Interpret:

Patti Smith

Album:

Easter

Blood on the T.V., ten o'clock news. 
Souls are invaded, heart in a groove. 
Beatin' and beatin' so outta time. 
What's the mad matter with the church chimes? 
Here comes a stranger up on Ninth Avenue. 
Leanin' green tower, indiscreet view. 
Over the cloud, over the bridge, 
sensitive muscle, sensitive ridge of my 
space monkey. Sign of the time-time 
Space monkey, so outta line-line. 
Space monkey, sort of divine. 
And he's mine, mine, all mine. 


Pierre Clementi, snot full o' cocaine. 
The se**** streets, why it's all so insane. 
Humans are running, lavender room. 
Hoverin' liquid, move over moon for my 
space monkey. Sign of the time-time 
Space monkey, sort of divine-vine 
Space monkey, so out of line and he's mine, mine, oh he's mine 


(spoken) 
A stranger comes up to him; hands him an old, rusty Polaroid. 
It starts crumbling in his hands. 
He says, "Oh man, I don't get the picture. This is no picture. 
This is just...this just-a...this just-a... 
This is my jack-knife. This is my jack-knife. 
This is my jack-knife. This is my jack." [shriek] 


Rude excavation, landin' site. 
Boy hesitatin', jack-knife. 
He rips his leg open, so out of time. 
Blood and light runnin'. It's all like a dream. 
Light of my life, he's dressed in flame. 
It's all so predestined. It's all such a game for my 
space monkey. Sign of the time-time. 
Space monkey, sort of divine-vine. 
Space monkey, so out of line and it's all just space, just space. 


There he is, up in a tree. 
Oh, I hear him callin' down to me. 
That banana-shaped object ain't no banana. 
It's a bright, yellow U.F.O. 
And he's coming to get me. Here I go. 
Up, up, up, up, up, up, up ,up, up ... 
Oh, goodbye mama. I'll never do dishes again. 
Here I go from my body. 
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Help!