var texte = new Object(); texte['MissButterfly'] = "

Miss Butterfly

Intro
You are strangely titillating
the eyelids of my soul.
You are always recalibrating
my imagination's buttonhole.
You are the living paragon
of a freely spinning electron.

Miss Butterfly is beautiful. Miss Butterfly is great.
Miss Butterfly is dancing, slowly dancing from mate to mate.
Miss Butterfly is eating and she’s a gourmet quite discreet.
Miss Butterfly is sipping pollen, that's a real treat.
Miss Butterfly is sleeping in a house made of dawn.
She is a marvellous tiny rainbow always reeling on and on.
Miss Butterfly is a gentle virgin dreaming of an affair.
She’s pollinating flowers and powdering the air.

Refrain
Miss Butterfly is a twinkling blossom looking for a twig.
She is a freelance spin artist always ready for a gig.
Miss Butterfly is a twinkling blossom looking for a twig.
She is a freelance spin artist always ready for a gig.
Miss Butterfly is groovy.
Miss Butterfly is great.
She is the star in her own movie,
a reeling blade (made) of thin jade.

Miss Butterfly is a maverick who doesn't pay no taxes.
She is Ulysses the sailor in the seas of the galaxies.
Nobody can hold her, she slips away like an eel.
The gawk who tries to catch her, she makes him fall and squeal.
Nobody can have her, she belongs but to herself.
She is a jaywalking tippler, a jubilant little elf.
She is a hypnotist who keeps pulling you by a hidden silken string.
She’s an innocent floating fluff, yet she also knows how to sting.

Miss Butterfly drives you crazy. Miss Butterfly makes you mad.
She makes you feel so happy. She makes you feel quite sad.
She tickles you, she tricks you and she makes you run after
her. And if you’ll knock your teeth out, she’ll burst into laughter.
She is sweeter than golden honey. You are wax in her hands.
You are full of desire, quite confused by her sarabands.
And you are itching and twitching as if tormented by ants.
You are burning with fever turned on by her eerie slants.

Miss Butterfly is stupendous. She is an incredible magician.
She is colder than ice. She is sharper than a mathematician.
She adds you, she subtracts you and she multiplies you by ten.
She divides you and she squares you and then she nullifies you again.
She gets hold of your imagination and she celebrates her voodoo.
You don't understand what's happening and she’ll give you no clue.
She will encode you and decode you in a pitiless speed
until you feel as bad as a forked out garden weed.

Miss Butterfly is a dangerous witch. She keeps fooling you blind.
She is insidious. She is cruel. She keeps eating up your mind.
She squeezes you like an orange, then she’ll discard the rind.
She is the creative kind of a butcher. You're the meat she is out to grind.
The more you are in love with her and the more you disclose,
the more she will trick you once again to metamorphose,
until you don't know anymore, whether you're dead or alive.
She will keep you always panting in a passionate overdrive.

"; texte['FaceLike'] = "

A Face Like an Unkempt Bed

I'm sitting in my bar, in a downtrodden spot
ferociously clinging to the only face I've got.
I may look like a damn fool, yet actually I'm a great wit
stubbornly clinging to the unstable stool on which I sit.
Time and again life has tried to get rid of me,
yet in vain because I'm a man as noble as Robert E. Lee.
I'm a husky singer with a knack for the minor key.
I'm a rusty swinger taking a crack at every jamboree.
I'm still very much alive. I'm the lowland king.
Don't you see, baby, in my ear there is a golden ring?

Refrain
I've got a face, baby, and it looks like an unkempt bed.
I've still got an ace up my sleeve. I'm still one step ahead.
I've been wounded several times, yet I've never bled.
Probably because I've got this face, a face like an unkempt bed.

You can always fade away even before you actually die.
And a bar can parch your throat if it runs out of rye.
You may easily become a tree with no green foliage left.
You may even become the innocent victim of your own theft.
You may always become an empty nest where the bird is gone.
And if you lose your body, you'll be a lonely soul on the run.
I'm a husky singer with a knack for the minor key.
I'm a rusty swinger taking a crack at every jamboree.
I'm still very much alive. I'm the lowland king.
Don't you see, baby, in my ear there is a golden ring?

"; texte['BigSnow'] = "

Big Snow Flakes

For days on end the wind has whipped all the trees.
For days on end the wind has ripped off my fleece.
Its rage kept circling like a wolf around a lame antelope.
And many a desperate man went looking for a rope.
The sun has lost all hope and it hid its face.
It headed for another space.
And we lost our grace.
And my heart was going mad.
My mood it turned black.
I was caught in a cul-de-sac.
I had lost the right track.
But then all of sudden the storm was gone and dead.
And all of a sudden there were white feathers whirling on my bed.
There was an eerie silence settling on the wings of the night
and out of the darkness there emerged the promise of new delight.

Refrain
Big snowflakes came whirling down from the skies and they brought inner peace.
Big snowflakes came whirling down from the skies and made all the squirrels sneeze.
Now I’m cozily snuggling into the shelter of a seamless white eiderdown.
Now I’m cozily snuggling into the shelter of a seamless white eiderdown.
And I dive into the embrace of my dreams and I look at those enigmatic
creatures escaped from fairyland.
I’ll see some faces. I’ll touch soft laces. And maybe I’ll get lost forever in
that enchanting wonderland."; texte['BootstoBoot'] = "

Boots to Boot

I had a dream one night some years ago and there I saw a pair of boots.
Those fancy boots were kind of reddish brown and kept clinging to their nailed down roots.
Fellini was standing in a yellow phone booth with a saucepan full of change.
And Totó was grinning like a horse. The whole scene was rather strange.
Somebody was quoting a line from the Cantos composed by crazy old Ezra Pound.
It just didn't make any sense at all but I tell you, man, it was quite profound.

Refrain
Now I've got me a red fox baby and I've got boots to boot.
Her green battle dress is fuller than an air-filled parachute.
Her face is painted like the mask of a dame of rather ill repute.
Yet she is cute and rather resolute. Moreover, now I've got boots to boot.

It all happened while I was visiting Rome and that was three weeks ago.
And since that visit I'm floating on cloud nine, in a happy state of flow.
I met a fox-haired female Puss-in-Boots stalking through the revolving door.
And in that instant I fell in love with her. She was blinking like a semaphore
And was eager to pull me into her regal suite on the seventh floor.
And soon it turned out that her father was producing boots galore.

"; texte['DaZia'] = "Da Zia Teresa 

Da zia Teresa is a meeting place for destiny.
Da zia Teresa the moon never reaches its apogee.
Some of them will be dead by tomorrow while others will fall prey to sorrow.
Throwing fake pearls in front of real swine is an obscene valentine.
And you don’t know whether you are a sucker or whether you are quite clever.
And the hours will slip like foam on the waves while a split of a second may last forever.
Da zia Teresa the sun drowns in the bay of Napoli.
Da zia Teresa emerges that drifter from Eboli.

Refrain
Da zia Teresa a singer coughs away his lungs wasted by loneliness.
Da zia Teresa a flinger rejects those hands too eager to caress.
Da zia Teresa you can see a Northern lady swoon into the
embrace of a prancing gigolo’s languishing glances.
Da zia Teresa you can witness how some people sharpen
their wits, while others keep drifting off into the mists of their trances.

(Da zia Teresa il destino è in attesa per te, per me, per noi)

"; texte['WalkingRain'] = "

I’m the Walking Rain

I'm the Milky Way leading through your sky.
I'm the shooting star you can't prophesy.
I'm the walking rain gliding through your sagebrush.
I'm the flooding blood that makes your face flush.
I am the piñon smoke lingering in your room.
I am the groaning yarn-roller of your loom.
I am the bobcat jumping softly in your mountains.
I am the water in your draw-wells' secret fountains.
I'm the morning glory open to the rays
of your sun. I am the willow that gently sways.
I am a gnarled pine-tree in a misty landscape.
I'm a bawdy house that you can't escape.

Refrain
I'm the walking rain.
I'm the walking rain.
I'm the walking rain.
I'm the walking rain.

I am the moon that keeps on shining
through a crack in the roof of your quiet hut.
I am the faintly glittering silver lining
in your pearl oyster's innocent open cut.
I am the blizzard above Arroyo Seco
darting over your window like an ancient gecko.
I am one of the ten oxen you keep on riding.
I am the sleeping truth you go on hiding.
I am as near and yet as far
as the iris in your eye, as the blood beneath your scar.
I'm the tiger's whiskers in your gentle face.
I'm the swallow nesting in your hidden place.

I am the lotus flower swimming in your pond.
I'm hilariously free, a vagabond.
My feet are in your mud, my body in your water,
my head in your air. I'm a lovelorn squatter.
I'm an angry mosquito biting on a bar of iron.
I’m Ulysses the sailor who mistrusts his siren.
I'm a flea-bitten tramp in baggy trousers,
a very proud stag, a delicate browser.
I'm an ancient cliff dwelling in a canyon,
the blue shadow hovering below a banyan.
I'm the hills of desire rolling on and on
towards your prairie in a silent marathon.

"; texte['Sometimes'] ="

Sometimes You Win

For twenty years we really have stuck together.
The acid of frustration has tanned our leather.
The sweetness of admiration has sugared our tea.
The bitterness of vexation has bleached our glee.
We never got what we thought to be hot.
We never enjoyed fully our slot.
Yet by and large it was still a good deal.
All in all we had a good spiel.

Refrain
You always win some and some you lose.
After every big battle there follows a truce.
Sometimes you get high then you get the blues.
Sometimes you get champagne, sometimes cheap booze.

For twenty years we have always tried to win.
For twenty years we have entered many a spin.
For twenty years you have been my mandolin.
For twenty years you have been my moccasin.
We always played well our respective roles.
Sometimes we were old mules, sometimes young foals.
Yet by and large it was still a good deal.
All in all we had a good spiel.

"; texte['KindofGirl'] = "

The Kind of Girl That Inspires

Although she was cute, she often indulged in the hardest kind of bitter crying.
To drip like a water-tap and to sigh like a seal she found quite gratifying.
She advised her lovers, "Check the merchandise carefully before you buy it.
Be sure you've got a pan and caught your fish before you try to fry it!"
She had a gruesome kind of humour. Very often she found herself in a fix.
Yet she was a master of brinkmanship and other hair-raising politics.

Refrain
Don't start jumping down my throat!" she used to yell at her man.
I'm just a special breed of tramp, a never-do-no-good courtesan.
I'm not a boy scout whittling sticks and building fancy fires.
I'll take it big or not at all. I'm the kind of girl that inspires.

To every lover she had she tried to be as good as she had ever learned to be.
Her skirts were short. Their hems stopped well above her chubby yet well-formed knee.
She knew how to squeeze a lemon and knew many a greedy man who squeezed her, too.
Yet when she had enough of him, she got rid of him and gave him the shoe.
When he got angry she yelled, "Hit me, if it makes you feel any cleaner!
Yet if you try to be mean to me, champ, you'll see I'm still a lot meaner".

"; texte['Blueness'] = "

The Real Blueness of Blue

I was sitting at a pond in an ancient monastery
indulging in some nebulous sophistry.
Out of the blue there appeared a tiny frog.
It just pulled me out of my mental fog
and then it leaped upon a swimming leaf.
The leaf was green and the frog was blue
sitting impassive on its gently rocking canoe.
But its serenity was rather brief.
All of a sudden I received a terrible blow.
The frog disappeared and my head was aglow.
Blinking stars were dancing everywhere. My mind went blank.
The Zen-Master who was a terrible crank
had been sneaking up behind me, a stick in his fist.
Now he was roaring with laughter and then he did insist:
"Try to solve the riddle I gave you five years ago!
And if you don't succeed pretty soon, you'll get another blow!"

Refrain
What is the real blueness of blue? (4x)

Then the shooting stars died out. I began to fiddle.
I was racking my brain about the solution of the riddle.
I was getting nowhere and I forgot the whole thing.
Many days later in my head a bell began to ring
and all of a sudden I knew what to do.
I collected blue lizards and I collected blue frogs,
a thousand dragonflies and three cyanotic hogs
and I hid them in bags behind the bamboo.
And then one night I heard the Zen-Master snore,
and I tell you he was snoring like a drunken boar.
I quickly nailed up his door and his window, too.
I ran to the cave and got my enlightenment crew.
Then I climbed on the master’s thatched hut
and tore away some straw and then he got his cut.
I opened all my bags and then I dropped my load
and below me all the rages of blueness did explode.

"; texte['aritzyjoint']="

A RITZY JOINT

There used to be a lecher den just down the street.
Every single customer boarding it was a supercilious cheat.
The official thé dansant would last deep into the night,
With masquerading pleasure seekers holding each other tight.
There was many a stale hermaphrodite posing as a man
And many a meek troglodyte pretending to be God Pan.
There was many a woman deeply in love with her own kind.
There was rarely a juicy fruit yet many an empty rind.

Refrain
It used to be a ritzy joint before it ended up like this,
Turning into a snake pit where many a kiss sounded like a hiss.
There were faces looking like faded tin cans on a shelf in a store
And bloated bodies looking like dead fishes washed ashore.
There were vermilion lips looking like deep cuts in the skin.
There were yellow teeth trying to gnaw their way right into sin.

There was many a bony mannequin escorted by a fat mandarin
And many a stout matron clinging to her bumpkin Errol Flynn.
They all tried to give the impression to be somebody else.
But the worst thing in that greasy cauldron were those awful smells:
Cheap perfume mingling with tobacco, urine, thrush and cheese and sweat.
And if somebody stepped on your toes there was no regret.
The aim of the game was: chase and hold on to whatever you get
Whether a pseudo-baronet or a syphilitic coquette.

"; texte['snatchingsuccess']="

SNATCHING SUCCESS

It was a bad winter and spring’s been even worse.
The things happening to me lately have been almost perverse.
Whatever was able to go wrong it sure as hell went wrong.
What a curse that I always have to rehearse that same commerce!
It’s been a bad spell and I almost didn’t make it.
I tried to maintain my dignity but I just couldn’t fake it.
Whatever I tried was in vain and I felt like a wreck
while life tried everything it could to break my neck.
And I felt as worthless as a bounced check.
I felt as worthless as a piece of chewing gum sticking to a deserted trek.
I was in a bad fix and the choice was to cave in or to break free.
Yet I just did what the moon does whenever it reaches its apogee.

Refrain
I’ve learned how to snatch success from the brink of impending failure and I’ve learned some more.
I’ve learned how to snatch success from the brink of impending failure and I’ve learned some more.
Dignity is but a label glued to the billboards of your brain and life is like a gush of water slipping down the drain.
But life can also be as refreshing as a summer rain; life can be as sparkling as a glass of champagne. "; texte['ripplesoflaughter']="

RIPPLES OF LAUGHTER

I tried to carry a sound, a sound across the street and then I suddenly stumbled and Fell flat of expectations.
I tried to be profound. I tried to hold my ground. But then I suddenly tumbled and fell Flat of expectations.
I tried to stroke your lyre. I tried to stoke your fire. I tried to kindle the flames, the flames Of your desire.
I tried to lure you into my Zen. I tried to slip into your glen. I tried to reach the ripe corn Stored away in your cozy den.                    
I tried to get a spark but your mood was as dark as a lake before the night falls from The sky.    
It took me quite some time until I found the rhyme that turned your cry into the hum of A lullaby.

Refrain
But now your mood is gone. Now you are on the run. You're dashing across the Shadows as fast as a beam of light.
But now your eyes are twinkling and now your mouth is sprinkling. You're seized by Ripples of laughter while you hold me tight.
And now I know I shall weather all the storms released by the fury of your sudden Rage.
And now we are together and you are in peace while we read our book from page To page.
We have created new lyrics. We have found a better beat. There are new chords on Our sheet.
We indulge in panegyrics. We keep dancing pagan rites. We keep prancing like Young kites."; texte['nodownbeatstory']="

NO DOWNBEAT STORY 

Don’t tell me a down-beat story because I’m already glued
To the mud in the road in front of my house. I’m already imbued
With all those tales of failure, I’ve heard time and time again.
I’m striving to quit that scenario. I’m trying to escape the bane,
The bane of my life. I’m trying to forget the awful hunger in my guts.
I’m trying to escape the lurking danger of going nuts.
Just tell me the hilarious story about a whore at Rue Madeleine
Who became the owner of a chateau in the hills of Lorraine.

Refrain
I keep tossing and I keep turning around in my bed.
I keep bossing and I keep churning like a thoroughbred.
Don’t you try to fool me. Don’t you try to mess around with me. Don’t you try to break Through my wall.
I’m wheeling and I’m dealing. I’m fighting and I’m biting. I’ve got a heavy horseshoe, Watch me whenever I enter a brawl.

I’ve learned how to swing and to wing it. Now, I’ve got a stout heart.
I’ve learned some techniques and I’ve mastered the holy art
Of lifting my head high above the fray even when it hurts.
I’ve left the crowd of those ailing and failing and  wailing introverts.
Life is a dangerous place and I’m willing to accept that fact.
I’m fighting for myself and I’m not willing at all to make a pact
With the Lord or with the devil or with some unsuspecting saint.
And if a roaring tiger is gonna cross my trail I sure ain’t gonna faint.

"; texte['thetoastofthetown']="

THE TOAST OF THE TOWN

I'm trying to catch a rainbow with my fingers.
It escapes. What remains is a feeling that lingers
That I’m one of those guys who malingers,
Who never achieves the goals he’s set
And whom our town will quickly forget.
I'm trying to catch a train that is leaving.
Yet there is nothing but the taillight I'm perceiving.
I'm standing in the draught immersed in grieving.
I'm always out of money, deeply in debt.
I'm a foolish failure who likes to fret. 

Refrain
My epitaph will say: He was a big fool,
Always aggravating, never taking things cool,
Always indulging in a mindless drool.
To fail every test in life was his general rule.

I'm trying to fish a slippery trout.
But all I get is a smack on my snout.
I'm almost fainting. There is no doubt
I wasn't born to succeed in life.
I'm the target of scorn, the sheath for a knife.
I'm trying to find a new protecting shield
To sow my seeds into a barren field.
And of course there won't be any yield.
I'm always broke. I'm always a joke.
I'm a rotten egg with a fading yolk.

"; texte['requiemforasoldier']="

REQUIEM FOR A SOLDIER

He had a wife and five children and he really liked to roam.
One day he received his marching orders and he abruptly left home.
He forded a cattle train and was hauled to the battle field.
He got a gun and orders to kill. Yet they offered him no shield.
He even pulled the trigger. Yet he never cared to take aim.
He didn't kill a single man. Yet he didn't feel any shame.

Refrain
The world is full of graveyards, full of soldiers' tombs.
The world is full of dirt yet also full of brooms.
The world is full of babies slipping from their mothers' wombs.
The world is full of arson and full of terrible fumes.
The world is full of sorrow and full of people left in tears.
It is run by faded politicians and by cynical profiteers.

When the battle was over they discovered him lying in a hole.
His face looked stunned and ransacked as if somebody had stolen his soul.
His eyes were two boiled eggs whose shells had been peeled away.
His body was riddled with bullets. There was the stench of decay.
Vultures and buzzards kept circling high above in the sky.
Their silence was heavy and eerie. You couldn't hear a cry.

"; texte['elcapitan']="

EL CAPITAN

Midnight is gone and the moon is full and that woman keeps dancing with El Capitán.
The stars twinkle into the silence of the night while she gives her man a run.
She is a free-style climber sneaking up on the highest sheer cliff on earth.
She is nude but for her soft deer moccasins. Her face is filled with quiet mirth.
For years she has waited in the wings but eventually her hour has come.
Her warm skin strums the strings of the rock until the rock begins to hum.

Refrain
She is a dangling bobcat defying gravity.
She is a dangling bobcat defying gravity.
She loves the sound of the polished granite tongue licking the belly of the skies.
Her eyes caress the throbbing domes arousing a desire in her well-formed thighs.
She isn’t out to make the frontpages. She just wants to dance with El Capitán.
For years she tried in vain to fight her lust for El Capitán.
Now she moans in ecstasy while clinging to the scarred body of El Capitán.
She never felt as enraptured as she is feeling right now.
And the night looks the other way, while the grinning moon takes a bow."; texte['olderthanthestones']="

OLDER THAN THE STONES

Do you know all the threads hidden in a knot?
Have you learned all the steps danced in a gavotte?
Have you tasted all the sweetness of an apricot?
Have you seen all the colours a rainbow has got?
I know for sure you smell so sweet.
I know for sure the pattering of your feet.
I know for sure you'll never admit defeat.
I know for sure you're able to cheat.

Refrain
I'll never know why my yearning for you is still so strong.
I'll never know why I keep returning for yet another song.
Something must be pushing me that's older than my bones.
Something must be pulling me that's older than the stones.

Do you know where the moon has stolen its light?
Do you know why a water faucet is never quite tight?
Do you know where all the darkness comes from?
Do you know all the rhythms throbbing in a drum?
I know for sure you smell so sweet.
I know for sure the pattering of your feet.
I know for sure you'll never admit defeat.
I know for sure you're able to cheat.

"; texte['mrpresidentontv']="

MR. PRESIDENT ON TV 

In Holland all the dikes keep breaking.
In Armenia all the houses keep shaking.
Bangladesh is a mess covered by the flood
And rotting corpses keep growing out of the mud.
Florida has been hit by a hurricane.
Russia is completely out of grain.
In Africa the locusts keep gobbling everything up
And over-eating termites get the hiccups.
The whole damn world is going to pieces.
In Scotland even the petroleum freezes.
And then Mr. President appears!

Refrain
It's New Year’s Eve on our TV.
The president appears, full of bonhomie.
 “Everything is fine!" the brave man declares.
He’s rolling his eyes. And then he swears:
 “It was a great year! The next one will be better yet!
Dear citizens go to bed and do not fret!"
And then Mr. President is gone!

The trees turn into rusting sheet iron huts.
The ground water has got infested guts.
There is a hole in the sky. The ozone is gone.
Desertification has drawn its blazing gun.
Wind-borne sands invade Lombardy.
Every bug is pumped full of DDT.
The greenhouse effect is raising hell
Drying out every pond and every well.
The virgin forests are felled by power saws.
The smog in the cities is showing its asthma claws.

Rich countries keep getting ever more rich.
The misery of the poor ones is reaching a pitch.
In L.A. young street-gangs keep slashing throats.
In the Indian Ocean emigrants keep dying on boats.
Stressed people keep drinking booze and shooting heroine.
In Colombia they wage war on cocaine.
The dignity of the old ones is broken by their hunger
And death is taking its toll amongst those who are younger.
Hundreds of kids are committing suicide in Japan.
Young boys are blown apart on the battlefields in Iran.

"; texte['fernanda']="

FERNANDA

Oh Fernanda, in your hands I was only clay.
Oh Fernanda, now I'm weeping every day.
Oh Fernanda, how I wish that I could play,
To play the game with you,
The game you really knew,
The game of love.

Oh Fernanda, we met in Santa Fé.
Oh Fernanda, you wore a silken negligee.
Fernanda, please tell me, what is now the résumé,
What is now the résumé
Of all the time we shared,
Of the fact that your temper flared
Up night and day?

Oh Fernanda, my head is badly aching.
Oh Fernanda, my hands are madly shaking.
Oh Fernanda, my heart is sadly breaking.
I'm falling fast apart,
A decline that you may chart
You merciless queen.

Oh Fernanda, you are so beautiful.
Oh Fernanda, you are so bountiful.
Fernanda, it’s a shame, I was so easy to fool.
I was so easy to fool.
You've stolen my serenity.
You messed me up entirely.
Now it’s your turn.

Refrain
To wring your neck is what I'd like to do.
To wring your neck is what I'd like to do.
To wring your neck is what I'd like to do.
To wring your neck is what I'd like to do.
I haven't forgotten your touch.
You were hurting me so much.
I hope I don't have to wait in vain.
To make you pay dearly for my pain.
"; texte['hidingoutinthecavesofrain']="

HIDING OUT IN THE CAVES OF RAIN

I was waking up one morning
And I wasn’t around.
My big bed was empty
And I couldn’t be found.
I had lost all my weight.
My heart didn’t beat.
I tell you, it was great,
Such a waterproof retreat!
I was drifting up in the air
And I didn’t really care
That I hadn’t got any wings.
I was the greatest of the kings.

Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.

Refrain 1
If I should come back
Before I return
Please keep me here
Until I arrive.

Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.

My dry skin wasn’t peeling.
My mind wasn’t reeling.
And I got that weird feeling
That something was wrong.
Yet I felt really strong.
Hiding out in the caves of rain
Where my ego was slain
By a god who took the bait.
I was laughing at my fate.
Yet the sounds I did make
Had no echo in their wake.
Maybe that cave was but a fake.

Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.
Hiding out in the caves of rain.

Refrain 2
If I should come back
Before I return,
Please keep me here
Until I arrive.
Please keep me here
Until I arrive.

"; function showSong(song) { document.getElementById('songtext').innerHTML = texte[song]; }