Trembling Blue Stars
Helen Reddy She's counting radio towers as she travels through the darkness.
The way she did when she was young.
She's watching red lights flashing, out to the hidden horizon.
She feels the air is full of songs, crackling with songs.
Static and songs.
She's counting radio towers as she travels through the darkness.
The romance of radio at night.
She's watching red lights flashing, out to the hidden horizon.
She's calmer for those flashing lights, that tail off till they're out of sight.
That tail off till they're out of sight.
As the door to their room closes, another door then opens, to a world where only they exist.
These nights aren't made for sleeping. These nights are made for melting.
Where does she end and he begin? What is her and what is him?
Where does she end and he begin?
As the door to their room closes, another door then opens, to a world where they can live their dreams.
These nights aren't made for sleeping. These nights are made for melting.
Made for going to extremes. How they love these motel scenes.
Hotel and motel scenes.
A young girl listens to Helen Reddy, sees herself as "Angie Baby".
Her side her radio never leaves.
A signal sails across the water, a broadcast from Louisiana.
Jamaica picks up New Orleans. Jamaica's listening in.
Jamaica's listening in.
She's counting radio towers as she travels through the darkness.
The way she did when she was young.
This was inspired partially by the spirit and style of the once-great KING BROTHERS (their newest stuff kind of blows... what's with great Asian rock bands adding bullshit alterna-vocal-melodies to everything???)
