@ALBUM: Russians & Americans
Al Stewart

@SONG: The One That Got Away

I came upon two strangers on a black and white TV
in a hotel room called nowhere, in the dead of half-past three.

Their eyes met across the captain's table,
both trying to resist, but just weren't able.
The one that got away.

You knew it had to happen, the music grew intense.
In love affairs on oceans, the feelings seem immense.

Looks like they headed into stormy weather.
They saw it, even though they stuck together.
The one that got away.

Now he sees past the glamour, she sees past the lies.
The night is quick to anger, the dawn is slow to rise.

Who knows what the powers are that divide us?
She still keeps a photograph beside her.

The one that got away
The one that got away.

@SONG: Rumours of War

We met on the beach amid rumours of war,
your hair in your hand, what you saw you won't say
as the newspapers blew in the wind.

I can see you're one of that kind
who carry 'round a time bomb in their mind, no one knows
when you'll slip the pin.

Rumours of War.
Rumours of War.

I see that your dress is torn at the edge,
you were lost, intense, like a man on a ledge, waiting to jump
as the waves break over the shore.

You say there's a storm that can't be delayed,
and lately it seems to be comin' this way, you can hear it break
like the slam of a door.

Rumours of War.
Rumours of War.

You tell me, "Just look all around, at the past and the present,
at the cross and the present, the signs and the planets
are lining up like before."

There are souls on fire in the day and the night,
on the left and the right, in the black and the white,
you can see it burn in the eyes of the rich and the poor.

Rumours of War.
Rumours of War.

Rumours of War.
Rumours of War.

@SONG: Night Meeting

It was a night meeting:
somewhere in a troubled land.
They came with no greeting;
left without a shaken hand.

Nearby the town sleeping
was unaware of what was done.
No need for watchkeeping,
they'll be gone before the sun.

You may not see just where the sense is
in the actions of the State.
You may not know the consequencses
of their actions till too late.
The rival factions still debate
as shadows gather at your gate.

It was a night meeting:
independent, prearranged,
to get a signed treaty,
force the government to change.

Secret diplomacy without the means to make their policy prevail.
Meanwhile the powers that be behind the scenes have guaranteed to see 
	them fail.

You seem beyond the jurisdiction
of the democratic powers.
You do not see the contradiction
of the watchmen in the towers,
you turn your back as night devours
the final chance, the final hours.

It was a night meeting:
these are men who won't be missed.
Their lives were just fleeting:
they don't offically exist.

@SONG: Accident on 3rd Street

Linda was killed last Saturday 'bout fifteen blocks from where she lives
in a car crash, people gathered around the gravesite, friends and relatives,
dressed in black.
Preacher mumblin' how she's bound to go to Heaven,
the service started at half-past ten, it was all over by eleven.
They said:
God's to give, and God's to take away,
but why He happened to pick Linda on a Saturday night, no one could say.
Maybe it's just one of those things,
one of those things.

They found guy who did it, he had the lobotomy and the chicken eyes,
and he gazed around the courtroom with a kind of vague suprise.
Reminded me of one of those Vikings with the long-handled swords,
the kind of guy even Joan Baez would not feel non-violent towards.
Said he wasn't looking, maybe he had had a bit too much,
it was dark, it was raining, he didn't see the light of the sun and such.
It was just one of those things,
one of those things.

I asked an old uncle of the girl the situation and he gave me this reply,
while pointing a bony finger up into the general direction of the sky:
"Get on with your own life, it is not ours to reason why,"
said he used to worry about it once when he was young,
now he doesn't even bother to try.
He left me with a feeling that what he said was basically sound,
like a black hole in space, or velocity, useless but profound.
Just one of those things,
one of those things.

Tonight I'm gonna take myself down to my local cafe,
gonna get smashed out of my mind, gonna waste myself away.
Gonna drink and drink and sink into that dark abyss,
I wanna be just like that Viking, I wanna know if ignorance is truly bliss.
Linda's in the cold ground, won't see her anymore.
Somewhere out on the highway tonight, the drunken engines roar.
It's just one of those things,
one of those things.

Oh, just one of those things.

@SONG: Strange Girl

You're a strange girl, you come from a strange family.
You're a strange girl, I don't understand your vanity.

Your mother's taking pills all day, she's looking to escape.
Your uncle's in the County Jail for statuatory rape.
Just another runner never made it to the tape.

Your cousin gets his kicks setting everything on fire,
your little brother always lets the air out of my tires,
your sister wants to prove that she's an object of desire.

You're a strange girl, you come from a strange family.
You're a strange girl, I don't understand your fantasy.

Your father's a collector and his things are of delight,
he likes cameras and binoculars and everything in sight,
he collects them in a wagon in the middle of the night.

Every holiday's a nightmare and it's giving me the chills,
everybody ends up fighting, I remember it still.
The only thing that they agree on is that it's me they want to kill.

You're a strange girl, you come from a strange family.
You're a strange girl, I don't understand your vanity.

I think we ought to break up, I could really use the rest.
Everything I like you say is something you detest,
but every time I try to leave you say you love me best.

I was looking for some mystery, I thought you'd be the girl.
I really must admit you were like nothing in this world.
I finally got the oyster but I never found pearl.

You're a strange girl, you come from a strange family.
You're a strange girl, I don't understand your vanity.

You're a strange girl, you come from a strange family.
You're a strange girl, I think you're headed for calamity.

@SONG: Russians & Americans

So here we stand at the edge of 1984, bracing ourselves once again,
for the storm approaching is those who long before huddled in caves from
	the rain.
The enemy's face is so hard to see,
sometimes it seems that I see him in you,
sometimes in me.
Who can it be?
No use consulting the prophets and leaders,
they all disagree.

Russians and Americans,
here's a song for you, who carry the weight of the world on your head.
Russians and Americans,
tell me if it's true, you really believe all the things that you've said,
the red-white-and-blue running into the red.

>From the wars of Europe, the pilgrim fathers set off with their hopes 
	 and their bond,
some settled down by the coast, others cross the mountains and into the 
	flatlands beyond.
>From the scramble and dust of Muscovite streets,
merchants develop the trade routes,
and open the Door to the East.
Pioneer waves
choked by the cold breath of winter,
and baked by the heat of the day.

Russians and Americans,
passing through the fire of revolution and coming of age.
Russians and Americans,
driven by desire, two players push to the front of the stage,
the whole world now watches each move that you make.

Two runners caught in the thrill of the race,
the finishing line is as far as the stars that the satellites chase,
why quicken the pace?
Why does it seem that you choose to lose reason
before losing face?

Russians and Americans,
driven by the past, the third world moves in the shadows you cast.
Russians and Americans,
can turn the world to dust, so much to live for, so much undiscussed,
so much in common and so little trust.

>From the streets of Athens and Rome the voices still echo to crumbling walls.
Look to the past and remember that no empire rises that sooner or later 
	won't fall.
Forever the changes we still have to face,
some people say a country is more and idea than a place.
Though nothing is safe,
we still choose the mark that we leave on the open canvas of space.

Russians and Americans,
maybe you should see into the heart of the world, not its head.
Russians and Americans,
if you want to be the beat of the world, better mind where you tread,
the footsteps of history are left where you step.

So here we stand at the edge of 1984.

@SONG: Cafe Society

Late at night,
when reality's failed and nothing is prevailing but the wind,
I come to you.

Out of sight,
like a fugitive trailing across a barren land, you let me in,
you always do.

My reason is caught by a sudden gust
of lateral thought that sweeps me
far beyond,
it's the opium of the night.

And the ocean of words
that we throw in the air
grows more absurd
and nobody seems to care,
it's a refugee's respite.
Cafe Society.

Late at night,
while the city lies sleeping and solitude is keeping me awake,
I think of you.

Dim your lights,
oh, I want to sink deep in that river of oblivion you make,
I need it, too.

Let me check-in my mind
with my coat at the door,
'cause I want to go flying
where I've never been before,
some inviting [some 3-syllable thing that ryhmes with "ravine"].

If the hand that you hold
in the dead of the night
is a little too cold,
the body seems just right,
it's a [some 5-syllable thing that also rhymes with "ravine"].
Cafe Society.

8.  1-2-3

[Sound of footsteps walking along a street.  A pause, the footsteps take two
steps up a short flight of stairs.  Five knocks, a door opens, a coctail party
is heard in the background, and a semi-snobbish voice says, "Excuse me, sir,
are you a member?"]

One, two, three.
That's how elementary
it's gonna be.
Just fine and dandy,
it's easy,
like taking candy from a baby.

>From the poor country,
when you bought a rose, you
paid them with beads,
tipped the general,
it's easy,
like taking candy from a baby.

The hard part is learning about it,
the hard part is breaking through to the truth.
The hard part is learning to doubt
what you read, what you hear, what you see on the news.

Foriegn policy,
made above my head, well,
no one asked me.
They just laughed and said
it's easy,
like taking candy from a baby.
It's easy,
like taking candy from a baby.

Once they get you sucked into the system,
once they get you under control,
the hard part is knowing how to resist
the grip that they keep on your mind and your soul.

So in the end,
we just compromise,
and pretend.
If you close your eyes,
it's easy,
like taking candy from a baby.

9.  The Candidate

Inside the lonely building
sits the candidate.
His speech is typed and ready,
the hundred-dollar plates
sit on deserted tables,
beneath flourescent lights.
But no one comes to hear him,
no cheers disturb the night.
So where are all the voters?
Where the voter's wives?
They've all gone to the movies
trying to understand their lives.
The candidate is slipping
into some dream of old,
not noticing around him
a thousand rubber chickens going cold.