When I posted an earlier version of this song only a few posts back, I’d meant to add the back up vocal that is added here. Otherwise, the song’s about the same but I think the additional vocal kind of brings it alive.
Come now y’ bold and rational men
and march y’ straight ahead
y’ fear not the fire of the dragon
nor the carrious teeth of death
And come now, lad
fear not the gods
you’ve often said we’re all alone
d’n’cha see your where your path must lie
straight into the unknowable
good speed now
you’re on your own
But wait now put your hand on the earth
and see where your life flows from
this good dark earth
is the mother of us all
y’know you are her son
and come and gaze into the sky
see how dark and deep
you are the prodigal lost in time
lost in a dream kept sleep
Well I’m scraping the bottom
of yesterday’s bucket again
I wore out my memories
and then I just played them to shreds
I’ll spend my tomorrows
my head bent in sorrow
my heart torn with pain and regret
And all the same
it’s my same old refrain:
I swear I won’t
begin again
and everyone says just put it to bed it all worked out for the best but how could they know that I love you so and I won’t stop til I’m dead
I gave up forever
I gave up tomorrow for good
I gave up thinkin’ I could
pull it together
I never could
I gave up on new love
I gave up on hope
I gave up on faith
but never on ghosts
And I gave up thinkin’
I could ever begin again
I won’t begin again
He met her in a cafe near Montmartre. But he knew her slightly from back home; she’d been in one of his classes. He’d never talked to her, but he’d often noticed her, usually laughing at the center of a knot of young men.
At first, he didn’t recognize her, only saw the back of her head in the cafe, barely noticing the jet black bob of shiny hair. But one of the three men with her at the table kept staring at him. For a while he thought there would be trouble — the young man’s gaze was so intent. Finally, the man walked over.
“No,” he said, trying to size the guy up. Suddenly, he realized the man was probably gay. He spoke English with the adopted cadence of someone signaling a certain delicacy of spirit.
“My friend,” the man continued, “She thinks she knows you.”
The girl had turned around, a faint, quizzical smile on her face. Then he knew who it was. “I’m not from New York. But I do know your friend, I think. We went to college together.”
He joined them at their table and, after a while, the men left, and he was alone with her.
It was Paris. And she was beautiful.
Neither of them were what you would call free, it turned out, but with their encumbrances half a world away, it was easy enough to give in to the moment.
And the moment gave way to a series of afternoons and evenings and long nights talking and drinking and walking through the streets and along the river. Paris can draw out a moment like that… draw it out into reveries and dreams…
Instead of renting a car and driving by himself to Italy, as he’d long planned, he found himself with the girl, driving along the northern coast.
When they got to St. Malo a series of storms blew in off the North Atlantic, rolling in over the dark walls of the old city and hammering the ancient, rippled windows of the tiny upstairs room in the pension they found, keeping them there for days.
Or maybe they kept each other there. The first morning, he walked out during a break in the rain and bought a small bag of groceries, a loaf of bread, cheese, two bottles of local wine.
He told himself he wasn’t falling in love.
Back home, back on the job after his first real vacation from his first real, career job… he found himself daydreaming about her constantly. She was still in France, in a graduate program oriented to rich Americans, studying post-deconstructionalist, neo-Marxist film criticism. Or something. It seemed to change with every letter.
He dreamed of her and walking by the Seine… or the long days in the little pension in St. Malo.
But she wrote of school, gossiped about her gay male friends and their businessmen boyfriends, made small talk.
He could feel the distance grow. With every letter, she drew farther away.
A lot farther than just the distance from L.A. to Paris…
lyrics Too Much Trouble Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine
So Why do I love you, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine
Christine on a beach, Christine on a plane
Christine in a cafe with the boulevardiers
Christine on the set Christine in my head
Christine in my heart and tearing up my bed
You’re too much trouble, Christine…
Christine I’m terrified just holding your hand
Christine you twist me up like no one else can
Christine you’re crazy but you got a plan
world domination begins with one man
You’re too much trouble, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine
So Why do I love you, Christine You’re too much trouble, Christine
