| Song | Episode Of Blonde |
| Artist | Elvis Costello |
| Album | Costello: My Flame Burns Blue |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Costello | |
| I spy through the "Spirit of Curiosity" | |
| All the scandals of each vain monstrosity | |
| I gossip and I pry and I insinuate | |
| If the failure is great | |
| Then it tends to fascinate | |
| A tornado dropped a funnel cloud with twenty tons of rain | |
| Though she had the attention span of warm cellophane | |
| Her lovers fell like skittles in an 10-pin bowling lane | |
| But nothing could compare with that explosion of fame | |
| So you jump back with alarm | |
| Every Elvis has his Army | |
| Every rattlesnake its charm | |
| Can you still hear me? | |
| Am I coming through just fine? | |
| Your memory was buried in simple box of pine | |
| Did her green eyes seduce you and make you get so weak? | |
| Was there fire engine red that she left upon your cheek? | |
| It's such a shame you had to break the heart | |
| You could have counted on but the last thing you need is another | |
| ...Episode of blonde | |
| Revolving like a jeweller's figure on a music box | |
| Spangled curtain parted and a night club scene unlocks | |
| Pinned and fixed and fastened in a follow spot | |
| Arms thrown out to everyone, she's giving all she's got | |
| To the last gasp of a wounded bandeon | |
| Tiny man imploring to the ceiling fan | |
| This stolen feeling | |
| Amplified up through the busted speaker | |
| Blaring, blasting, advertising, distorted beyond reason | |
| Into the street where petty crime coats shadow panic drunkards, | |
| Half out of the taxi cab the barker seized my elbow | |
| He thought I was another lonely, likely pilgrim looking for St. Telmo | |
| Repeat chorus | |
| I tried to keep a straight face but you know it never pays | |
| He would stare into those eyes and then vacation in her gaze | |
| She was a cute little ruin that he pulled out of the rubble | |
| Now they're both living in a soft soap bubble | |
| The film producer's contemplating, entertaining suicide | |
| The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway child bride | |
| The timepiece stretched across his wrist | |
| She couldn't care less cast aside | |
| The scent that so repelled him that he swore: "insecticide" | |
| And there's farewell note to mother | |
| That will conclude "Your loving Son" | |
| "Oh, tell your other children not to do as I have done" | |
| Chorus | |
| So an artist drags a toothbrush across the first thing that he sees | |
| And names the painting "Christ's Last Exit into Purgatory" | |
| Receiving secret messages from an alien intelligence | |
| Paying off his stalker it's a legitimate expense | |
| So paste up pictures of those shrill and hollow girls | |
| With puckered lips | |
| She's a trophy on your arm | |
| A magnet for your money clip | |
| The moral of this story is the sorry tale to say | |
| They're pieced with links of chains so they can never run away |
| zuo ci : Costello | |
| I spy through the " Spirit of Curiosity" | |
| All the scandals of each vain monstrosity | |
| I gossip and I pry and I insinuate | |
| If the failure is great | |
| Then it tends to fascinate | |
| A tornado dropped a funnel cloud with twenty tons of rain | |
| Though she had the attention span of warm cellophane | |
| Her lovers fell like skittles in an 10pin bowling lane | |
| But nothing could compare with that explosion of fame | |
| So you jump back with alarm | |
| Every Elvis has his Army | |
| Every rattlesnake its charm | |
| Can you still hear me? | |
| Am I coming through just fine? | |
| Your memory was buried in simple box of pine | |
| Did her green eyes seduce you and make you get so weak? | |
| Was there fire engine red that she left upon your cheek? | |
| It' s such a shame you had to break the heart | |
| You could have counted on but the last thing you need is another | |
| ... Episode of blonde | |
| Revolving like a jeweller' s figure on a music box | |
| Spangled curtain parted and a night club scene unlocks | |
| Pinned and fixed and fastened in a follow spot | |
| Arms thrown out to everyone, she' s giving all she' s got | |
| To the last gasp of a wounded bandeon | |
| Tiny man imploring to the ceiling fan | |
| This stolen feeling | |
| Amplified up through the busted speaker | |
| Blaring, blasting, advertising, distorted beyond reason | |
| Into the street where petty crime coats shadow panic drunkards, | |
| Half out of the taxi cab the barker seized my elbow | |
| He thought I was another lonely, likely pilgrim looking for St. Telmo | |
| Repeat chorus | |
| I tried to keep a straight face but you know it never pays | |
| He would stare into those eyes and then vacation in her gaze | |
| She was a cute little ruin that he pulled out of the rubble | |
| Now they' re both living in a soft soap bubble | |
| The film producer' s contemplating, entertaining suicide | |
| The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway child bride | |
| The timepiece stretched across his wrist | |
| She couldn' t care less cast aside | |
| The scent that so repelled him that he swore: " insecticide" | |
| And there' s farewell note to mother | |
| That will conclude " Your loving Son" | |
| " Oh, tell your other children not to do as I have done" | |
| Chorus | |
| So an artist drags a toothbrush across the first thing that he sees | |
| And names the painting " Christ' s Last Exit into Purgatory" | |
| Receiving secret messages from an alien intelligence | |
| Paying off his stalker it' s a legitimate expense | |
| So paste up pictures of those shrill and hollow girls | |
| With puckered lips | |
| She' s a trophy on your arm | |
| A magnet for your money clip | |
| The moral of this story is the sorry tale to say | |
| They' re pieced with links of chains so they can never run away |
| zuò cí : Costello | |
| I spy through the " Spirit of Curiosity" | |
| All the scandals of each vain monstrosity | |
| I gossip and I pry and I insinuate | |
| If the failure is great | |
| Then it tends to fascinate | |
| A tornado dropped a funnel cloud with twenty tons of rain | |
| Though she had the attention span of warm cellophane | |
| Her lovers fell like skittles in an 10pin bowling lane | |
| But nothing could compare with that explosion of fame | |
| So you jump back with alarm | |
| Every Elvis has his Army | |
| Every rattlesnake its charm | |
| Can you still hear me? | |
| Am I coming through just fine? | |
| Your memory was buried in simple box of pine | |
| Did her green eyes seduce you and make you get so weak? | |
| Was there fire engine red that she left upon your cheek? | |
| It' s such a shame you had to break the heart | |
| You could have counted on but the last thing you need is another | |
| ... Episode of blonde | |
| Revolving like a jeweller' s figure on a music box | |
| Spangled curtain parted and a night club scene unlocks | |
| Pinned and fixed and fastened in a follow spot | |
| Arms thrown out to everyone, she' s giving all she' s got | |
| To the last gasp of a wounded bandeon | |
| Tiny man imploring to the ceiling fan | |
| This stolen feeling | |
| Amplified up through the busted speaker | |
| Blaring, blasting, advertising, distorted beyond reason | |
| Into the street where petty crime coats shadow panic drunkards, | |
| Half out of the taxi cab the barker seized my elbow | |
| He thought I was another lonely, likely pilgrim looking for St. Telmo | |
| Repeat chorus | |
| I tried to keep a straight face but you know it never pays | |
| He would stare into those eyes and then vacation in her gaze | |
| She was a cute little ruin that he pulled out of the rubble | |
| Now they' re both living in a soft soap bubble | |
| The film producer' s contemplating, entertaining suicide | |
| The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway child bride | |
| The timepiece stretched across his wrist | |
| She couldn' t care less cast aside | |
| The scent that so repelled him that he swore: " insecticide" | |
| And there' s farewell note to mother | |
| That will conclude " Your loving Son" | |
| " Oh, tell your other children not to do as I have done" | |
| Chorus | |
| So an artist drags a toothbrush across the first thing that he sees | |
| And names the painting " Christ' s Last Exit into Purgatory" | |
| Receiving secret messages from an alien intelligence | |
| Paying off his stalker it' s a legitimate expense | |
| So paste up pictures of those shrill and hollow girls | |
| With puckered lips | |
| She' s a trophy on your arm | |
| A magnet for your money clip | |
| The moral of this story is the sorry tale to say | |
| They' re pieced with links of chains so they can never run away |