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Brian Eno
Brian Eno


Background information
Birth name Brian Peter George Eno
Born May 15, 1948
Born place Woodbridge, Suffolk, England
Genre(s) Experimental Rock
Ambient
Electronic
Art Rock
Glam Rock
Years active 1970—present
Label(s) Astralwerks
Island Records
Virgin Records
Polydor
Rykodisc
Associated acts Coldplay
U2
David Bowie
Roxy Music
Talking Heads
Robert Fripp
Cluster
Devo
David Byrne
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  B  →  Brian Eno  →  Albums  →  Here Come the Warm Jets

Brian Eno Album


Here Come the Warm Jets (1973)
1973
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Those who know
They don't let it show
They just give you one long life
And you go, oh oh, oh oh

Goes to show
How winds blow
The weather's fine
And I feel so so-so, so

Birds of prey
With too much to say
Oh what could be my destiny
Another rainy day

Why ask why?
For by the by and by
All mysteries are just more
Needles in the camel's eye

. . .



My, my, my, we're treating each other just like strangers
You can't ignore the significance of these changes
But you can't treat it lightly and you'll
Have to face the consequences
All my worst fears are grounded
You'll have to make the choice between the Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch and me (no no no no)

By this time I got to looking for a kind of substitute
I can't tell you who I found except that it rhymes with "dissolute"
But my baby's so lazy she is
Almost unable and it's
Driving me crazy and her
Loving's just a fable that we sometimes try with passion to recall (oh no no no)

Send for an ambulance or an
Accident investigator
He's breathing like a furnace so I'll
See you later, allligator
He'll set the sheets on fire
Mmm, quite a burning lover
Now he'll barbequeue your kitten
Just another learner lover
Now you'll have to make the choice between the Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch and me...


. . .



Baby's on fire
Better throw her in the water
Look at her laughing
Like a heifer to the slaughter

Baby's on fire
And all the laughing boys are bitching
Waiting for photos
Oh the plot is so bewitching

Rescuers row row
Do your best to change the subject
Blow the wind blow blow
Lend some assistance to the object

Photographers snip snap
Take your time she's only burning
This kind of experience
Is necessary for her learning

If you'll be my flotsam
LyricsI could be half the man I used to
They said you were hot stuff
And that's what baby's been reduced to

Juanita and Juan
Very clever with maracas
Making their fortunes
Selling secondhand tobaccoes

Juan dances at Chico's
And when the clients are evicted
He empties the ashtrays
And pockets all that he's collected

But baby's on fire
And all the instruments agree that
Her temperature's rising
But any idiot would know that


. . .



Cindy tells me, the rich girls are weeping,
Cindy tells me, they've given up sleeping alone
And now they're so confused
By their new freedoms.

And she tells me
They're selling up their maisonettes
Left their Hotpoints to rust in their kitchenettes
And they're saving their labors for insane reading.

Some of them lose, and some of them lose,
But that's what they want, and that's what they choose.
It's a burden, such a burden
Oh what a burden to be so relied on.

Some of them lose, and some of them lose,
But that's what they want, and that's what they choose.
It's a burden, such a burden
Oh what a burden to be so relied on.

Cindy tell me
What will they do with their lives?
Living quietly, like laborers' wives
Perhaps they'll reacquire those things
They've all disposed of.


. . .



Ohohohohohohoh oh
Doo doo doo doo doo doo dah
I'll be there

Oh, driving me backwards
Kids like me gotta be crazy
Moving me forwards
Perhaps you think that I'm lazy
Meet, meet my relations
All of them grinning like facepacks
Such sweet inspiration
Curl me up, a flag in an icecap
Now I've found a sweetheart
Treats me good, just like an armchair

I try to think about nothing
Difficult, I'm most temperamental
I gave up my good living
Typical, I'm most sentimental
Ah, Luana's black reptiles
Sliding round make chemical choices
And she responds as expected
To the only sound, hysterical voices
And you, you're driving me backwards
Kids like me gotta be crazzzzzy i-i-i-i-i-i-i
doo doo doo dodoo dodah I'll be there.


. . .



Given the chance
I'll die like a baby
On some faraway beach
When the season's over

Unlikely I'll be remembered
As the tide brushes sand in my eyes
I'll drift away

Cast up on a plateau
With only one memory
A single syllable
Oh lie low lie low, li-li-li-li li-li-lo


. . .



Blank frank is the messenger of your doom and your destruction
Yes, he is the one who will set you up as nothing
And he is one who will look at you sideways
His particular skill is leaving bombs in people's driveways.

Blank frank has a memory that's as cold as an iceberg
The only time he speaks is in incomprehensible proverbs
Blank frank is the siren, he's the air-raid, he's the crater
He's on the menu, on the table, he's the knife and he's the waiter


. . .



Oh cheeky cheeky
Oh naughty sneaky
You're so perceptive
And I wonder how you knew.

But dead finks don't walk too well (oh no)
A bad sense of direction (oh no)
And so they stumble round in threes (oh no)
Such a strange collection.

Oh, you headless chicken
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking?
You're always so charming
As you make your way up here.

And dead finks don't dress too well
No discrimination
To be a zombie all the time
Requires such dedication.

"Oh please sir, will you let it go by,
Lyrics'Cos I failed both tests with my legs both tied
In my place the stuff is all there
I've been ever so sad for a very long time.

My my, they wanted the works:
Can you this? and that? I never got a letter back
More fool me, bless my soul
More fool me, bless my soul."

Oh perfect masters
They thrive on disasters
They all look so harmless
Till they find their way up here.

But dead finks don't talk too well
They've got a shaky sense of diction
It's not so much a living hell
It's just a dying fiction.


. . .



People come and go
And forget to close the door,
And leave their stains and cigarette butts trampled on the floor,
And when they do, remember me, remember me.

Some of them are old,
Some of them are new,
Some of them will turn up when you least expect them to,
And when they do, remember me, remember me.

Lucy you're my girl,
Lucy you're a star,
Lucy please be still and hide your madness in a jar,
But do beware: it will follow you, it will follow you.

Some of them are old
But it would help if you could smile,
To earn a crooked sixpence you'll walk many crooked miles,
And when you do, remember me, remember me.


. . .



Father, we've spent days on our knees
Gone in a year, for we've no where to be
Nowhere to be
Nowhere to be

Father stays, we're all on our knees
Down on our words and we've nothing to be
Nothing to be
Nothing to be

Father, down, we're all on our sails
Hail to our keys, but we've nothing these days
Nothing these days
Nothing these days

Father, give them straw men of faith
We're down on our knees and we've nothing to say
Nothing to say
Nothing to say


. . .


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