Do you want to be an angel,
Do you want to be a star,
Do you want to play some magic on my guitar?
Do you want to be a poet,
Do you want to be my string?
You could be anything.
Do you want to be the lover of another Undercover?
You could even be the man on the moon.
Do you want to be the player,
Do you want to be the string?
Let me tell you something,
It just don't mean a thing.
You see it really doesn't matter
when you're buried in disguise
by the dark glass on your eyes,
though your flesh has crystallised:
Still....you turn me on.
Still....you turn me on.
Ummmhh....you turn me on.
Do you want to be the pillow where I lay my head,
Do you want to be the feathers lying in my bed?
Do you want to be a colour cover magazine:
create a scene.
Every day a little sadder,
A little madder,
Someone get me a ladder.
Do you want to be the singer,
Do you want to be the song?
Let me tell you something
you just couldn't be more wrong.
You see I really have to tell you
that it all gets so intense.
From my experience
It just doesn't seem to make sense,
Still....you turn me on.
Ummmmmh....you turn me on.
Still.........you turn me on.
~Emerson,Lake, and Palmer |
