Wicked Game Lyrics - Chris Isaak - Soundtrack Lyrics
dreaming · somebody · wicked games · · Game, Games, and Lyrics: I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody. [p] Chris Isaak - Wicked Game. The world was on fire and no one could save me but you,. Am G D. it's strange what I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you,. Am G D. and I never. Here you will find the lyrics to the songs of Chris Norman. NEVER HURT YOU NO I'LL NEVER LET YOU DOWN SO MY DARLING IF YOU NEED ME A LONG TIME FOR SOMEONE LIKE YOU AND EVERYTHING I EVER DREAMED OF IS.
Rips off his tie, hands it to a homeless man, sleeping in the corner of a Metro bus stand. Gonna count the minutes that the trains run late. Sit on the grass building pyramids out of Coke cans. He waits for an elevator, 1 to 9, a lady walks in and waits by his side.
I never dreamed someone like you could love lyrics
Her heels are high and her bag is snakeskin. Hair pulled so tight you can see her skeleton. Vickers perfume on her breath, a tortoise-shell necklace between her breasts.
Wait until the letter's red until my bills get paid. Aw tell me, tell me, tell me, when's it gonna change? Every morning I feel more useless than before. Trying hard to see the point in anything at all. Aw I've been trying, I've been trying really hard. Nothing lasts for never so be still my bleeding heart. Aw I've been dreaming, dreaming of a brand new start. You have a great abundance of axes there to grind.
Remember some people have real problems next time you whine. Oh hang the washing, hang the washing on the line. Yeah I've been trying, I've been trying really hard. Aw tell me, tell me, tell me when's it gonna change. I masturbated to the songs you wrote. Resuscitated all of my hopes.
Much appreciated are your songs. It just helps me get to sleep. I under-estimated your intelligence. A little bit of weed mixed with some sentiment. I wanna go out but I wanna stay home. Why you so eager to please? I wear my heart on my sleeve. I like you despise you admire you what are we gonna do when everything all falls through?
Underworked and oversexed I must express my disinterest, the rats are back inside my head what would Freud have said? Like we had no power, like we had no sway; the heartbreak you know will find you either way. I lay you down on the floor, and I close the blinds. I cannot tell us apart—your pain made free with my own heart. We laid out under the ceiling as though under the stars. As though this afternoon was the blackness from here to the moon, dizzied by distances within you.
We got a table at the old boulevard club. The waitress offered a smile to your joke in politeness; you did not know, you held her talking while I waited watching. You laid your credit card on the table and told me about your bills and the sale of hydro, the incompetence of your bosses and your lawyers, and the warming ocean.
I woke up in your life—I was passing behind your eyes before I knew what was yours and what was mine. I listened; I took it all in stride, your ideas and distorted pride, while learning by heart all your thoughts and your visions. The most dangerous thing about you is your pain—I know for me it is the same. It was restless; you felt it, but never could call it by name. It was yours for life to have and hold, a companion that you had never known, a shadow you saw but never knew that you cast.
And past Montmagny; the road giving way to river, the frozen Saint Lawrence white and blue. We went out on the ice and I turned back to you, a figure, distant and small in the long view. Was it a look in your eye? The way it is and the way it could be both are. We got back in the car. You always tell me the truth — even when it hurts me or it hurts you.
Could you go a little easy, would it kill you? Living out the dream, out on the road now for a couple weeks. So intimate with all that we had wanted. All that we hoped for and all that we dreamed — the way it is and the way it could be. But how long is it going to go on? Two brown dogs came out running cross the highway, panting and low to the ground.
And then — they were gone, for a moment, I had run them down. I closed and opened my eyes. They were running up the hill on the other side.
And you asked me if I was alright — like an afterthought, an oversight. And I stood, so surprised, trying to hold on to my pride. So close, I could hear your low sigh. I said I was fine. You said you were fine. Like a high distant satellite, one side in shadow, one in light. That I wanted somehow to believe — drift of sentiment and memory.
Still it held me, loyalty, to a feeling, to some glimpse, of a love that was only ever a kind of distance. That we could not cross. Every river swollen with rain, every stream a torrent. Over the highway bridges that run high across the plains, flooded. I trust you to know your own mind. As I know mine.
Could it really be so effortless, all in my sight, many hillsides — green and black and distant and rivers serpentine, glinting. Still caught up in heartache and grief. Yet to come, yet to cease. Every time, as though it were mine, the bitterness that you hide so well. I say nothing at all, thinking of your pride.
And I tell you that you look well, and you roll your eyes and laugh, and we sit down together by the window, talking about the weather. I should have told you — you looked so alight, elegant in the low sunlight. Shoulders wide, as though in readiness to fight — something — you never even touch, never ask for too much, no, you can get by on almost nothing. You and I — forever bluffing. And ever so kind, shy women, shy. Ice on the trees since New Years Eve, coming down in white sheets.
All white power lines, swaying high and heavy. You were staring out, your eyes real straight — like nothing touches you these days. It seemed to me that luxury would be to be not so ashamed. Not to look away — even this, even this heaviness deserved no less than to always confess, every false smile.
I stopped on hills like slumping shoulders, car cooling, I took off my shoes. I drove out west with my sister, she talks more than I do. I remember the smoky cups of coffee at the continental divide, mesas strange and red and snowy.
I walked on the streets of California in the wail of car alarms. Men would shout out to me passing; a stranger with crossed arms. I remember the subtlety of canyons black by the roadside; a cut in the rocks as I was passing, just a glimpse as you go by. I always took it as a comfort — what all the distance was for.
Try what you saw, and try what you knew, it was never always true. Try as you might, try as you will you were never truly still. And you try what you saw, and you try what you love, it would never be enough. As though to try to make amends for all the distances there have always been between you and I — me and the sky — I MINED It started small — a simple thought.
That there was something wrong. All through the night and down in your eyes I mined and mined and mined. And every word I overturned like a stone rolling easy. Winter passed and summer storms came and flashed white in the evening. You came in wet, you were laughing and grinning, shook my shoulders, tried to get me smiling. The wind had changed and the rain was relentless, washing everything down the street again. My slow heart wanted only what was endless — to be helpless. In your high strange voice, your feet scuffing along the pavement.
Trying to sing what you meant, late at night — it was too important. Not the bitterness you always can divine and pull from your heart like so much twine, ravelling unravelling, ravelling fine. You got pretty lost there in your own mind, pathways to hallways to doorways blind. All through the winter I could only stand by, watching you wake to the hardest kind of trouble with no guiding line, no guiding line. I stood beside you; thin as a kite, wincing in the winds cool bite.
Laughing as you said it, in the low sunlight — so brief in November, and impossibly bright. Like air so cold it hurts to breathe it. And the colour comes to my face.
Woke up thirsty, beset by memory, coming in swells. And dreams stay with me, long into morning, strange wells. It was a glimpse but I did see him; at full height. And what is left unspoken, is free, in the coming and the going, my heart knew only motion. In old recycling bins I grew watermelon vine — and all of it was mine.
And everything I saw seemed to get so small like from a speeding car, old familiar barns. I made hard wheat bread, and rhubarb berry fool, and I gave it all to you. I crumpled all my clothes and to the floor I threw them and turned right back to you. My rotten softwood fence my sagging hydro line — all of it is mine.
The mice come in at night in the muddy streetlight shine see the hulking brown skyline — all of it is mine. And all the while I shrunk I pulled my clothes around like my body I could drown. I dug up shattered glass and forgotten plastic trucks and coiled faded twine — and all of it is mine. My buckling plaster walls, cracks snake and wind, all of it is mine. And everything I knew I seemed to see right through like cheap cotton skirts like the Madawaska view.
All these things I knew. Muddy white petunias, lobelia trails blue-eyed, all of it is mine.
Chris Isaak - Wicked Game Lyrics
Irises shot up high and white lilies tumbled shy, all of it is mine. I dug up all my carrots with their wild orange hue, and I gave them all to you. Came So Easy Just cause it came so easy like quiet evenings in my kitchen. Just cause it came so easy like little breezes of indecision. Line of ants came crawling through the cracks there in my tiles.
Sat there and I watched them as they pillaged in single file. Just cause it came so freely I was loath to admit it. Just cause it came so quickly — I was startled like I had tripped. And I reached out an accusing hand to the treachery of the street. Leaning as though in the wind you helped me to my feet. Your kind words came so easy and I half winced at the sugar sweetness.
Made me feel so wealthy so I got tongue-tied, I got restless, and I opened my doors and windows to the many creatures of July. Strange cats come in mewling, bugs that crawl and ones that fly, all my flour fell victim to slow and sullen moths, in the heat we both were gasping wrapped in dripping cloths. Traveler I felt just like a traveler as I went walking up my street. I felt just like a stranger as I set my key in the door, and lingered. Standing there on the porch.
Little flecks on the brick, where the paint did not stick, I never could paint in the lines. I felt just like a tourist, seeing it all for the first time.
Unsure of what I might find. I set down my boots where he would hang up his suits and I brushed the snow from my coat, to the skin I was soaked. I felt just like a traveller, my eyes open wide. Like a stranger, uncertain and shy. Called to see if I been eating, wondered when to come by. You should have called somebody before it ever came to this.
You should have called somebody. Trying I am trying… I am trying not to let words just shake me off. They would slip and be gone like minnows. Just a silvery flash in the shadows.
I would be blank like an unlit street sign. On the bank just waiting on my line. Loving everything I see and no way to tell you what to look for. I am trying for some kind of grace. Chip on My Shoulder You can have anything you could ever be wanting, the country will give you your fill. I took their advice and I did what they told me, taking my turn as the shill. Oh this chip on my shoulder I know it so well, sure as the backs of my hands.
And I try to be gracious, as ever I can, as gentle and kind as I can stand. Oh all of them loved me, because I was empty.