness was his talent |
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How could she know as she stepped through the lights, that her dress would become transparent |
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And with his face pressed to the screen, |
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He muttered words he'd never dare to say if she could see him |
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All over the world at the very same time |
|
People sharing the same cheap sensation the |
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Thrill of watching somebody watching those |
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Forbidden things we never mention |
|
Chorus: |
|
The satellite looks down right now and forever |
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What it has pulled apart let no man tether his own body to his dream, |
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His dream to someone else |
|
Oh no, oh no. |
|
She went back to a pitiful compromise, he'd go back to his family |
|
But for the matter of a thousand miles that separated them entirely |
|
In the hot unloving spotlight, with secrets it arouses |
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Now they both know what it's like inside a pornographer's trousers |
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And in a funny way it's anonymous, the satellite |
|
It blesses us and makes these dreams come |
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True... all over the world |
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Chorus |
