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1981 - "Moving Pictures" Lyrics


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#1 GhostGirl

GhostGirl

    Sweetheart of Dixie

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  • Interests:It was what I was born for —
    to look, to listen,

    to lose myself
    inside this soft world —
    to instruct myself
    over and over

Posted 23 August 2004 - 08:17 PM

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Buy This CD

Tom Sawyer (4:33)
Red Barchetta (6:06)
YYZ (instrumental 4:24)
Limelight (4:19)
The Camera Eye (10:56)
Witch Hunt (Part III of Fear) (4:43)
Vital Signs (4:43)

Tom Sawyer

A modern-day warrior
Mean mean stride,
Today's Tom Sawyer
Mean mean pride.

Though his mind is not for rent,
Don't put him down as arrogant.
His reserve, a quiet defense,
Riding out the day's events.
The river

What you say about his company
Is what you say about society.
-Catch the mist -Catch the myth
-Catch the mystery -Catch the drift.

The world is, the world is,
Love and life are deep,
Maybe as his skies are wide.

Today's Tom Sawyer,
He gets high on you,
And the space he invades
He gets by on you.
No, his mind is not for rent
To any god or government.
Always hopeful, yet discontent,
He knows changes aren't permanent,
But change is.

What you say about his company
Is what you say about society.
-Catch the witness -Catch the wit,
-Catch the spirit -Catch the spit.

The world is, the world is,
Love and life are deep,
Maybe as his eyes are wide.

Exit the warrior,
Today's Tom Sawyer,
He gets high on you,
And the energy you trade,
He gets right on to the friction of the day.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Red Barchetta

My uncle has a country place
That no one knows about.
He says it used to be a farm,
Before the Motor Law.
And on Sundays I elude the Eyes,
And hop the Turbine Freight
To far outside the Wire,
Where my white-haired uncle waits.

Jump to the ground
As the Turbo slows to cross the Borderline.
Run like the wind,
As excitement shivers up and down my spine.
Down in his barn,
My uncle preserved for me an old machine,
For fifty-odd years.
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream.

I strip away the old debris
That hides a shining car.
A brilliant red Barchetta
From a better, vanished time.
I fire up the willing engine,
Responding with a roar.
Tires spitting gravel,
I commit my weekly crime...

Wind-
In my hair-
Shifting and drifting-
Mechanical music-
Adrenalin surge...

Well-weathered leather,
Hot metal and oil,
The scented country air.
Sunlight on chrome,
The blur of the landscape,
Every nerve aware.

Suddenly ahead of me,
Across the mountainside,
A gleaming alloy air-car
Shoots towards me, two lanes wide.
I spin around with shrieking tires,
To run the deadly race,
Go screaming through the valley
As another joins the chase.

Drive like the wind,
Straining the limits of machine and man.
Laughing out loud
With fear and hope, I've got a desperate plan.
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded at the riverside.
Race back to the farm, to dream with my uncle at the fireside.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Limelight

Living on a lighted stage
Approaches the unreal
For those who think and feel
In touch with some reality
Beyond the gilded cage.

Cast in this unlikely role,
Ill-equipped to act,
With insufficient tact,
One must put up barriers
To keep oneself intact.

Living in the Limelight,
The universal dream
For those who wish to seem.

Those who wish to be
Must put aside the alienation,
Get on with the fascination,
The real relation,
The underlying theme.

Living in a fisheye lens,
Caught in the camera eye.
I have no heart to lie,
I can't pretend a stranger
Is a long-awaited friend.

All the world's indeed a stage,
And we are merely players,
Performers and portrayers,
Each another's audience
Outside the gilded cage.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Camera Eye

I
Grim-faced and forbidding,
Their faces closed tight,
An angular mass of New Yorkers
Pacing in rhythm,
Race the oncoming night,
They chase through the streets of Manhattan.
Head-first humanity,
Pause at a light,
Then flow through the streets of the city.

They seem oblivious
To a soft spring rain,
Like an English rain
So light, yet endless
From a leaden sky.

The buildings are lost
In their limitless rise.
My feet catch the pulse
And the purposeful stride.

I feel the sense of possibilities,
I feel the wrench of hard realities.
The focus is sharp in the city.

II
Wide-angle watcher
On life's ancient tales,
Steeped in the history of London.

Green and grey washes
In a wispy white veil
Mist in the streets of Westminster.
Wistful and weathered,
The pride still prevails,
Alive in the streets of the city.

Are they oblivious
To this quality?
A quality
Of light unique to
Every city's streets.

Pavements may teem
With intense energy,
But the city is calm
In this violent sea.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Witch Hunt

part III of 'Fear'
The night is black,
Without a moon.
The air is thick and still.

The vigilantes gather on
The lonely torchlit hill.

Features distorted in the flickering light,
The faces are twisted and grotesque.
Silent and stern in the sweltering night,
The mob moves like demons possesed.
Quiet in conscience, calm in their right,
Confident their ways are best.

The righteous rise
With burning eyes
Of hatred and ill-will.

Madmen fed on fear and lies
To beat and burn and kill.

They say there are strangers who threaten us,
In our immigrants and infidels.
They say there is strangeness, too dangerous
In our theatres and bookstore shelves,
That those who know what's best for us
Must rise and save us from ourselves.

Quick to judge,
Quick to anger,
Slow to understand

Ignorance and prejudice
And fear
Walk hand in hand.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Vital Signs

Unstable condition,
A symptom of life,
In mental and environmental change.

Atmospheric disturbance,
The feverish flux
Of human interface and interchange.

The impulse is pure;
Sometimes our circuits get shorted
By external interference.

Signals get crossed
And the balance distorted
By internal incoherence.

A tired mind become a shape-shifter,
Everybody need a mood lifter,
Everybody need reverse polarity.
Everybody got mixed feelings
About the function and the form.
Everybody got to deviate from the norm.

An ounce of perception,
A pound of obscure.
Process information at half speed.
Pause, rewind, replay,
Warm memory chip,
Random sample, hold the one you need.

Leave out the fiction,
The fact is, this friction
Will only be worn by persistence.

Leave out conditions,
Courageous convictions
Will drag the dream into existence.

A tired mind become a shape-shifter,
Everybody need a soft filter,
Everybody need reverse polarity.
Everybody got mixed feelings
About the function and the form.
Everybody got to elevate from the norm...

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