paroles de chanson Bitter Fingers - Live At Wembley / 1975 - Elton John

I'm going on the circuit, doing all the clubs
And I really need a song, boys, to stir those workers up
And get their wives to sing it with me just like in the pubs
When I worked the good old pubs in Stepney

Could you knock a line or two together for a friend?
Sentimental tear inducing with a happy end
And we need a tune to open
Our season at Southend, can you help us?

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really, really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

I like the warm blue flame, the hazy heat it brings
It loosens up the muscles and forces you to sing
You know it's just another hit and run
From the tin pan alley twins

And there's a chance that one day
You might write a standard lads, so churn them out quick and fast
And we'll still pat your backs
'Cause we need what we can get to launch another dozen acts
Are you working?

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really, really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing
At the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes

It seems to me a change is really, really needed
I'm sick of tra-la-las and la-de-das
No more long days hacking hunks of garbage
Bitter fingers never swung on swinging stars, swinging stars

Swinging stars, swinging stars
It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
So much to prove, so few to tell you why
Those old die-hards in Denmark Street start laughing