Lirik Lagu Daskarzine - Cold Chisel
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Tanpamu tiada berarti
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Well Daskarzine, she was pretty blandAs she stretched out in the corner of the roomShe was Oh! so lazy with her pistol handAs her hair hung hot off the loomA red-eyed Chicken felt like stepping inBut his lines lacked their customary coolHer conversation flowed like treacle from a tinAnd Chicken felt like some kind of fool
Oh Yeah!Her every moveIs a lesson in street balletAnd they speak her name in cheap hotelsFrom Turkey to Marseillaise
Seduction seems to hang in the dressing-room airBut no-one knows just who's seducing whoShe puts it out wave after waveAnd never seems to miss the slightest cueOutside in the wingsThe curtain-boys cry lonelyTheir one true love is DaskarzineAnd for her they'll all die slowly
Oh babe, she says, we've got to die sometimeIt's the sweetest thing we doWhy not die from month to monthWith my touch to help you through
Now Chicken left the room feeling angry and coldYoung Stetson looked reluctant and lameDaskarzine had him neatly pidgeonholedAnd he was just clinging blindly to his name
I'm Stetson and I ain't so bad, he kept on sayingBut his mind was trapped in some kind of cageHe had failed at the ancient art of role-playingAnd was fighting to leave the bleeding stage
On the radioA tenor saxaphoneCries sweet jazz poetryAnd it breaks on Daskarzine's facadeOf false serenity
Oh Yeah!Her every moveIs a lesson in street balletAnd they speak her name in cheap hotelsFrom Turkey to Marseillaise
Seduction seems to hang in the dressing-room airBut no-one knows just who's seducing whoShe puts it out wave after waveAnd never seems to miss the slightest cueOutside in the wingsThe curtain-boys cry lonelyTheir one true love is DaskarzineAnd for her they'll all die slowly
Oh babe, she says, we've got to die sometimeIt's the sweetest thing we doWhy not die from month to monthWith my touch to help you through
Now Chicken left the room feeling angry and coldYoung Stetson looked reluctant and lameDaskarzine had him neatly pidgeonholedAnd he was just clinging blindly to his name
I'm Stetson and I ain't so bad, he kept on sayingBut his mind was trapped in some kind of cageHe had failed at the ancient art of role-playingAnd was fighting to leave the bleeding stage
On the radioA tenor saxaphoneCries sweet jazz poetryAnd it breaks on Daskarzine's facadeOf false serenity
