The spotlights hit you, Mick, as if they were the sun and brighten up
your teeth, your dark tongue, your intensity, your scream, your gibe
'My body is my music, my cunning, my house
a woman who's gone (the one haunting my dreams), your
roar, how your voice is delirious in me'
And I picture you in your sleep, your arrogance, tiredness
and that your love making is a rhythmic howling of the masses
And I see Keith, the old guy, the one who glitters the most
saying to the girl in blue: 'baby, I’d do you,
but the stage is my bed I climb onto beside the teeth, velvet
silk, old rags and I can’t fool anyone - while
Mick sings by the footlights - I’m all intensity and give it all away,
through all the deaths of this body, sewn up and re-stitched
Let the spotlights be good to me. Because they drive me on,'
he shouts, lifting his arms like an appearing angel:
- I can’t, I can’t, I can´t
And you can’t know -
No, I can’t, can I? But you are beautiful, old man, I say to Keith
You impose beauty and that, old man, gives me thirst