Suzanne Vega

Suzanne Vega

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  • Pridružio: 23 Jun 2004
  • Poruke: 3996

TOM'S DINER
I am sitting
In the morning
At the diner
On the corner

I am waiting
At the counter
For the man
To pour the coffee

And he fills it
Only halfway
And before
I even argue

He is looking
Out the window
At somebody
Coming in

"It is always
Nice to see you"
Says the man
Behind the counter

To the woman
Who has come in
She is shaking
Her umbrella

And I look
The other way
As they are kissing

Their hellos

I'm pretending
Not to see them
Instead
I pour the milk

I open
Up the paper
There's a story
Of an actor

Who had died
While he was drinking
It was no one
I had heard of

And I'm turning
To the horoscope
And looking
For the funnies

When I'm feeling
Someone watching me
And so
I raise my head

There's a woman
On the outside
Looking inside
Does she see me?

No she does not
Really see me
Cause she sees
Her own reflection

And I'm trying
Not to notice
That she's hitching
Up her skirt

And while she's
Straightening her stockings
Her hair
Is getting wet

Oh, this rain
It will continue
Through the morning
As I'm listening

To the bells
Of the cathedral
I am thinking
Of your voice...

And of the midnight picnic
Once upon a time
Before the rain began...

I finish up my coffee
It's time to catch the train



Registruj se da bi učestvovao u diskusiji. Registrovanim korisnicima se NE prikazuju reklame unutar poruka.
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  • Pridružio: 16 Avg 2004
  • Poruke: 2970
  • Gde živiš: Threading On My Dreams

Neobican stil, ali lepo...lepo napisano
Rekao bih, u njenom maniru... Wink



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  • Civil Works Team Leader @ IKEA Centres Russia
  • Pridružio: 22 Jun 2005
  • Poruke: 7911
  • Gde živiš: Moskva, Rusija

Sjajna pevacica i pesnikinja... Osim "Tom's Dinner" mnogo je jaka pesma i "Luka":

LUKA
by Suzanne Vega

My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
I think it's because I'm clumsy
I try not to talk too loud
Maybe it's because I'm crazy
I try not to act too proud
They only hit until you cry
And after that you don't ask why
You just don't argue anymore
You just don't argue anymore
You just don't argue anymore

Yes I think I'm okay
I walked into the door again
Well, if you ask that's what I'll say
And it's not your business anyway
I guess I'd like to be alone
With nothing broken, nothing thrown
Just don't ask me how I am
Just don't ask me how I am

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  • Pridružio: 16 Apr 2005
  • Poruke: 2908

Luka,gde ste me nasli s tom pesmom? Sad
Toliko istinita....

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  • Civil Works Team Leader @ IKEA Centres Russia
  • Pridružio: 22 Jun 2005
  • Poruke: 7911
  • Gde živiš: Moskva, Rusija

Nisi valjda i ti (bila) u situaciji da 'naleces na vrata'?? Sad

Dopuna: 14 Jul 2005 11:16

By the way sjajna titula! Super te objasnjava... bar za mene je tako Very Happy

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  • Pridružio: 16 Apr 2005
  • Poruke: 2908

If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was....


I hvala ti....tvoj optimizam nekada zaista mene cini zivljom,raspolozenijom...

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  • Civil Works Team Leader @ IKEA Centres Russia
  • Pridružio: 22 Jun 2005
  • Poruke: 7911
  • Gde živiš: Moskva, Rusija

Sad I won't ask you what it was... Sad

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  • Pridružio: 16 Avg 2004
  • Poruke: 2970
  • Gde živiš: Threading On My Dreams

Book Of Dreams


In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Turned its tide to strength
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams

The spine is bound to last a life
Tough enough to take the pounding
Pages made of days of open hand

In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams

Number every page in silver
Underline in magic marker
Take the name of every prisoner
Yours is there my word of honor

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams

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