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Hurt ~ Danse Russe

submitted by kceaton1

1 decade 2 years 5 months 2 weeks ago

Lyrics for the song are at the start; I'll also include the poem by William Carlos Williams that this is based on at the end.

LYRICS:

Hold onto me please
Don't you let go of me
Come on over
Roll on over
I just need to feel you breathe

Hold onto me please
Don't you let go of me
Think on over
Roll on over
I just need to feel you breathe....

Into my head is out of my mind
Then I become a day behind
And I can't help but wonder why that some days are the very worst case
When I cannot believe that I'm living this way
Kiss me tell me its okay and I'll guess it's just a twist of the fate

There's a tiny dancer in my bed
And she never has too much to say
She reminds me of the Danse' Russe
When my emotions are wounded
Her motions and movements chase the ghosts from me

Hold on to me please
Don't you let go of me
Come on over
Roll on over
I just need to feel you breathe

Hold on to me please
Don't you let go of me
Come on over
Think it over
I just need to feel you...

Quietly while you sleep
Whispering the sweetest things
Close those eyes and start the dream
'Cause all of this is what you mean to me

Come over and I'll show you
Shamrocks are an eight-leaf clover
Won't you reach up and touch my shoulder
And sing to me heavenly
Yes, sing for the life of me

About a tiny dancer in my bed
When she never has too much to say
She reminds me of the Danse' Russe
When my emotions are wounded
Her motions and movements chase the ghosts from me

'Cause there's a tiny dancer in my bed
And she never has too much to say
She reminds me of the Danse' Russe
When my emotions are wounded
Her motions and movements ...

Won't you chase my ghost from me...

So much emotion, so much in motion
Chase this ghost for me.

William Carlos Williams Poem:

Danse Russe

If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?