Crime of Passion [Jerome Pradon] - 12. White Sheets | Текст песни

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• Crime of Passion [Jerome Pradon]
• 12. White Sheets

I never had a room that I could ever call my own,
Nor had the kind of bed where one could drown in sheets of snow,
Just narrow beds and folding cots are all I've ever known,
The kind where one sleeps as though out of doors all cold
and windblown.
When I was young I studied hard to get my lessons right,
And in the dining room like a good boy, night after night,
I made my bed up in the corner, tucked myself in tight,
And dreamed in Technicolor far from everyday black and white.
When I grew older I would hold my breath when sneaking home
To not disturb my parents with another tale of woe,
They had to rise for work before the dawn began to show,
And naturally my paltry love affairs were never condoned
And so I went from town to town where nothing ever happened,
Through sorry suburbs hoping for a look, a gesture, something,
Someone, somewhere, somehow would make a new existence begin,
And I'd escape the sort of life my tired parents were living.

It's in white sheets that everything begins, everything ends.
Perfectly pressed, they join the folds of yellowing linens,
Never quite taken from the cedar chest of sullen nights,
Dry virgin sheets the witnesses to a dreary, petty life.
Woe unto you, who couldn't bear to live only half-way,
You, who aspired to turn each day into a holiday.
Your lilac sheets were blossoming
With deep purple flowers mingling
With poppies whose hearts were glistening,
The scarlet of clover, black carnations,
Bouquets of sage and pink impatiens
Ruby red roses, hyacinths were
Bound by their wicked fragrance in a putrescent opera.

I've known so many sheets worn old and thin before their time,
Sad hotel sheets imprinted with a field of flowering vines,
As simple as the ones that bloom across the wall entwined
Whose poison has decayed love after love since time out of mind.
It's in these washed out flowers that I learned to simplify
Restraining all my passion, all my plans, my reasons why
I held those bodies, those few hearts who taught me how to cry,
To heal my soul of all the errors that made me want to die.
And there one day between those two dry polyester sheets,
When I am least expecting it, I'll see you come to me
Bringing those things that make a king of worst necessity
And in my dubious sheets, true love will come to rule in glory.
And laughing carelessly we'll go to choose our very first pair
Of pure white sheets like sails upon the sea of our desires
Sails of a boat, veils of a bride and solemn as a prayer
Perfumed with incense like the holy cloth laid upon the altar

It's in white sheets that everything begins, everything ends
I wouldn't know just how to seize my chance, to comprehend
This irony that reigns tonight in total anarchy
White sheets are stained and violated, blackened and bloody.
Woe unto you, who couldn't bear to live only half-way,
You, who aspired to turn each day into a holiday.
Your lilac sheets were blossoming
With deep purple flowers mingling
With poppies whose hearts were glistening,
The scarlet of clover, black carnations,
Bouquets of sage and pink impatience
Ruby red roses, hyacinths were
Bound by their wicked fragrance in a putrescent opera.

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