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Prodigal Son

Inedit - 01/01/2995

Bruce Springsteen

In a place where outlaws are banned from the range1
On a day end mountains have fallen to foes
In a land where boys are forbidden to grow
And metal is the only master1
Where the highway ends and the desert breaks1
And buildings are bent from great earthquakes
And statesmen crawl on their bellies like snakes
And feed off the public hunger
In a land where sky-scrapers scratch the sky1
And delinquent daughters to their mothers still lie
Papa stands on the corner he wants to beat the drum
Welcome home my prodigal son

When rivers run raging through city streets
And great eagles have fallen from their lofty peaks
And policemen moonlight a sideshow freaks
For the final crime is committed
When Presidents ride in Ford Mustangs
And the black man releases his Cadillac fangs
And you checked out in bed as the landlord bangs
The young girl next door for the rent
Where telegraph wires are attached to your mind
Delinquent daughters to their mothers still lie
Papa stands on the corner waitin' to beat the drum
Welcome home my prodigal son

When the telephone rings and falls off the hook
And your legs have been stolen by some defense department crook
And you startin' to think about writing a book
But now you won't pledge allegiance to anything
And the maid comes in with coffee and cake
In a low-cut dress she wore just for your sake
You explain youre not dead and she takes it as a compliment
And sticks out her tongue and asks for requests
In a land where skyscrapers scratch the sky1
And delinquent daughters to their mothers still lie
Papa stands on the corner waitin' to beat the drum
Welcome home my prodigal son

And the mercury men with hydraulic joints
They bribe with a smile and hold you up in the alley at pinpoint
They ask you to bend over that they may anoint
You with the holy water of your profession
When the line between love and hate gets so thin
And your body takes over when your mind gives in
And your lady lover demands that you pin her to the floor
But its too late your reflexes are shot

And the man on the corner with the nervous twitch
Whispers "Hey, how would you like to buy a nice bitch
She's a .38, and I got her loaded in all six"
He keeps talkin', and you just keep walkin'
And you reach for the sky and get stuck on a steeple1
You reach out for love but you get lost in the people
You run through the canyon, screaming like an eagle
Then you fall face first in the mud
In a land where skyscrapers scratch the sky
And delinquent daughters have their own children who lie
Papa stands on the corner, watchin' the parade, he wants to beat the drum
Welcome home, welcome home my prodigal son
Welcome home, my prodigal son



Traductions : Philippe35
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