Lirik Lagu The Priest They Called Him - Nirvana
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TIPS PENCARIAN LIRIK FAVORIT ANDA
ANDA MENGETAHUI JUDUL DAN NAMA PENYANYI
- Ketikkan nama penyanyi dan judul lagu, berikan tanda kutip di judul lagu, misal: Yovie "Menjaga Hati";
- bila tidak berhasil, coba untuk mengilangkan tanda kutip, misal: Yovie Menjaga Hati; atau
- dapat juga dengan mengeklik menu A B C D.., lalu cari berdasarkan nama artis. Yovie dimulai dengan Y, klik Y. Lihat daftar lagu, dan dapatkan yang Anda cari.
ANDA TAK MENGETAHUI JUDUL LAGU, TAPI MENGETAHUI NAMA PENYANYI
- Ketik nama penyanyi, misal: YOVIE, akan muncul banyak halaman, telusuri dan pilih dari halaman-halaman tersebut; atau
- klik menu A B C D E ... berdasarkan nama artis Y, cari Yovie, dan cari lirik yang Anda cari.
ANDA TAK MENGETAHUI JUDUL LAGU, TAPI MENGETAHUI SYAIR
- Ketikkan penggalan syair yang Anda ketahui, misal:
Tanpamu tiada berarti
Tak mampu lagi berdiri
Cahaya kasihmu menuntunku
Kembali dalam dekapan tanganmu - Masukkan kata-kata penting. Misal: tiada berarti berdiri cahaya dekapan.
- Hindari kata-kata yang berkemungkinan memiliki ada dua versi atau lebih. Misal: tanpamu dapat ditulis tanpa mu.
TETAP TIDAK DAPAT MENEMUKAN LIRIK YANG ANDA CARI
- Pilih menu A B C D E ... berdasarkan nama artis atau judul lagu.
- Bila masih tidak dapat menemukan lirik yang Anda cari, mungkin kami bisa membantu Anda. Silakan menghubungi kami.
Fight tuberculosis, folks." Christmas Eve, an oldjunkie selling Christmas seals on North Park Street.The "Priest," they called him. "Fight tuberculosis, folks."People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall.It was getting late and no money to score.He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife.Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight.Boy got out with a suitcase. Thin kid in prep school clothes,familiar face, the Priest told himself, watching from the doorway."Remindsme of something a long time ago." The boy, there, with his overcoatunbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare.The cab drove away and turned the corner. The boy went insidea building. "Hmm, yes, maybe" - the suitcase was there in the doorway.The boy nowhere in sight. Gone to get the keys, most likely,have to move fast. He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner.Made it. Glanced down at the case. It didn't look like the case the boy had,or any boy would have. The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was soold about the case. Old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy.Better see what's inside. He turned into Lincoln Park, found anempty place and opened the case. Two severed human legs that belonged toa young man with dark skin. Shiny black leg hairs glittered in thedim streetlight. The legs had been forced into the case and he had to usehis knee on the back of the case to shove them out. "Legs, yet,"he said, and walked quickly away with the case.Might bring a few dollars to score. The buyer sniffed suspiciously."Kind of a funny smell about it." "It's just Mexican leather.""Well, some joker didn't cure it."The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor."Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is.Three is the best I can do and it hurts. But since this is Christmasand you're the Priest..." he slipped three bills under the table into thePriest's dirty hand. The Priest faded into the street shadows, seedyand furtive. Three cents didn't buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel.Say, remember that old Addie croaker told me not to come back unlessI paid him the three cents I owe him. Yeah, isn't that a fruit for ya,blow your stack about three lousy cents.The doctor was not pleased to see him.
"Now, what do you WANT? I TOLD you!"The Priest laid three bills on the table. The doctor put themoney in his pocket and started to scream."I've had TROUBLES! PEOPLE have been around!I may lose my LICENSE!" The Priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy withyears of junk, on the doctor's face."I can't write you a prescription." The doctor jerked open a drawerand slid an ampule across the table. "That's all I have in the OFFICE!"The doctor stood up. "Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical.The Priest's expression did not change.
The doctor added in quieter tones, "After all, I'm a professional man,and I shouldn't be bothered by people like you.""Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? Couldn't you lendme a nickel...?" "Get out, get out, I'll call the police I tell you.""All right, doctor, I'm going." Of course it was cold and far to walk,rooming house, a shabby street, room on the top floor."These stairs," coughed the Priest there, pulling himself up along thebannister. He went into the bathroom, yellow wall panels,toilet dripping, and got his works from under the washbasin.Wrapped in brown paper, back to his room, get every drop in the dropper.
He rolled up his sleeve. Then he heard a groan from next door,room eighteen. The Mexican kid lived there, the Priest had passed him onthe stairs and saw the kid was hooked, but he never spoke, because hedidn't want any juvenile connections, bad news in any language.The Priest had had enough bad news in his life.He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel, no mistaking that groanand what it meant. "Maybe he had an accident or something.In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications with that sound comingthrough the wall." Thin walls you understand. The Priest put down hisdropper, cold hall, and knocked on the door of room eighteen."Quien es?" "It's the Preist, kid, I live next door."He could hear someone hobbling across the floor.
A bolt slid. The boy stood there in his underwear shorts, eyes black withpain. He started to fall. The Priest helped him over to the bed."What's wrong, son?" "It's my legs, senor, cramps, and now I am withoutmedicine." The Priest could see the cramps, like knots of wood therein the young legs, dark shiny black leg hairs."A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race,it was then that the cramps started." And now he has the leg cramps backwith compound junk interest. The old Priest stood there, feeling the boygroan. He inclined his head as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper."It's just a quarter G, kid." "I do not require much, senor."
The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room eighteen.He went back to his room and sat down on the bed.Then it hit him like heavy silent snow. All the gray junk yesterdays.He sat there received the immaculate fix. And since he was himself a priest,there was no need to call one.
"Now, what do you WANT? I TOLD you!"The Priest laid three bills on the table. The doctor put themoney in his pocket and started to scream."I've had TROUBLES! PEOPLE have been around!I may lose my LICENSE!" The Priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy withyears of junk, on the doctor's face."I can't write you a prescription." The doctor jerked open a drawerand slid an ampule across the table. "That's all I have in the OFFICE!"The doctor stood up. "Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical.The Priest's expression did not change.
The doctor added in quieter tones, "After all, I'm a professional man,and I shouldn't be bothered by people like you.""Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? Couldn't you lendme a nickel...?" "Get out, get out, I'll call the police I tell you.""All right, doctor, I'm going." Of course it was cold and far to walk,rooming house, a shabby street, room on the top floor."These stairs," coughed the Priest there, pulling himself up along thebannister. He went into the bathroom, yellow wall panels,toilet dripping, and got his works from under the washbasin.Wrapped in brown paper, back to his room, get every drop in the dropper.
He rolled up his sleeve. Then he heard a groan from next door,room eighteen. The Mexican kid lived there, the Priest had passed him onthe stairs and saw the kid was hooked, but he never spoke, because hedidn't want any juvenile connections, bad news in any language.The Priest had had enough bad news in his life.He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel, no mistaking that groanand what it meant. "Maybe he had an accident or something.In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications with that sound comingthrough the wall." Thin walls you understand. The Priest put down hisdropper, cold hall, and knocked on the door of room eighteen."Quien es?" "It's the Preist, kid, I live next door."He could hear someone hobbling across the floor.
A bolt slid. The boy stood there in his underwear shorts, eyes black withpain. He started to fall. The Priest helped him over to the bed."What's wrong, son?" "It's my legs, senor, cramps, and now I am withoutmedicine." The Priest could see the cramps, like knots of wood therein the young legs, dark shiny black leg hairs."A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race,it was then that the cramps started." And now he has the leg cramps backwith compound junk interest. The old Priest stood there, feeling the boygroan. He inclined his head as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper."It's just a quarter G, kid." "I do not require much, senor."
The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room eighteen.He went back to his room and sat down on the bed.Then it hit him like heavy silent snow. All the gray junk yesterdays.He sat there received the immaculate fix. And since he was himself a priest,there was no need to call one.
