| She looked like she learned to dance from a
|
| Series of still pictures
|
| She’s madly excited now, she throws her hands
|
| Up like a tulip
|
| She looks like an illustration of a cocktail party
|
| Where cartoon bubbles burst in the air
|
| Champagne rolls off her tongue
|
| Like a second language
|
| And it should have been her biggest night
|
| The satellite looks down on her as she begins
|
| To cry
|
| All over the world at the very same time
|
| People sharing the same sorrow
|
| As the satellite looks down her darkest hour is
|
| Somebody’s bright tomorrow
|
| He pulled on a cigarette, in the crook of his
|
| First finger
|
| Felt the static electric charge of her perfect
|
| Hour-glass figure
|
| As he undressed her with his eyes her weakness
|
| Was his talent
|
| How could she know as she stepped through
|
| The lights, that her dress would become
|
| Transparent
|
| And with his face pressed to the screen, he
|
| Muttered words he’d never dare to say if she
|
| Could see him
|
| All over the world at the very same time
|
| People sharing the same cheap sensation the
|
| Thrill of watching somebody watching those
|
| Forbidden things we never mention
|
| The satellite looks down right now and forever
|
| What it has pulled apart let no man tether his
|
| Own body to his dream
|
| 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
|
| Now they both know what it’s like inside a
|
| Pornographer’s trousers
|
| And in a funny way it’s anonymous, the satellite
|
| It blesses us and makes these dreams come
|
| True… All over the world |