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Nik Kershaw - The Riddle (Extended Riddle)

Voir du même artiste


Titre : The Riddle (Extended Riddle)


Année : 1984


Auteurs compositeurs : Nik Kershaw


Pochette : Iain McKell


Durée : 5 m 8 s


Label : MCA Records


Référence : 259 225-0



Présentation : Version maxi, 1'20 plus longue que celle du 45 tours.

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Paroles
[Parlé: ]
Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

I got plans for us nights
In the scullery
And days instead of me
I only know what to discuss
Of for anything but light
Wise men fighting over you

Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion
There's a wrong and a right

Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion
There's a wrong and a right
And he'll never fight over you

Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion
There's a wrong and a right

Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion
There's a wrong and a right
And he'll never fight over you

I got plans for us nights
In the scullery
And days instead of me
I only know what to discuss
Of for anything but light

Wise men fighting over you

It's not me you see
Pieces of valentine
With just a song of mine
To keep from burning history
Seasons of gasoline and gold

Wise men fold

Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around

And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion
There's a wrong and a right

And he'll never fight over you
I got time to kill, sly looks in corridors
Without a plan of yours
A blackbird sings on bluebird hill
Thanks to the calling of the wild

Wise mens child
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