Beat
Album - 18 giugno 1982 - Debaser id 29507

I need to feel your heartbeat heartbeat
so close, feels like mine
all mine
I need to feel your heartbeat heartbeat
so close it feels like mine
all mine...
I remember the feeling
my hands in your hair
hands in your hair
I remember the feeling
of the rhythm we made
the rhythm we made
I need to land sometime
right next to you
feel your heartbeat heartbeat
right next to me.....

instrumental

Good morning, its 3a.m. in this great roaring
city full of garbage eaters ravaging parking
spots beneath my plaza window I see cheetah in their
tight skins and tired heels all-night hippo in
the diner crossing the street swarthy herds of young
impala flambastic gibbon even a struggling monza
and over there that brilliant head ornament on that
Japanese macaque but look closely at the hammerhead hand
in hand with the mandrill, its a sight you're
unlikely to see anywhere else on the planet. . .

the stench and the noiose, yes, yes, the howlers
resonating repertoire is not too bad when mixed with
the more musical twern of the tropical warbler but the
impatient taxi blare the squawking elderly ibis and
the glass-eye snapper hawking papers I can certainly
live without also be cautious of the poisonous
boomslang laughter social droppings of the fruit bat
and purple queen fish and who's that babbler conversing
with a magazine stand? Evidently he's getting a good
reply. . .

Arrive in neurotica
through neon heat disease
I swear at the swarming herds
I sweat the foul terrain
I rove the moving scenery
I have no fin
no wing, no stinger
no claw, no camouflage
I have no more to say . . .

Say . . .isn't that an elephant fish on the corner over
there look at that bush baby mud puppy noolbenger
rhinoderma marmoset spring peeper shingleback skink
siren skate starling star-gazer spoonbill and suckers
they seem to be everywhere, well it's a live revue
random animal parts now playing nightly right here in
neurotica. . .
so long. . .

Here is the angel of the world's desire
Placed on trial
To hide in shrouded alley sihouettes
With cigarette coiled
To stike at passing voices
Dark and suspect
Here is the howling ire

Here is the sacred face of rendevous
In subway sour
Whose grand delusions prey like intellect
In lunatic minds
Intent and focused on
The long thin matches
To light the howling fire...

No, no, not me,
Burn, I don't wanna burn.....

instrumental