Elvis Costello

It's a breath you took too late.It's a death that's worse than fate.

Death wears a big hat.

I could say it was the nights when I was lonelyand you were the only one who'd talk.I could tell you that I like your sensitivity,when you know it's the way that you walk.

You think you're alone until you realize you're in it.Now fear is here to stay, love is here for a visit.

She's no angel.He's no saint.

He's such a dragHe's not insaneIt's just that everybodyHas to feel his pain.

Life is so strangeI don't know whyBut somebody, somebody has to cry.

Strict TimeThere's a hand on a wire that leads to my mouth I can hear you knocking but I'm not coming out Don't want to be a puppet or a ventriloquist 'Cause there's no ventilation on a critical list Fingers creeping up my spine are not mine to resist Strict timeChorus: Toughen up, toughen up Keep your lip buttoned up Strict timeOh the muscles flex and the fingers curl And a cold sweat breaks out on the sweater girl Strict time Oh he's all hands, don't touch that dial The courting cold wars weekend witch trial Strict time All the boys are straight laced and the girls are frigid The talk is two-faced and the rules are rigid 'cause it's strict time Strict timeYou talk in hushed tones, I talk in lush tones Try to look Italian through the musical Valium Strict time Thinking of grand larceny Smoking the everlasting cigarette of chastity Cute assistants staying alive More like a hand job than the hand jive Strict time

Bad lovers face to face in the morning Shy apologies and polite regrets Slow dances that left no warning of Outraged glances and indiscreet yawning Good manners and bad breath get you nowhere Even presidents have newspaper lovers Ministers go crawling under covers She's no angel He's no saint They're all covered up with white washed grease paint And you say...Chorus: The teacher never told you anything but white lies But you never see the lies And you believe Oh you know you have been captured You feel so civilized And you look so pretty in your new lace sleevesThe salty lips of the socialite sisters With their continental fingers that have never seen working blisters Oh I know they've got their problems I wish I was one of them They say daddy's coming home soon With his sergeant stripes and his Empire mug and spoonNo more fast buck And when are they gonna learn their lesson When are they gonna stop all of these victory processions And you say...

It was a real party of swells.

The radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools tryin' to anesthetize the way that you feel.

I believe that music is connected by human passions and curiosities rather than by marketing strategies.

The battle with the bottle is nothing so novel.

Can a mere song change a people's minds? I doubt that it is so. But a song can infiltrate your heart and the heart may change your mind.

Women hear rhythm differently than men.

Happiness isn't a fortune in a cookie. It's deeper, wider, funnier, and more transporting than that.

We're all just animals. That's all we are, and everything else is just an elaborate justification of our instincts. That's where music comes from. And romantic poetry. And bad novels.

Smokey Robinson writes the heartfelt songs, whereas it was my job to write the songs about weakness and failure in love.