Paul Pedersen, Jr. songs
LA RUE SANS ESPOIR
C. Paul Evans Pedersen, Jr.
Here in the caverned streets,
On the night-soaked cobblestones,
Clickin' heels, they come to call-all-allin'.
Cold are the yellow lamp lights,
That penetrate her bones,
Chilled from the dark that keeps on fall..al..al-in'.
Flashin' are his virused eyes,
As they're searchin' for a taste,
Of the age-old remedy-ee-ee.
She barters her flesh and her soul,
For the hunger of his lust,
And the obsession of their nee-ee-eed.
Virgin angels and dark-eyed strangers,
Crawl across the razor blade tonite.
Here on the endless boulevard they call "La Rue Sans Espoir",
Where good and evil fight their fi-i-ight.
Freedom makes slaves of those desiring freedom, when but their soul is theirs to sell.
Shackled in the chains of hope that blind and bleed 'em,
The light is always on... but it's too dark to tell.
Iron are the fingers that hold,
The shimmering golden coin,
That lures the way to her esca-a-ape.
Then bleeds out the virgin's last prayer,
From her Catholic groin,
As the wages of the night are pay-ay-aid.
Virgin angels and dark-eyed strangers,
Crawl across the razor blade tonight.
Here on the endless boulevard they call "La Rue Sans Espoir",
Where good and evil fight their fi-i-ght.
C. Paul Evans Pedersen, Jr.
Here in the caverned streets,
On the night-soaked cobblestones,
Clickin' heels, they come to call-all-allin'.
Cold are the yellow lamp lights,
That penetrate her bones,
Chilled from the dark that keeps on fall..al..al-in'.
Flashin' are his virused eyes,
As they're searchin' for a taste,
Of the age-old remedy-ee-ee.
She barters her flesh and her soul,
For the hunger of his lust,
And the obsession of their nee-ee-eed.
Virgin angels and dark-eyed strangers,
Crawl across the razor blade tonite.
Here on the endless boulevard they call "La Rue Sans Espoir",
Where good and evil fight their fi-i-ight.
Freedom makes slaves of those desiring freedom, when but their soul is theirs to sell.
Shackled in the chains of hope that blind and bleed 'em,
The light is always on... but it's too dark to tell.
Iron are the fingers that hold,
The shimmering golden coin,
That lures the way to her esca-a-ape.
Then bleeds out the virgin's last prayer,
From her Catholic groin,
As the wages of the night are pay-ay-aid.
Virgin angels and dark-eyed strangers,
Crawl across the razor blade tonight.
Here on the endless boulevard they call "La Rue Sans Espoir",
Where good and evil fight their fi-i-ght.
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