Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Love Chronicles, artist - Al Stewart. Album song To Whom It May Concern, in the genre Фолк-рок
Date of issue: 31.12.2020
Record label: 2021 Revolver
Song language: English
Love Chronicles |
I can remember the first girl that I did love |
It was Stephanie |
In kindergarten arithmetic classes she used to |
Sit next to me |
I’d pass her sticky sweets under the table |
Where the teacher couldn’t see |
Although she wouldn’t remember me now |
Sometimes I wonder where she can be |
I can remember the first girl I kissed |
It was Christine when I was ten |
I’d been told we were moving away |
I thought I’d never see her again |
Oh don’t forget me |
I’ll be back when they let me |
Before you learn how to lie when you’re leaving |
Love is so much easier then |
And at school would you believe three hundred boys |
And no girls at all |
But you’re a fool if you should leave |
Just think of the joys of rugby football |
And prep in the morning and Brylcreem and acne |
And cross-country running to kill evil thoughts |
I’m surprised that I survived |
I ran ten thousand miles with my back to the wall |
I can remember the first girl that I made love to |
It was in a park |
In the lower pleasure gardens in Bournemouth |
In summer just after dark |
My mind was reeling: Oh what a feeling |
I missed the bus and walked twelve miles home |
And it really didn’t seem far |
And all through my seventeenth summer |
Running together from crowds and ties |
Taking our clothes off and feeling each other |
With fingers and senses and mouths and eyes |
Incurring the glances of old disapproval |
From elderly local inhabitant’s eyes |
Oh time, time we hardly even knew you |
You didn’t touch us with your lies |
In the halcyon days of my late adolescence |
My goal seemed clearly in sight |
Playing electric guitar with a beat group |
We set the ballrooms alight |
Camping it up for the dyed blonde receptionists |
Who told us we were al-ri-yi-yight |
On an ego trip for a teenage superstar |
On thirty shillings a nigh-yight |
And so it fell that I came up to London |
To look for fortune and fame |
Starry eyed in my seaside successes |
And much too sure of the game |
First girl I met there I thought I’d get there |
But the first girl was nearly the last girl |
She left my eyes in the drain |
She sat on my floor in the dead of the night |
Rolling a joint and looking round for a light |
Her clothes were so black and her face was so white |
How could I know what was right? |
And I sat all huddled upon my bed |
Watching her in my innocence |
And it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
Oh Artaud’s anthology lay spread on the floor |
And the thoughts that she gave me |
I’d not met before |
And stranded half hypnotised |
I watched her in awe |
Of everything that she stood for |
And I wanted more than anything to be like her with every sense |
But it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
She came over to me and kissed me in play |
Taking my hand between her legs as she lay |
And she looked in my eyes but I turned them away |
Finding no words fit to say |
And I hated myself, but could not move |
Shattered in my confidence |
But it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
Now the stare of the lightbulb tore holes in my brain |
As she got up in the silence that hung like a stain |
And I wanted to speak, or to call out her name |
But how could I begin to explain? |
And my prosecuting room still holds |
A strand of her hair in evidence |
But it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
Oh I still think about her when the night fills with rain |
And speaks in its voices uneasy and vain |
And I think were I maybe to find her again |
Oh I’d probably see her more plain |
And I should have known she was just like me |
It was after all only common-sense |
But it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
But it was no sense at all, but too much sense |
That took me to the bridge of impotence |
At first I didn’t go out much at all |
I just stayed at home in my chains |
Picking over the threads of my confidence |
And searching for the remains |
And when I couldn’t stand any more of it |
Going down to a club |
Mixing in with the sounds and the crowds |
I let the music cover me up |
And only, lonely, the harlequins and painted phonies |
Pick their ways, through the haze |
Of highs and lows and blues |
And all that I could do was to pick my way to you |
Though I didn’t tell you |
You were just a thing to prove |
I was hungry when found you, but I’m alright now |
They sigh, they lie, the refugees and superheroes |
On ice, so nice to see you, what’s your name? |
And all that I could do was to say the same to you |
Take you for the moment, though the moment wasn’t true |
But I was hungry when I found you and I’m alright now |
Though the street lamp cut through the curfew |
It shed no light on our mind |
It would have been so easy to love you |
At any other time |
Only, lonely, you came to me the night hung coldly |
In your eyes, some other time I might have stayed with you |
But all that I could do was to turn around to you |
Thanks for what you gave me now it’s time to say «Adieu» |
I was hungry when I found you but I’m alright now |
Ba ba ba alright now |
And so it came that I stood disillusioned |
By everything I’d been told |
I just didn’t believe love existed |
They were all just digging for gold |
Widows and bankers and typists and businessmen |
Loved each other they said |
But all it was though was just a manoeuvre |
The quickest way into bed |
And so I followed the others' example |
And jumped into the melee |
In the hunting grounds of Earls Court and Swiss Cottage |
I did my best to get laid |
Beer cans and parties, deb girls and arties |
Bouncing around in the social confusion |
Missing and making the grade |
The very first time I must confess |
I thought you’d be like all of the rest |
And we’d be strangers once again |
By the time we were dressed |
But when you’d smoked your cigarette |
And talked of some people that we’d met |
I found myself asking was it set |
Did you have to go yet |
And so you laughed and then kissed me |
And stayed for the whole weekend |
Although the bed was so narrow |
We had to sleep end to end |
And so the weeks passed through my brain |
In their dadaistic chain |
I found myself seeing you again, and again and again |
And all you gave you gave it free |
Asking for nothing back from me |
You gave yourself unselfishly as a part of me |
And where I thought that just plucking |
The fruits of the bed was enough |
It grew to be less like fucking |
And more like making love |
Of all the girls I ever knew |
Some loved and some denied me |
And all the words I ever said |
Have been no use to hide me |
And all the songs I ever sung |
Each one of them untied me |
And all the girls I ever loved |
Have left themselves inside me |