..:: audio-music dot info ::..


Main Page     The Desert Island     Copyright Notice
Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk Ll Mm Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz


Bruce Springsteen: Born to Run

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Columbia Records
Released: 1975.08.25
Time:
 39:22
Category: Pop/Rock
Producer(s): See Artists ...
Rating: *********. (9/10)
Media type: CD
Web address: www.brucespringsteen.net
Appears with:
Purchase date: 2007.02.15
Price in €: 7,99



 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Thunder Road (B.Springsteen) - 4:49
[2] Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out (B.Springsteen) - 3:10
[3] Night (B.Springsteen) - 3:00
[4] Backstreets (B.Springsteen) - 6:30
[5] Born to Run (B.Springsteen) - 4:30
[6] She's the One (B.Springsteen) - 4:30
[7] Meeting Across the River (B.Springsteen) - 3:18
[8] Jungleland (B.Springsteen) - 9:35

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


Bruce Springsteen - Bass, Guitar, Harmonica, Arranger, Alto Horn, Vocals, Producer, Horn Arrangements

Roy Bittan - Organ, Piano, Glockenspiel, Harpsichord, Keyboards, Background Vocals, Fender Rhodes
Michael Brecker - Horn, Tenor Saxophone
Randy Brecker - Trumpet, Flugelhorn, Horn
Ernest Carter - Drums
Clarence Clemons - Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone, Vocals
Richard Davis - Bass
Danny Federici - Organ, Keyboards, Vocals
David Sanborn - Baritone & Bass Saxophone
David Sancious - Keyboards
Garry Tallent - Bass, Bass Guitar
Steven Van Zandt - Guitar, Alto Horn, Vocals, Background Vocals, Horn Arrangements
Max Weinberg - Drums
Mike Appel - Vocals, Background Vocals, Producer
Charles Calello - Conductor, String Arrangements
Wayne Andre - Trombone
Suki Lahav - Violin

John Landau - Producer
Jimmy Iovine - Engineer, Mixing
Louis Lahav - Engineer
Ricky Delena - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
Andy Abrams - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
Angie Arcuri - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
Thom Panunzio - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
Corky Stasiak - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
David Thoener - Assistant Engineer, Mixing Assistant
Greg Calbi - Mastering
Bob Ludwig - Remastering
John Berg - Design
Andy Engel - Design
Eric Meola - Photography


 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s

1975 CS Columbia JCT-33795
1975 LP Columbia 33795
1985 CD Columbia CK-33795
1989 CD Columbia 6865813
1990 CD Sony 52859
1990 CD Sony 33795
1992 CD Columbia CK-52859
1994 CD Sony 64406
1995 CD Columbia 64406
1999 LP Classic Compact Disc 33795
2000 CD Sony Mid-Price 80959
2005 CD Sony Japan 723
2006 LP Classics Fr 33795
2007 CD Sony 88697123262
2007 CD Sony Japan 8983
2008 CD CBS 88697287422

BORN TO RUN is the album that turned Springsteen from a phenomenon into a superstar. His first couple of releases foundBruce working out his fascination with Dylan and Van Morrison on earthy, wordy, folk-rock-R&B tunes full of soul and punch. On BORN TO RUN, Springsteen became even more ambitious,synthesising Spectorian production with Orbison-esque dramaand Duane Eddy-influenced guitar work, creating something grand enough to be called rock opera but too proletarian to ever claim that title. BORN TO RUN was also the first album where the Boss began to crystallise his recurring theme of working class America's doomed-but-passionate rage against itscircumstances. With the earnestness and emotion that burstsforth from Springsteen's street poems, the album is never less than exhilarating, and songs like "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out" (a tongue-in-cheek history of the E Street Band) providehumor. "She's The One" puts the Bo Diddley beat to its mosteffective post-'50s use, and the title track is Springsteen's quintessential underdog epic.



Bruce Springsteen's make-or-break third album represented a sonic leap from his first two, which had been made for modest sums at a suburban studio; Born to Run was cut on a superstar budget, mostly at the Record Plant in New York. Springsteen's backup band had changed, with his two virtuoso players, keyboardist David Sancious and drummer Vini Lopez, replaced by the professional but less flashy Roy Bittan and Max Weinberg. The result was a full, highly produced sound that contained elements of Phil Spector's melodramatic work of the 1960s. Layers of guitar, layers of echo on the vocals, lots of keyboards, thunderous drums - Born to Run had a big sound, and Springsteen wrote big songs to match it. The overall theme of the album was similar to that of The E Street Shuffle; Springsteen was describing, and saying farewell to, a romanticized teenage street life. But where he had been affectionate, even humorous before, he was becoming increasingly bitter. If Springsteen had celebrated his dead-end kids on his first album and viewed them nostalgically on his second, on his third he seemed to despise their failure, perhaps because he was beginning to fear he was trapped himself. Nevertheless, he now felt removed, composing an updated West Side Story with spectacular music that owed more to Bernstein than to Berry. To call Born to Run overblown is to miss the point; Springsteen's precise intention is to blow things up, both in the sense of expanding them to gargantuan size and of exploding them. If The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle was an accidental miracle, Born to Run was an intentional masterpiece. It declared its own greatness with songs and a sound that lived up to Springsteen's promise, and though some thought it took itself too seriously, many found that exalting.

William Ruhlmann - All Music Guide



Few albums are as fueled by hope, possibility, and the lure of the open road as Born to Run, a virtual concept album about small-town Jerseyites in search of a better life via hot-rodding out on the turnpike, scoring some small-time hustle, or blowing out of town altogether, either across the river to New York City or west for parts unknown. Songs like "Jungleland," "Thunder Road," "Backstreets," and the title track are epic productions, both sonically and lyrically, borrowing from Phil Spector, Bob Dylan, Elvis Presley, and West Side Story. When Born to Run was released in 1975, it earned then-unknown Springsteen the rare honor of simultaneous covers on both Time and Newsweek. The attention was warranted then, and it still is now.

Daniel Durchholz - Amazon.com essential recording



Eine Handvoll großer Alben gibt es, die den Begriff "Gute Platte" sprengen. Manche, weil sie einfach besser sind als nur gut; andere, weil sie mehr sind als nur eine Platte - ein Stück Lebensgefühl einer Generation, ein Stück Geschichte sogar. Bruce Springsteens drittes Werk Born To Run ist all das gewesen und ist es noch - und gehört unbestritten zu dieser Handvoll großer Alben, nicht nur wegen seiner umwerfenden musikalischen Qualität, sondern auch wegen der erstaunlichen gesellschaftlichen Bedeutung, die diese Aufnahme seit ihrer Veröffentlichung 1975 bis heute bewahrt hat: Wenigstens in den USA war Born To Run wahrscheinlich für mehr Menschen der Soundtrack zum Erwachsenwerden als irgendeine andere Platte. Als sie erschien, zeigten das Time-Magazine und Newsweek in seltender Einmütigkeit den damals noch fast unbekannten Springsteen gleichzeitig auf ihren Titelbildern. Das Album enthält acht perfekt produzierte Stücke, vom mächtigen "Thunder Road" über den legendären Titeltrack bis zu "Jungleland", voll versonnener Lyrik des damals 26jährigen Bruce Springsteen und voll der haltlosen Energie seiner E-Street-Band. Nein, keine gute Platte. Ein Album, das jeden Rahmen sprengt. Born To Run. Wow. Eins für die Ewigkeit.

Michael Ebert - Amazon.de



Der Rock-Rowdy aus New Jersey wurde 1975 mit Born to Run endgültig zum "Boss", ja sogar zur "Zukunft des Rock'n'Roll" (Rolling Stone). Tatsächlich erreichte Springsteen danach aber nur noch selten die packende und bildhafte Intensität von Stücken wie Jungleland oder Thunder Road.

© Audio



Wie konnte es Sonys Qualitätskontrolle entgehen, daß bei Bruce Springsteens "Born To Run" das Start-Bit aller Songs falsch gesetzt wurde, so daß der Laser bei direkter Titelanwahl grundsätzlich zu spät in die Musik stolpert? Und der für das "SBM"-Verfahren angepriesene Klanggewinn? Da ist allenfalls Gesang und Saxophon bei einigen Songs ("Night") etwas Schärfe genommen.

© Stereoplay



In 1975, Bruce Springsteen had to put up or shut up. At 24, after two albums in three years, he'd been called everything from the new Dylan to the future of rock 'n' roll. The records - Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ and The Wild, The Innocent & the E Street Shuffle - were involving, but they didn't live up to the promise. Suddenly, in 1975, everything hit: Born to Run was released, and Time and Newsweek, in a burst of journalistic one-upmanship, put Springsteen on the cover the same week. The payoff, still evident 25 years later, is that Born to Run delivered, and Springsteen deserved the hype. The album's reputation rests on four key songs: "Thunder Road," "Backstreets," "Jungleland," and the title track. Epic and anthemic, these songs are united by Springsteen's extraordinarily poetic lyrics - hyperreal, hyperromantic, and centered around longing and faith - and big, expansive arrangements full of piano and horns that create a shimmering wall of sound. The result is a stunning, timeless album that - equal parts Phil Spector, Bo Diddley, Bob Dylan, and the Rolling Stones - is absolutely essential.

Bill Wyman - Barnes & Noble



As a determinedly permanent resident of the West Coast, the furor Bruce Springsteen's live performances have kicked up in the East over the last couple of years left me feeling somewhat culturally deprived, not to mention a little suspicious. The legendary three-hour sets Springsteen and his E Street Band apparently rip out night after night in New York, Province-town, Boston and even Austin have generated a great tumult and shouting; but, short of flying 3000 miles to catch a show, there was no way for an outlander to discover what the fuss was all about.

Certainly, I couldn't find the reasons on Springsteen's first two albums, despite Columbia's "New Dylan" promotional campaign for the debut disc and the equally thoughtful "Street Poet" cover of the second. Both radiated self-consciousness, whereas the ballyhoo led one to hope for the grand egotism of historic rock & roll stars; both seemed at once flat and more than a little hysterical, full of sound and fury, and signifying, if not nothing, not much.

A bit guiltily, I found anything by Roxy Music far more satisfying. They could at least hit what they aimed for; while it was clear Springsteen was after bigger game, the records made me wonder if he knew what it was. Whether he did or not, with two "you gotta see him live" albums behind him, the question of whether Springsteen would ever make his mark on rock & roll - or hang onto the chance to do so - rested on that third LP, which was somehow "long awaited" before the ink was dry on the second. Very soon, he would have to come across, put up or shut up. It is the rock & roller's great shoot-out with himself: The kid with promise hits the dirt and the hero turns slowly, blows the smoke from his pistol, and goes on his way.

Or else, the kid and the hero go down together, twitching in the dust while the onlookers turn their heads and talk safely of what might have been. The end. Fade-out.

Springsteen's answer is Born to Run. It is a magnificent album that pays off on every bet ever placed on him-a '57 Chevy running on melted down Crystals records that shuts down every claim that has been made. And it should crack his future wide open.

The song titles by themselves - "Thunder Road," "Night," "Backstreets," "Born to Run," "Jungleland" - suggest the extraordinary dramatic authority that is at the heart of Springsteen's new music. It is the drama that counts; the stories Springsteen is telling are nothing new, though no one has ever told them better or made them matter more. Their familiar romance is half their power: The promise and the threat of the night; the lure of the road; the quest for a chance worth taking and the lust to pay its price; girls glimpsed once at 80 miles an hour and never forgotten; the city streets as the last, permanent American frontier. We know the story: one thousand and one American nights, one long night of fear and love.

What is new is the majesty Springsteen and his band have brought to this story. Springsteen's singing, his words and the band's music have turned the dreams and failures two generations have dropped along the road into an epic -  an epic that began when that car went over the cliff in Rebel Without a Cause. One feels that all it ever meant, all it ever had to say, is on this album, brought forth with a determination one would have thought was burnt out years ago. One feels that the music Springsteen has made from this long story has outstripped the story; that it is, in all its fire, a demand for something new.

In one sense, all this talk of epic comes down to sound. Rolling Stone contributing editor Jon Landau, Mike Appel and Springsteen produced Born to Run in a style as close to mono as anyone can get these days; the result is a sound full of grandeur. For all it owes to Phil Spector, it can be compared only to the music of Bob Dylan & the Hawks made onstage in 1965 and '66. With that sound, Springsteen has achieved something very special. He has touched his world with glory, without glorifying anything: not the romance of escape, not the unbearable pathos of the street fight in "Jungleland," not the scared young lovers of "Backstreets" and not himself.

"Born to Run" is the motto that speaks for the album's tales, just as the guitar figure that runs through the title song - the finest compression of the rock & roll thrill since the opening riffs of "Layla" - speaks for its music. But "Born to Run" is uncomfortably close to another talisman of the lost kids that careen across this record, a slogan Springsteen's motto inevitably suggests. It is an old tattoo: "Born to Lose." Springsteen's songs - filled with recurring images of people stranded, huddled, scared, crying, dying - take place in the space between "Born to Run" and "Born to Lose," as if to say, the only run worth making is the one that forces you to risk losing everything you have. Only by taking that risk can you hold on to the faith that you have something left to lose. Springsteen's heroes and heroines face terror and survive it, face delight and die by its hand, and then watch as the process is reversed, understanding finally that they are paying the price of romanticizing their own fear.

One soft infested summer/Me and Terry became friends/Trying in vain to breathe/The fire we was born in.../Remember all the movies, Terry/We'd go see/Trying to learn to walk like the heroes/We thought we had to be/Well after all this time/To find we're just like all the rest/Stranded in the park/And forced to confess/To/Hiding on the backstreets/Hiding on the backstreets/Where we swore forever friends....

Those are a few lines from "Backstreets," a song that begins with music so stately, so heartbreaking, that it might be the prelude to a rock & roll version of The Iliad. Once the piano and organ have established the theme the entire band comes and plays the theme again. There is an overwhelming sense of recognition: No, you've never heard anything like this before, but you understand it instantly, because this music - or Springsteen crying, singing wordlessly, moaning over the last guitar lines of "Born to Run," or the astonishing chords that follow each verse of "Jungleland," or the opening of "Thunder Road" - is what rock & roll is supposed to sound like.

The songs, the best of them, are adventures in the dark, incidents of wasted fury. Tales of kids born to run who lose anyway, the songs can, as with "Backstreets," hit so hard and fast that it is almost impossible to sit through them without weeping. And yet the music is exhilarating. You may find yourself shaking your head in wonder, smiling through tears at the beauty of it all. I'm not talking about lyrics; they're buried, as they should be, hard to hear for the first dozen playings or so, coming out in bits and pieces. To hear Springsteen sing the line "Hiding on the backstreets" is to be captured by an image; the details can come later. Who needed to figure out all the words to "Like a Rolling Stone" to understand it?

It is a measure of Springsteen's ability to make his music bleed that "Backstreets," which is about friendship and betrayal between a boy and a girl, is far more deathly than "Jungleland," which is about a gang war. The music isn't "better," nor is the singing - but it is more passionate, more deathly and, necessarily, more alive. That, if anything, might be the key to this music: As a ride through terror, it resolves itself finally as a ride into delight.

"Oh-o, come on, take my hand," Springsteen sings, "Riding out to case the promised land." And there, in a line, is Born to Run. You take what you find, but you never give up your demand for something better because you know, in your heart, that you deserve it. That contradiction is what keeps Springsteen's story, and the promised land's, alive. Springsteen took what he found and made something better himself. This album is it.

GREIL MARCUS - Oct 9, 1975
Rolling Stone
 

 L y r i c s


Thunder Road

The screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
As the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside
darling you know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking
That maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty, but hey you're alright
Oh and that's alright with me

You can hide 'neath your covers
And study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers
Throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now I'm no hero
That's understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl
Is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair
Well the night's busting open
These two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back
Heaven's waiting DOWN ON the tracks
Oh oh come take my hand
Riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road
oh Thunder Road
Lying out there like a killer in the sun
Hey I know it's late we can make it if we run
Oh Thunder Road, sit tight take hold
Thunder Road

Well I got this guitar
And I learned how to make it talk
And my car's out back
If you're ready to take that long walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free
And I know you're lonely
For words that I ain't spoken
But tonight we'll be free
All the promises'll be broken
There were ghosts in the eyes
Of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road
In the skeleton frames of burned out Chevrolets

They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone
On the wind, so Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers
And I'm pulling out of here to win


Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out

Tear drops on the city
Bad Scooter searching for his groove
Seem like the whole world walking pretty
And you can't find the room to move
Well everybody better move over, that's all
'Cause I'm running on the bad side
And I got my back to the wall
Tenth Avenue freeze-out, Tenth Avenue freeze-out

Well I was stranded in the jungle
Tryin'a take in all the heat they was giving
'Til, the night is dark but the sidewalk's bright
And lined with the light of the living
From a tenement window a transistor blasts
Turn around the corner things got real quiet real fast
I walked into a Tenth Avenue freeze-out
Tenth Avenue freeze-out
And I'm all alone, I'm all alone
And kid you better get the picture
And I'm on my own, I'm on my own
And I can't go home

When the change was made uptown
And the Big Man joined the band
From the coastline to the city
All the little pretties raise their hands
I'm gonna sit back right easy and laugh
When Scooter and the Big Man bust this city in half, whoa,
Tenth Avenue freeze-out, Tenth Avenue freeze-out


Night

You get up every morning at the sound of the bell
You get to work late and the boss man's giving you hell
Till you're out on a midnight run
Losing your heart to a beautiful one
And it feels right as you lock up the house
Turn out the lights and step out into the night

And the world is busting at its seams
And you're just a prisoner of your dreams
Holding on for your life 'cause you work all day
To blow 'em away in the night

The rat traps filled with soul crusaders
The circuits lined and jammed with chromed invaders
And she's so pretty that you're lost in the stars
As you jockey your way through the cars
And sit at the light, as it changes to green
With your faith in your machine off you scream into the night

And you're in love with all the wonder it brings
And every muscle in your body sings as the highway ignites
You work nine to five and somehow you survive till the night
Hell all day they're busting you up on the outside
But tonight you're gonna break on through to the inside
And it'll be right, it'll be right, and it'll be tonight

And you know she will be waiting there
And you'll find her somehow you swear
Somewhere tonight you run sad and free
Until all you can see is the light


Backstreets

One soft infested summer me and Terry became friends
Trying in vain to breathe the fire we was born in
Catching rides to the outskirts tying faith between our teeth
Sleeping in that old abandoned beach house getting wasted in the heat
And hiding on the backstreets, hiding on the backstreets
With a love so hard and filled with defeat
Running for our lives at night on them backstreets

Slow dancing in the dark on the beach at Stockton's Wing
Where desperate lovers park we sat with the last of the Duke Street Kings
Huddled in our cars waiting for the bells that ring
In the deep heart of the night to set us loose from everything
to go running on the backstreets, running on the backstreets
We swore we'd live forever on the backstreets we take it together

Endless juke joints and Valentino drag where dancers scraped the tears
Up off the street dressed down in rags running into the darkness
Some hurt bad some really dying at night sometimes it seemed
You could hear the whole damn city crying blame it on the lies that killed us
Blame it on the truth that ran us down you can blame it all on me Terry
It don't matter to me now when the breakdown hit at midnight
There was nothing left to say but I hated him and I hated you when you went away

Laying here in the dark you're like an angel on my chest
Just another tramp of hearts crying tears of faithlessness
Remember all the movies, Terry, we'd go see
Trying to learn how to walk like heroes we thought we had to be
And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest
Stranded in the park and forced to confess
To hiding on the backstreets, hiding on the backstreets
We swore forever friends on the backstreets until the end


Born To Run

In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected
and steppin' out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we're young
'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet ribs
and strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
We'll run till we drop, baby we'll never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'Cause baby I'm just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild
babe I want to know if love is real

Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody's out on the run tonight
but there's no place left to hide
Together Wendy we can live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don't know when
we're gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go
and we'll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us, baby we were born to run (x3)


She's The One

With her killer graces and her secret places
That no boy can fill with her hands on her hips
Oh and that smile on her lips
Because she knows that it kills me
With her soft french cream
Standing in that doorway like a dream
I wish she'd just leave me alone
Because french cream won't soften them boots
And french kisses will not break that heart of stone
With her long hair falling
And her eyes that shine like a midnight sun
Oh-o she's the one, she's the one

That Thunder in your heart
At night when you're kneeling in the dark
It says you're never gonna leave her
But there's this angel in her eyes
That tells such desperate lies
And all you want to do is believe her
And tonight you'll try just one more time
To leave it all behind and to break on through
Oh she can take you, but if she wants to break you
She's gonna find out that ain't so easy to do
And no matter where you sleep tonight or how far you run
Oh-o she's the one, she's the one

Oh-o and just one kiss
She'd fill them long summer nights
With her tenderness that secret pact you made
Back when her love could save you from the bitterness
Oh she's the one, oh she's the one
Oh she's the one, oh she's the one


Meeting Across The River

Hey, Eddie, can you lend me a few bucks
And tonight can you get us a ride
Gotta make it through the tunnel
Got a meeting with a man on the other side

Hey Eddie, this guy, he's the real thing
So if you want to come along
You gotta promise you won't say anything
'Cause this guy don't dance
And the word's been passed this is our last chance

We gotta stay cool tonight, Eddie
'Cause man, we got ourselves out on that line
And if we blow this one
They ain't gonna be looking for just me this time

And all we gotta do is hold up our end
Here stuff this in your pocket
It'll look like you're carrying a friend
And remember, just don't smile
Change your shirt, 'cause tonight we got style

Well Cherry says she's gonna walk
'Cause she found out I took her radio and hocked it
But Eddie, man, she don't understand
That two grand's practically sitting here in my pocket

And tonight's gonna be everything that I said
And when I walk through that door
I'm just gonna throw that money on the bed
She'll see this time I wasn't just talking
Then I'm gonna go out walking


Jungleland

The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine over the Jersey state line
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain
The Rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance and disappear down Flamingo Lane

Well the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl
And the kids round here look just like shadows, always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand down in Jungleland

The midnight gang's assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light
Man, there's an opera out on the Turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cop's cherry-top rips this holy night
The street's alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanish unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades, hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street
Down in Jungleland

In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing to the records that the D.J. plays
Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on, just one look and a whisper, and they're gone

Beneath the city two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender
In a bedroom locked, in whispers of soft refusal, and then surrender
In the tunnels uptown, the Rat's own dream guns him down
As shots echo down them hallways in the night
No one watches, and the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz
Between flesh and what's fantasy
Man, the poets down here don't write nothing at all,
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night, they reach for their moment and try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded, not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland
 

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


Currently no Samples available!