| 作词 : Momus | |
| Lord, tell me how long it's going to take me to get famous? | |
| Will it take a week in vaudeville, a season in pantomime | |
| Two years on the West End stage, a decade or maybe more? | |
| Because I can't afford to wait 'til I'm dribbling, bald, toothless, spineless and brainless | |
| I don't believe in your afterlife and your posterity | |
| But, if they exist, I must be at least half the way there | |
| And Lord, what if it takes a decade? | |
| I am no longer young | |
| Show me the road to fame, Lord, show me that road | |
| Or just the road to the next whiskey bar | |
| And Lord, what will it take, what will it take to get me to be and to stay famous? | |
| Am I going to have to sell my soul to the stylists and the tailors of this world | |
| If I'm not to go down in history as one of the failures? | |
| Lord, teach me the boy band dance routines | |
| Above all teach me to be tame, bland, blind and blameless | |
| Cos that's the hardest thing of all, to be aggressive and yet remain harmless | |
| To edit out my impure thoughts when you know so well, Lord, that I'm shameless | |
| Principled, amoral, provocative, confrontational and shameless | |
| And Lord, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| After you'd created this fantastic planet and all the animals upon it | |
| That creep about upon its surface | |
| It must've taken a million years or more before | |
| Anyone even thought to give a name to the nameless | |
| And then, in the blinking of an eye the backlash came | |
| The cynics crowded round saying you didn't even exist | |
| Oh, fashion is fickle, Lord, you know that more than I do | |
| The backlash always comes, no matter what you've done | |
| Created a world or that difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| "Don't ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide | |
| How to hide and disappear" | |
| Lord tell me, where will it take me, what strange place will it take me, being famous? | |
| Am I destined to be rich beyond the wildest dreams of men? | |
| Will I rest at last between the breasts and legs of delicate oriental girls, and make babies? | |
| Will I be transported back to the house where I was born in a limousine twenty foot long | |
| While a crowd stands by foaming at the mouth like dogs with rabies? | |
| Will I be borne on the shoulders of the crowd? | |
| Will I be taken from the back of the stadium to the front of the stadium to the back of the stadium | |
| Tossed around and shocked by what was allowed? | |
| And Lord, who do you have to sleep with in this town | |
| Who do you have to go down on to get famous? | |
| Lord tell me what soundtracks do I have to do, what drugs do I have to do, how old is too old | |
| How many free copies should I give away with every album sold? | |
| I'm not trying to say I'm fit to dine at your table | |
| All I'm saying is we all use the same tricks if we're able | |
| Lord, I have friends, I've watched them, one by one, become famous | |
| While they complimented me on my songs, I smiled in my corner alone | |
| Watched their inner birds spread their wings and fly | |
| Though I had an inner bird too, Lord, you know, mine remained a swan in cellophane | |
| Trapped under a glass ceiling, a bird in a transparent cage | |
| Lord, why do this to me? Why let me die having given me a bird and never let it fly? | |
| Lord, why? Why? | |
| And Lord, tell me, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| You who sent your dearly beloved son down to walk the planet earth and be amongst us? | |
| You who chose to give him sensational powers so he could do tricks much better than ours | |
| And work miracles to impress us? | |
| Lord, you did it for the publicity, I know, I understand | |
| But then the backlash came, we turned on your son and he was slain | |
| No matter what you've done, the backlash always comes | |
| Created a world, given your son, or your difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| "Don't ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide ..... and disappear" | |
| So I said: | |
| "Lord, if that is all you can say to me | |
| Share with me the secret of your immaculate obscurity" |
| zuo ci : Momus | |
| Lord, tell me how long it' s going to take me to get famous? | |
| Will it take a week in vaudeville, a season in pantomime | |
| Two years on the West End stage, a decade or maybe more? | |
| Because I can' t afford to wait ' til I' m dribbling, bald, toothless, spineless and brainless | |
| I don' t believe in your afterlife and your posterity | |
| But, if they exist, I must be at least half the way there | |
| And Lord, what if it takes a decade? | |
| I am no longer young | |
| Show me the road to fame, Lord, show me that road | |
| Or just the road to the next whiskey bar | |
| And Lord, what will it take, what will it take to get me to be and to stay famous? | |
| Am I going to have to sell my soul to the stylists and the tailors of this world | |
| If I' m not to go down in history as one of the failures? | |
| Lord, teach me the boy band dance routines | |
| Above all teach me to be tame, bland, blind and blameless | |
| Cos that' s the hardest thing of all, to be aggressive and yet remain harmless | |
| To edit out my impure thoughts when you know so well, Lord, that I' m shameless | |
| Principled, amoral, provocative, confrontational and shameless | |
| And Lord, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| After you' d created this fantastic planet and all the animals upon it | |
| That creep about upon its surface | |
| It must' ve taken a million years or more before | |
| Anyone even thought to give a name to the nameless | |
| And then, in the blinking of an eye the backlash came | |
| The cynics crowded round saying you didn' t even exist | |
| Oh, fashion is fickle, Lord, you know that more than I do | |
| The backlash always comes, no matter what you' ve done | |
| Created a world or that difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| " Don' t ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide | |
| How to hide and disappear" | |
| Lord tell me, where will it take me, what strange place will it take me, being famous? | |
| Am I destined to be rich beyond the wildest dreams of men? | |
| Will I rest at last between the breasts and legs of delicate oriental girls, and make babies? | |
| Will I be transported back to the house where I was born in a limousine twenty foot long | |
| While a crowd stands by foaming at the mouth like dogs with rabies? | |
| Will I be borne on the shoulders of the crowd? | |
| Will I be taken from the back of the stadium to the front of the stadium to the back of the stadium | |
| Tossed around and shocked by what was allowed? | |
| And Lord, who do you have to sleep with in this town | |
| Who do you have to go down on to get famous? | |
| Lord tell me what soundtracks do I have to do, what drugs do I have to do, how old is too old | |
| How many free copies should I give away with every album sold? | |
| I' m not trying to say I' m fit to dine at your table | |
| All I' m saying is we all use the same tricks if we' re able | |
| Lord, I have friends, I' ve watched them, one by one, become famous | |
| While they complimented me on my songs, I smiled in my corner alone | |
| Watched their inner birds spread their wings and fly | |
| Though I had an inner bird too, Lord, you know, mine remained a swan in cellophane | |
| Trapped under a glass ceiling, a bird in a transparent cage | |
| Lord, why do this to me? Why let me die having given me a bird and never let it fly? | |
| Lord, why? Why? | |
| And Lord, tell me, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| You who sent your dearly beloved son down to walk the planet earth and be amongst us? | |
| You who chose to give him sensational powers so he could do tricks much better than ours | |
| And work miracles to impress us? | |
| Lord, you did it for the publicity, I know, I understand | |
| But then the backlash came, we turned on your son and he was slain | |
| No matter what you' ve done, the backlash always comes | |
| Created a world, given your son, or your difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| " Don' t ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide ..... and disappear" | |
| So I said: | |
| " Lord, if that is all you can say to me | |
| Share with me the secret of your immaculate obscurity" |
| zuò cí : Momus | |
| Lord, tell me how long it' s going to take me to get famous? | |
| Will it take a week in vaudeville, a season in pantomime | |
| Two years on the West End stage, a decade or maybe more? | |
| Because I can' t afford to wait ' til I' m dribbling, bald, toothless, spineless and brainless | |
| I don' t believe in your afterlife and your posterity | |
| But, if they exist, I must be at least half the way there | |
| And Lord, what if it takes a decade? | |
| I am no longer young | |
| Show me the road to fame, Lord, show me that road | |
| Or just the road to the next whiskey bar | |
| And Lord, what will it take, what will it take to get me to be and to stay famous? | |
| Am I going to have to sell my soul to the stylists and the tailors of this world | |
| If I' m not to go down in history as one of the failures? | |
| Lord, teach me the boy band dance routines | |
| Above all teach me to be tame, bland, blind and blameless | |
| Cos that' s the hardest thing of all, to be aggressive and yet remain harmless | |
| To edit out my impure thoughts when you know so well, Lord, that I' m shameless | |
| Principled, amoral, provocative, confrontational and shameless | |
| And Lord, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| After you' d created this fantastic planet and all the animals upon it | |
| That creep about upon its surface | |
| It must' ve taken a million years or more before | |
| Anyone even thought to give a name to the nameless | |
| And then, in the blinking of an eye the backlash came | |
| The cynics crowded round saying you didn' t even exist | |
| Oh, fashion is fickle, Lord, you know that more than I do | |
| The backlash always comes, no matter what you' ve done | |
| Created a world or that difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| " Don' t ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide | |
| How to hide and disappear" | |
| Lord tell me, where will it take me, what strange place will it take me, being famous? | |
| Am I destined to be rich beyond the wildest dreams of men? | |
| Will I rest at last between the breasts and legs of delicate oriental girls, and make babies? | |
| Will I be transported back to the house where I was born in a limousine twenty foot long | |
| While a crowd stands by foaming at the mouth like dogs with rabies? | |
| Will I be borne on the shoulders of the crowd? | |
| Will I be taken from the back of the stadium to the front of the stadium to the back of the stadium | |
| Tossed around and shocked by what was allowed? | |
| And Lord, who do you have to sleep with in this town | |
| Who do you have to go down on to get famous? | |
| Lord tell me what soundtracks do I have to do, what drugs do I have to do, how old is too old | |
| How many free copies should I give away with every album sold? | |
| I' m not trying to say I' m fit to dine at your table | |
| All I' m saying is we all use the same tricks if we' re able | |
| Lord, I have friends, I' ve watched them, one by one, become famous | |
| While they complimented me on my songs, I smiled in my corner alone | |
| Watched their inner birds spread their wings and fly | |
| Though I had an inner bird too, Lord, you know, mine remained a swan in cellophane | |
| Trapped under a glass ceiling, a bird in a transparent cage | |
| Lord, why do this to me? Why let me die having given me a bird and never let it fly? | |
| Lord, why? Why? | |
| And Lord, tell me, how long did it take you to get famous? | |
| You who sent your dearly beloved son down to walk the planet earth and be amongst us? | |
| You who chose to give him sensational powers so he could do tricks much better than ours | |
| And work miracles to impress us? | |
| Lord, you did it for the publicity, I know, I understand | |
| But then the backlash came, we turned on your son and he was slain | |
| No matter what you' ve done, the backlash always comes | |
| Created a world, given your son, or your difficult third album | |
| And the Lord said: | |
| " Don' t ask me, I have no idea | |
| All I know how to do is how to hide ..... and disappear" | |
| So I said: | |
| " Lord, if that is all you can say to me | |
| Share with me the secret of your immaculate obscurity" |
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