Suzanne Vega is a fascinating singer-songwriter who writes
wistful songs especially well. This is one of my favourites, not only because
of the lyric but because of the delivery: so bouncy, lilting, and lurching,
redirecting the listener’s attention from what the speaker is actually saying.
**
In Liverpool (Suzanne Vega)
In Liverpool
On Sunday
No traffic on the avenue
The light is pale and thin like you
No sound down
In this part of town
Except for the boy in the belfry
He's crazy
He's throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he's missing something
Or someone that he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't
I certainly am
Homesick for a clock
That told the same time
Sometimes you made no sense to me
If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms
You'll probably swallow some of their history
And the boy in the belfry
He's crazy
He's throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he's missing something
Or someone that he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't
I certainly am
I'll be the girl who sings for my supper
You'll be the monk whose forehead is high
He'll be the man who's already working
Spreading a memory all through the sky
In Liverpool
On Sunday
No reason to even remember you now
Except for the boy in the belfry
He's crazy
He's throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He's ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he's missing something
Or someone that he knows he can't have now
And if he isn't
I certainly am
In Liverpool
In Liverpool
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