Presentada en

Créditos

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
David Bowie
David Bowie
Stimme und Gesang
Tony Visconti
Tony Visconti
Bass
John Lodge
John Lodge
Bassgitarre
John Cambridge
John Cambridge
Schlagzeug
Mick Wayne
Mick Wayne
Gitarre
Tim Renwick
Tim Renwick
Gitarre
Benny Marshall
Benny Marshall
Mundharmonika
Herbie Flowers
Herbie Flowers
Bass
Keith Christmas
Keith Christmas
Akustische Gitarre
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
David Bowie
David Bowie
Songwriter:in
Tony Visconti
Tony Visconti
Arrangeur:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Tony Visconti
Tony Visconti
Produzent:in
Barry Sheffield
Barry Sheffield
Ingenieur:in
Malcolm Toft
Malcolm Toft
Ingenieur:in
Tim Renwick
Tim Renwick
Ingenieur:in
Ray Staff
Ray Staff
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Ken Scott
Ken Scott
Aufnahmeingenieur:in

Letras

[Verse 1]
Spy, spy, pretty girl, I see you see me through your window
Don't turn your nose up
Well, you can if you need to, you won't be the first or last
It must strain you to look down so far from your father's house
Well, I know what a louse like me in his house could do for you
I'm the cream of the great utopia dream
And you're the gleam in the depths of your banker's spleen
[Verse 2]
I'm a phallus in pigtails, and there's blood in my nose
And my tissue is rotting where the rats chew my bones
And my eye socket's empty, see nothing but pain
I keep having this brainstorm about twelve times a day
So now you could spend the morning walking with me quite amazed
'Cause I'm unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed
[Verse 3]
I've got eyes in my backside that see electric tomatoes
On credit card rye bread, there are children in washrooms
Holding hands with a queen and my head's full of murders
Where only killers scream
So now you could spend the morning talking with me quite amazed
And I'm raving mad and somewhat slightly dazed
[Verse 4]
Now, you run from your window to the porcelain bowl
And you're sick from your ears to the red parquet floor
And the Braque on the wall slides down your front
And eats through your belly, it's very catching
So, now, you should spend the morning
Lying to your father quite amazed
About the strange unwashed and happily slightly dazed
Written by: David Bowie
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