Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Aftertaste Of Paradise, artist - Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine. Album song Born On The 5th November, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 29.09.1995
Record label: Chrysalis
Song language: English
The Aftertaste Of Paradise |
He’d started talking to himself |
His ma was dead |
The first sign of madness, talking to yourself |
Alarm bells should have |
Been going off in his head |
As clear as crystal he ignored the S.O.S |
Gave a little whistle, made his last request |
He tuned into his local commercial radio station |
And listened to the spokesman for his generation |
Who said, «Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care» |
Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care |
About anything or anybody |
About love, hate, cruelty or pain |
About football or music, the sun, the wind and the rain |
It’s the after taste of paradise |
It doesn’t pay to advertise |
Part one in a two part pack of lies |
A titillating, trivialized |
Television fairy tale |
By clever men with pony tails |
All the trimmings and nothing else |
Tom Cruise instead of Orson Welles |
We owe you nothing say The Bells |
Of Hollywood and Tunbridge Wells |
Never mind the quality feel yourself |
Slipping into mental health |
I thank the Lord that I was blessed |
With more than my share of bitterness |
Because everything is fixed |
It’s all done with mirrors and camera tricks |
Miles and miles of cheesy smiles |
In churches and cathedrals |
Won’t feed the cold and needy child |
And put an end to evil |
It’s elementary my dear Watson |
From the pistol and the smoke |
The Jetsam and The Flotsam |
Are the victims of a cruel and stupid joke |
He turned off his radio |
Looked at his newspaper |
And he thought about truth |
And he thought about lies and he thought about |
Overcoats and paper planes |
Homes for votes and shit for brains |
Fascist bully boys and girls |
From the ashes of a poison world |
All the news that’s fit to print |
In poison pen and tabloid ink |
Tits and arse, bring back the birch |
Then take the children off to church |
Miles and miles of cheesy smiles |
In churches and cathedrals |
Won’t feed the cold and needy child |
And put an end to evil |
It’s elementary my dear Watson |
From the pistol and the smoke |
The Jetsam and The Flotsam |
Are the victims of a cruel and stupid joke |
He’d started talking to himself |
His ma was dead |