marillion - fugazi

MARILLION - Fugazi


1. Assassing			07:02
2. Punch & Judy			03:21
3. Jigsaw			06:50
4.Emerald Lies			05:09
5. She Chameleon			06:53
6. Incubus			08:30
7. Fugazi			08:13
			45:54
[Credits]


Assassing
I am the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence. I am the assassin, providing your nemesis. On the sacrificial altar to success, my friend; Unleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend; No incantations of remorse, my friend; Unsheathe the blade within the voice, my friend, my friend, my friend, my friend I am the assassin, (assassin, assassin) Who decorates the scarf with the fugi knot, Who camouflaged emotion in the thousand-yard stare, Who gouged the notches in the family tree, Who hypnotized the guilt in career rhythm trance Assassin, assassin, assassin, assassin. Listen to the blade(Assassin , my friend) Listen as the syllables of slaughter cut with calm precision, Patterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sew the ice incision. Adjectives of annihilation bury the point beyond redemption, Venomous verbs of ruthless candor plagiarize assassins' fervor Apocalyptic alphabet casting spell, the creed of tempered diction, my friend, your friend, the assassin my friend, your friend, the assassin A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds... (my friend, your friend, the assassin) A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds... (my friend, your friend, the assassin) Let bitter silence infect the wound, Let bitter silence infect the wound, I am the assassin, (your friend) I am the assassin, (your friend) I am the assassin, (your friend) Assassin! You were a sentimental mercenary in a free-fire zone, Parading a Hollywood conscience; You were a fashionable objector with a uniform fetish, Pavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success A noncom observer, I assassin, the collector... defector So you resigned yourself to failure, my friend, And I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend, To eradicate the problem, my friend, Unsheathe the blade within the voice, within the voice, within the voice, within the voice! And what do you call assassins who accuse assassins, anyway... My friend?

Punch & Judy
Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy Washing machine, pinstripe dream stripped the gloss from a beauty queen Punch and Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy Found our nest in the Daily Express, met the Vicar in a holy vest Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy Brought up the children, Church of E, now I vegetate with a color TV Worst ever thing that happened to me, oh for D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Oh Judy! Whatever happened to pillow fights? Whatever happened to jeans so tight? Friday nights? Whatever happened to Lover's lane? Whatever happened to passion games? Sunday walks in the pouring rain? Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch Curling tongs, mogadons, I got a headache baby, don't take so long Single beds, middle age dread, losing the war in the waistlands spread Who left the cap off the toothpaste tube, who forgot to flush the loo? Leave your sweaty socks outside the door, don't walk across my polished floor, Oh Judy! Whatever happened to morning smiles? Whatever happened to wicked wiles? permissive styles? Whatever happened to twinkling eyes? Whatever happened to hard fast drives? compliments on unnatural size? Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch, Punch, Punch Propping up a bar, family car, sweating out a mortgage as a balding clerk Punch and Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy World War Three, suburbanshee, just slip her these pills and I'll be free. No more Judy, Judy, Judy no more Goodbye Judy!

Jigsaw
We are jigsaw pieces aligned on the perimeter edge, Interlocked through a missing piece We are Renaissance children becalmed beneath the bridge of sighs, Forever throwing firebrands at the stonework We are Siamese children related by the heart, Bleeding from the surgery of initial confrontation, Holding the word scalpels on trembling lips Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye. Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why. Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today, The problems always seem to be, we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet. This is the ricochet... Drowning Tequila sunsets, stowaways on midnight ships, Refugees of romance plead asylum from the real. Scrambling distress signals on random frequencies, Forever repatriated on guilt laden morning planes. We are pilots of passion sweating the flight on course To another summit conference, another breakfast time divorce, Screaming out a cease fire, snowblind in an avalanche zone. Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye. Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why. Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today, The problems always seem to be, we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet. This is the ricochet... Are we trigger happy, happy, happy? Russian roulette in the waiting room, Empty chambers embracing the end. Puzzled visions haunt the ripples of a trevi moon, Dream coins for the fountain or to cover your eyes. We reached ignition point from the sparks of pleasantries, We sensed the smoke advancing from horizons, You must have known that I was planning, considering an escape. Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye. Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why. Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today, And the problems always seem to be, we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet. This is the ricochet I'll be seeing you again on the ricochet, Will you show me the pieces next time on the ricochet, (ricochet) I'll be seeing you again on the ricochet, There's a problem, there's a ricochet, (ricochet)

Emerald Lies
To be the prince of possession, in the gallery of contempt. Suffering your indiscrete discretions, and you ask me to relent. As you accumulate flirtations, with the calculated calmness of the whore. (Of the whore) I am the harlequin, with diamonded costume dripping shades of green I am the harlequin, sense strangers violate my sanctuary, prowl my dreams. (My dreams) And they're my dreams. (They're my dreams!) Plundering your diaries, I'll steal your thought's. (thoughts) Ravaging your letters, unearth your plots. (plots) Innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence. To don the robes of Torquemada, to resurrect the Inquisition, And in that tortured subtle manner inflict questions within questions, within questions. Looking in shades of green through shades of blue; I trust you trusting me to mistrust you. Through the silk-cut haze to the smeared mascara, A forty-watt sun on a courtroom drama. And the coffee stains gather till the pale kimono, Set the wedding rings dancing on the cold linoleum. This is innocence. And accusation's moths that circle around the light, they char their wings in spiral senseless, suicidal flight. You pack our world within a suitcase, hot tears melt this icy palace, and dissolve a crystal swallowed by the night. Looking in shades of green through shades of blue, Looking in shades of green through shades of blue. These shades of blue, of blue...

She Chameleon
Sheltering her ego on the edge of the floodlight's arc, She'll contemplate seduction, calculate the catch. When she moved her presence speared me, When she spoke her words ensnared me. Watch the lizard, watch the lizard, Watch the lizard with the crimson veil. She crucified my heart in the depths of a satin grave, As I lay in sweating monologue I sensed the lovelight fade. Within the spiral of the cigarette, You betrayed your bedside etiquette. I saw the lizard, I saw the lizard, I touched the lizard with the crimson veil. I've seen a different doorway shut a million times before, Smiling she-chameleons, smiling vinyl whores. They know what they want, they sing your name and glide between the sheets I never say no, in the chemical glow we'll let our bodies meet. So was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, just another fuck I said Loving just for laughs, carnal autograph, lying on a lizard's bed. So was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, just another fuck I bled Degraded and alone, raped and still forlorn, betrayed on a lizard's bed. We chameleon, we chameleon, we (oui!)

Incubus
When footlights dim in reverence to prescient passion, forewarned my audience leaves the stage, floating ahead perfumed shift, within the stammering silence. The face that launched a thousand frames, Betrayed by a porcelain tear, a stained career. You've played this scene before, you've played this scene before. I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction, reaction. The darkroom unleashes imagination, in pornographic images In which you will always be the star. (Be the star). Untouchable, unapproachable. Constant in the darkness, in the darkness. Nursing an erection, a misplaced reaction, With no flower to place before this gravestone. And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin, but that would only be developing the negative view. And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic color, the public act. Let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk, Let the cats walk. I've played, this scene before, I've played, this scene before. I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I. I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction, satisfaction. (A irritating speck of doubt that came from absolutely nowhere) You can't brush me under the carpet, you can't hide me under the stairs. The custodian of your private fears, your leading actor of yesteryear, Who, as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity, Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity You, who I directed with a lover's will, you who I let hypnotize the lens, You who I let bathe in the spotlight's glare, You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask, Just like a greasepaint mask. A Mask... But now I'm the snake in the grass. The ghost of film reels past. I'm the producer of your nightmare, And the performance has just begun, has just begun (It's just begun) Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets, As you stutter, paralyzed, with rabbit's eyes. Searing the shadows, flooding the wings to pluck elusive salvation from the understudy's lips. Retrieve the soliloquy, maintain the obituary. My cue line in the last act, and you'll wait in silent solitude, Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt. You've played this scene before.

Fugazi
Vodka intimate, an affair with isolation in a blackheath cell, Extinguishing the fires in a private hell, Provoking the heartache to renew the license Of a bleeding heart poet in a fragile capsule, Propping up the crust of the glitter conscience. Wrapped in the christening shard of a hangover, baptized in tears from the real, tears from the real... Drowning in the liquid seas on the Piccadilly line, rat-race scuttling through the damp electric labyrinth. (Caress Ophelia's hand with breaststroke ambition, The albatross courtship maritime tradition.) Sheathed with the walkman wear the halo of distortion, aural contraceptive aborting pregnant conversation. (But she turned the harpoon and it pierced my heart, she hung herself around my neck. From the Time-Life guardians in their conscience bubbles, safe and dry in my sea of troubles. Nine to Fives, with suitable ties, While I'm cast adrift as their sideshow, (sideshow), peepshow, (peepshow), stereo hero, becalm, bestill, bewitch, drowning, drowning in the real.. The thief of Baghdad hides in Islington now, praying deportation for his sacred cow. A legacy of romance from a twilight world, the dowry of a relative mystery girl A Vietnamese flower, a dockland union, a mistress of release from a magazine's thighs. This Magdalene contracts more than favours, the feeding hands of western promise hold her by the throat. A son of the swastika of 45,' parading a peroxide standard. Graffiti disciples conjure testaments of hatred Aerosol wands whisper where the searchlights trim the barbed wire hedges. This is Brixton chess. A knight for embankments - folds his newspaper castle, a creature of habit, begs the boatman's coin, He'll fade with old soldiers - in the grease stained roll call, linger with the heartburn of good Friday last supper. Son watches father scan obituary columns, in search of absent school friends. While his generation digests high-fiber ignorance, cowering behind curtains and the taped up, painted windows. Decriminalized genocide, provided door to door Belsens. Pandora's box of holocausts, gracefully cruising satellite infested heavens, Waiting, wait..waiting the season of the button, the penultimate migration, Radioactive perfumes for the fashionably, for the terminally insane ... insane Do do do do do do you realize, Do do do do do do you realize, Do do do do do do you realize, This world is totally Fugazi! Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries, where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary. Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries, where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary. Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries, where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary.

[Credits]
Released by EMI Records Ltd.: 12-MAR-84 Fish: VOICE Steve Rothery: GUITARS Yamaha SG2000, Gibson Les Paul Standard, Roland GR300/505 guitar synth, Fender Stratocaster, Ovation Acoustic, Roland JC 120 Combo, Mesa Boogie, Roland 501 chorus/echo, Boss effects pedals Mark Kelly: KEYBOARDS Bosendorfer grand piano, PPG Wave 2.2, Roland Jupiter 8, MiniMOOG, Emulator, Yamaha DX7, Yamaha GS1, Korg CX3, Church organ (recorded at Angel Studios London) Pete Trewavas: BASS Aria and Fender bassess, Trace Elliott and Peavey amplification Ian Mosley: DRUMS Yamaha drums, Zildjian cymbals, Simmons drums Backing vocal on Incubus : Linda Pyke Additional Percussion: Chris Karen. Recorded Nov-Dec 1983, Jan-Feb 1984. Manor Studio, Sarm East, Eel Pie and Maison Rouge Studio. Music by Marillion, lyrics by Fish. Produced by Nick Tauber. Recorded and mixed by Simon Hanhart. Assistant engineers: Sarm East and Maison Rouge: Dave Meegan. Eel Pie: Tony Phillips. Manor: Steve Chase. Additional Percussion: Chris Karen Management: John Arnison. Crew: Gary Townsend, Andy Field, 'Privet' Hedge, Paul Lewis. Further information from: Stef at 'The Web' c/o EMI Records Special Thanks to: Theresa, Keith Goodwin, Steve Hedges and all at the Station Agency, Hugh Stanley-Clarke, Sarah, Wally Slaughter, Malcom Hill, Bob Stevenson, Charles Websterm Brian Munns, John Cavanagh, Geoff Bywater and all at EMI, John Crawley and all at Charisma, Garby and all at EMI Germany, Denmark and France, Capitol Records Canada and Capitol Records USA, Jerry Uwins Yamaha UK, Nomis Studios, Rockfield Studios, Mountain Studios, NJF Marquee, MCP, Alan Crux, Andy Ward, Jonathan Mover, John Martyr, Phil Freeman, Dave Walden, Mike Appleton, Nick Pedgrift, Robin Inglis and the Kaim Park Hotel, Andy Fox, Clutch, Rangit, Julian Cull, Bill Elson and all at ATI, Darwin Dolinka-Korda, Freya, Bravado, Nigel Planer Simpn Milne and Direct Production, Pendragon, Mark Wilkinson , Andy, Gary and Paul, Tom Boyle, Phil Thame and all at Malcolm Hill's, Alex, Chop, Kevin and all at LSD, Peter Hammill and John Ellis, Rush, Todd Rundgren and Utopia, Bob Ellis, Sally, Mandy and Helene and all at the Manor. Special Thanks Also: Aria, Yamaha, Zildjian, Roland, Remo and Evans for equipment. Lyrics 1984 Reproduced by kind permission of Marillion Music/Charisma/Chappell Sleeve design and illustration by Mark Wilkinson. Cover concept by Fish. Pictures on the wall by Julie Hazelwood.