Songtext zu 'The Slo-Mo' King' von David Knopfler

This girl she looks so pretty
Even the angels dream
You held her in your heart one time
I held her just the same

I've watched her sow her seed of solace
In comforts strangers bring
Where it all comes down
To a painted clown
Pouring out another dream

There's blood on every jukebox
Every steenbeck and movie screen
Blood payin' for every tortured thought
Every precious broken dream
I'm not tired of the horse race
I just can't care who wins
It's a cold night under starlight
If you're still hung up on the "might have beens"

All these stars they shine so bright
On the hill where the church bell ring
Sing hosanahs with the saints tonight
Riding high on the slow-mo'
And the slow-mo' king

A ghost bride says . . . nothin'

So write with pride your requiems
Burn with shame for ophelia's sin
But love her just the same
As you light a candle for the lonely
You offer up a fractured hymn
To right the wrong
Who'll do what's right
And shine a light - for the slow-mo' king?

All these stars they shine so bright
On the hill where the church bell swing
Sing hosanahs with the saints tonight
I'm ridin' higher than any livin' thing
Riding shotgun with the saints tonight
Riding high on the slow-mo'
And the slow-mo' king

Saw your footage of the dying
Heard your sermon for the sick
While all around were babies crying
To do right, you'd better do right quick

As the camera burns the iris
The iris burns the soul
The deepest blues you never use
Are the blues you dare not show

Lawyers look for action
Hitmen want every movie cut
They say "baby, he's no star attraction"
Who is . . .if they're looking for a shot?
Who's gonna walk the extra mile for him
When every golden gate shuts shop?

I roll it over one more time
Anyways, i can't give it up

It's a long ways down from paradise
Here they'll repossess your wings
Sing hosanahs - roll cameras
Let the drunken saints fall in
Yeah where'er these crazy spirits roam
Sacred or profane
Sing goodbye with the one and all
Sing goodbye . . . sing goodbye
To the slow- mo' king
There are many here would follow you
Some, they merely worship fame
To only want to be
That ain't enough
Please ... freeze ... frame.