It's Hard to be a Saint in the City

No one reading this blog would know this, very often I think in songs. Not like a musical that seems all weird an inappropriate. More like I get a song or lyric in my head and it's with me all day, 98.2% of the time it's a song I like. Today it's the title of this blog.

If you don't realize I am a Bowie fan. I have over 100 gb of concert bootlegs and almost 100 bootleg dvds of interviews and concerts. Bowie is one of the few artists that has never cared about the fact his music is out there without a direct link to his wallet. His attitude is that at least it's out there and the true fans will buy whatever he can put out there...very true for me at least!

Why this is relevant is that while some people would be annoyed having a tune stuck all day long, I think it helps me create. I had Bowie's in Space (linked to the video)by Flight of the Conchords until I broke down and made a typography poster for class...it was overkill for what was assigned, but that's my style too ;-) Thankfully I did get a couple big projects done...now to get back to the Iman project...lol.

While Bruce Springsteen wrote the lyrics, of course I prefer the Bowie version. I linked the title to the Bowie version...Enjoy!)

It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City
I had skin like leather and the diamond-hard look of a cobra
I was born blue and weathered but I burst just like a supernova
I could walk like Brando right into the sun
Then dance just like a Casanova
With my blackjack and jacket and hair slicked sweet
Silver star studs on my duds like a Harley in heat
When I strut down the street I could hear its heartbeat
The sisters fell back and said "Don't that man look pretty"
The cripple on the corner cried out "Nickels for your pity"
Them gasoline boys downtown sure talk gritty
It's so hard to be a saint in the city

I was the king of the alley, mama, I could talk some trash
I was the prince of the paupers crowned downtown at the beggar's bash
I was the pimp's main prophet I kept everything cool
Just a backstreet gambler with the luck to lose
And when the heat came down it was left on the ground
The devil appeared like Jesus through the steam in the street
Showin' me a hand I knew even the cops couldn't beat
I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dove into the heat
It's so hard to be a saint when you're just a boy out on the street

And the sages of the subway sit just like the living dead
As the tracks clack out the rhythm their eyes fixed straight ahead
They ride the line of balance and hold on by just a thread
But it's too hot in these tunnels you can get hit up by the heat
You get up to get out at your next stop but they push you back down in your seat
Your heart starts beatin' faster as you struggle to your feet
Then you're outa that hole and back up on the street

And them South Side sisters sure look pretty
The cripple on the corner cries out "Nickels for your pity"
And them downtown boys sure talk gritty
It's so hard to be a saint in the city