Marillion Bitter Suite Lyrics
Bitter Suite by Marillion
Track 4 from _Misplaced Childhood_
I) Brief Encounter
A spider wanders aimlessly within the warmth of a shadow,
Not the regal creature of border caves,
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
Of some obscure Scottish poet.
The mist crawls from the canal
Like some primordial phantom of romance
To curl, under a cascade of neon pollen.
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father.
Your carnation will rot ina vase.
Ii) Lost Weekend
A train sleeps in a siding,
The driver guzzles another can of lager, lager.
To wash away the memories of a Friday night down at the club.
She was a wallflower at sixteen,
She'll be a wallflower at thirty four.
Her mother called her beautiful.
Her daddy said, (a whore).
Iii) Blue Angel
The sky was Bible black in Lyon,
When I met the Magdalene.
She was paralyzed in a streetlight.
She refused to give her name.
She wore a ring of violet bruises,
They were pinned upon her arm.
Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand,
To a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears
And from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear.
'j'entend ton coeur',
'j'entend ton coeur',
I can hear your heart, I can hear your heart, I can hear your heart.
Hear your heart.
I can hear your heart.
Iv) Misplaced Rendezvous
It's getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper.
Something's gonna give under this pressure,
And the cracks are already beginning to show,
It's too late.
The weekend career girl never boarded the plane.
They said this could never happen again.
Oh, so wrong, so wrong.
This time it seems to be another misplaced rendezvous.
This time, it's looking like another misplaced rendezvous,
With you,
The parallel of you, you.
V) Windswept Thumb
On the outskirts of nowhere,
On the ringroad to somewhere,
On the verge of indecision,
I'll always take the roundabout way,
Waiting on the rain.
For I was born with a habit, from a sign.
The habit of a windswept thumb.
And the sign of the rain,
(rain on me, rain)
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
I) Brief Encounter
A spider wanders aimlessly within the warmth of a shadow,
Not the regal creature of border caves,
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
Of some obscure Scottish poet.
The mist crawls from the canal
Like some primordial phantom of romance
To curl, under a cascade of neon pollen.
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father.
Your carnation will rot ina vase.
Ii) Lost Weekend
A train sleeps in a siding,
The driver guzzles another can of lager, lager.
To wash away the memories of a Friday night down at the club.
She was a wallflower at sixteen,
She'll be a wallflower at thirty four.
Her mother called her beautiful.
Her daddy said, (a whore).
Iii) Blue Angel
The sky was Bible black in Lyon,
When I met the Magdalene.
She was paralyzed in a streetlight.
She refused to give her name.
She wore a ring of violet bruises,
They were pinned upon her arm.
Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand,
To a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears
And from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear.
'j'entend ton coeur',
'j'entend ton coeur',
I can hear your heart, I can hear your heart, I can hear your heart.
Hear your heart.
I can hear your heart.
Iv) Misplaced Rendezvous
It's getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper.
Something's gonna give under this pressure,
And the cracks are already beginning to show,
It's too late.
The weekend career girl never boarded the plane.
They said this could never happen again.
Oh, so wrong, so wrong.
This time it seems to be another misplaced rendezvous.
This time, it's looking like another misplaced rendezvous,
With you,
The parallel of you, you.
V) Windswept Thumb
On the outskirts of nowhere,
On the ringroad to somewhere,
On the verge of indecision,
I'll always take the roundabout way,
Waiting on the rain.
For I was born with a habit, from a sign.
The habit of a windswept thumb.
And the sign of the rain,
(rain on me, rain)
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.
It's started raining.