# xmcd CD database file
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# Track frame offsets:
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#	170027
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# Disc length: 2759 seconds
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# Revision: 22
# Processed by: cddbd v1.5.2PL0 Copyright (c) Steve Scherf et al.
# Submitted via: CDex 1.70beta2
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DISCID=510ac507
DTITLE=Marillion / Fugazi
DYEAR=1998
DGENRE=Progressive Rock
TTITLE0=Assassing
TTITLE1=Punch & Judy
TTITLE2=Jigsaw
TTITLE3=Emerald Lies
TTITLE4=She Chameleon
TTITLE5=Incubus
TTITLE6=Fugazi
EXTD=1998 EMI Remastered Edition YEAR: 1998
EXTT0=\n\nI am the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence \n\nI am the assassin, providing your nemesis \n\n\n\nOn the sacrificial altar to success, my friend\n\nUnleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend\n\nNo incantations of remorse, my friend\n\nU
EXTT0=nsheathe the blade within the voice, my friend\n\n\n\nWho decorates the scarf with the fugi knot \n\nWho camouflaged emotion in a thousand yard stare\n\nWho gouged the notches from the family tree \n\nWho hypnotised the guilt in career rhythm tranc
EXTT0=e\n\n\n\nAssassing, assassing, assassing, assassing\n\n\n\nListen as the syllables of slaughter cat with calm\n\n   precision \n\nPatterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sow \n\n  the ice incision \n\nApocalyptic alphabet casting spell the cree
EXTT0=d of \n\n  tempered diction \n\nAdjectives of annihilation bury the point beyond \n\n  redemption \n\nVenomous verbs of ruthless candour plagiarise \n\n  assassins fervour \n\nA friend in need is a friend that bleeds\n\nLet bitter silence infect th
EXTT0=e wound\n\n\n\nYou were a sentimental mercenary in a free \n\n   fire zone \n\nParading a Hollywood conscience \n\nYou were a fashionable objector with a uniform \n\n   fetish\n\nPavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success \n\nA non com obser
EXTT0=ver - I assassin the collector - \n\n  defector \n\n\n\nSo you resigned yourself to failure, my friend\n\nAnd I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend\n\nTo eradicate the problem, my friend\n\nUnsheathe the blade within the voice\n\n\n\nI am the 
EXTT0=assassin\n\nI am the assassin\n\n\n\nAnd what do you call assassins who accuse \n\n  assassins anyway, my friend?
EXTT1=\n\nWashing machine, pinstripe dream \n\nStripped the gloss from a beauty queen\n\nFound our nest, in the Daily Express\n\nMet the vicar in a holy vest\n\n\n\nBrought up the children Church of E\n\nNow I vegetate with a colour TV\n\nWorst ever thin
EXTT1=g that ever happened to me\n\nOh, for D.I.V.O.R.C.E., oh Judy \n\n\n\nWhatever happened to pillow fights \n\nWhatever happened to jeans so tight, Friday nights \n\nWhatever happened to lover's lane \n\nWhatever happened to passion games\n\nSunday w
EXTT1=alks in the pouring rain \n\n\n\nCurling tongs, mogadons\n\n"I got a headache baby, don't take so long" \n\nSingle beds, middle age dread\n\nLosing the war in the Waistlands spread \n\n\n\nWho left the cap of the toothpaste tube\n\nWho forgot to fl
EXTT1=ush the loo\n\nLeave your sweaty socks outside the door\n\nDon't walk across my polished floor, oh Judy\n\n\n\nWhatever happened to morning smiles\n\nWhatever happened to wicked wiles, \n\n  permissive styles\n\nWhatever happened to twinkling eyes,
EXTT1= \n\n  hard fast drives\n\nComplements on unnatural size \n\n\n\nPropping up a bar, family car\n\nSweating out a mortgage as a balding clerk\n\nWorld war three, suburbanshee\n\nJust slip her these pills and I'll be free\n\n\n\nNo more Judy, Judy, J
EXTT1=udy no more\n\nGoodbye Judy
EXTT2=\n\nWe are jigsaw pieces aligned on the perimeter edge\n\nInterlocked through a missing piece\n\nWe are renaissance children becalmed \n\n   beneath the Bridge of Sighs\n\nForever throwing firebrands at the stonework\n\nWe are Siamese children rela
EXTT2=ted by the heart\n\nBleeding from the surgery of initial confrontation\n\nHolding the word scalpels on trembling lips\n\n\n\nStand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye\n\nStand straight, we've drifted past the point of \n\n   reasons why\n\
EXTT2=nYesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today\n\nAnd the problem always seems to be we're picking \n\n  up the pieces on the ricochet\n\n\n\nDrowning tequila sunsets, stowaways on midnight \n\n   ships\n\nRefugees of romance plead asylum from t
EXTT2=he real\n\nScrambling distress signals on random frequencies\n\nForever repatriated on guilt laden morning planes\n\nWe are pilots of passion sweating the flight on \n\n  course\n\nTo another summit conference, another breakfast \n\n  time divorce\
EXTT2=n\nScreaming out a ceasefire, snow-blind in an \n\n  avalanche zone\n\n\n\nStand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye\n\nStand straight, we've drifted past the point of \n\n  reasons why\n\nYesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today\n
EXTT2=\nAnd the problem always seems to be we're \n\n  picking up the pieces on the ricochet\n\n\n\nAre we trigger happy?\n\nRussian roulette in the waiting room\n\nEmpty chambers embracing the end\n\nPuzzled visions haunt the ripples of a trevi moon\n\n
EXTT2=Dream coins for the fountain or to cover your eyes\n\nWe reached ignition point from the sparks of \n\n   pleasantries\n\nWe sensed the smoke advancing from horizons\n\nYou must have known that I was concealing an \n\n  escape \n\n\n\nStand straigh
EXTT2=t, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye \n\nStand straight, we've drifted past the point of \n\n   reasons why\n\nYesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today, \n\n   starts today\n\nAnd the problem always seems to be we're \n\n  pic
EXTT2=king up the pieces \n\nOn the ricochet, this is the ricochet.
EXTT3=\n\nTo be the prince of possession in the gallery of \n\n   contempt\n\nSuffering your indiscreet discretions and \n\n    you ask me to relent \n\nAs you accumulate flirtations with the calculated \n\n    calmness of the whore\n\nI am the harlequin
EXTT3= - diamonded costume dripping \n\n    shades of green \n\nI am the harlequin - sense strangers violate my \n\n    sanctuary\n\nProwl my dreams \n\nPlundering your diaries, I'll steal your thoughts \n\n   innocence\n\nRavaging your letters, unearth 
EXTT3=your plots innocence\n\n\n\nTo don the robes of Torquemada, resurrect the \n\n    inquisition\n\nIn that tortured subtle manner inflict questions \n\n    within questions\n\nLooking in shades of green through shades of blue\n\nI trust you trust in 
EXTT3=me to mistrust you\n\n\n\nThrough the Silk Cut haze to the smeared mascara \n\nA 40 watt sun on a courtroom drama\n\nAnd the coffee stains gather till the pale kimono \n\nSet the wedding rings dancing on the cold linoleum\n\n\n\nAnd accusations mot
EXTT3=hs that circle on the light \n\nChar their wings and spiral senseless suicidal flight\n\nYou packed your world within a suitcase, hot tears \n\n   melt this icy palace\n\nDissolve a crystal swallowed by the night\n\nLooking in shades of green throu
EXTT3=gh shades of blue\n\nLooking in shades of green through shades of blue
EXTT4=\n\nSheltering her ego on the edge of a floodlit arc\n\nShe'll contemplate seduction, she'll calculate \n\n  the catch\n\nWhen she moved, her presence speared me\n\nWhen she spoke, her words ensnared me \n\nWatch the lizard, watch the lizard, \n\nW
EXTT4=atch the lizard with the crimson veil\n\n\n\nShe crucified my heart in the depth of a satin grave\n\nAs I lay in sweating monologue I sensed the \n\n   lovelight fade\n\nWithin the spiral of the cigarette\n\nYou betrayed your bedside etiquette\n\nI
EXTT4= saw the lizard, I saw the lizard\n\nI touched the lizard with the crimson veil\n\n\n\nI've seen a different doorway shut a million \n\n   times before\n\nThe smiling she chameleon, the smiling vinyl \n\n   whores\n\n\n\nThey know what they want, t
EXTT4=hey sing your name \n\nAnd glide between the sheets\n\nI never say no, in chemical glow we'll let our \n\n   bodies meet\n\nSo was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, \n\n   just another fuck I said\n\nLoving just for laughs, carnal autograph, \n\n
EXTT4=   lying on a lizard's bed\n\nSo was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, \n\n   just another fuck I bled\n\nDegraded and alone, raped and still forlorn\n\nBetrayed on a lizard's bed\n\nWe chameleon, we chameleon, we chameleon
EXTT5=\n\nWhen footlights dim in reverence to prescient \n\n   passion forewarned\n\nMy audience leaves the stage, floating ahead \n\n   perfumed shift\n\nWithin the stammering silence, the face that \n\n   launched a thousand frames\n\nBetrayed by a por
EXTT5=celain tear, a stained career\n\n\n\nYou played this scene before, you played \n\n    this scene before \n\nI the mote in your eye, I the mote in your eye\n\nA misplaced reaction\n\n\n\nThe darkroom unleashes imagination \n\n   in pornographic imag
EXTT5=es\n\nIn which you will always be the star, \n\n   always be the star, untouchable\n\nUnapproachable, constant in the darkness\n\nNursing an erection, a misplaced reaction\n\nWith no flower to place before this gravestone\n\nAnd the walls become en
EXTT5=ticingly newspaper thin\n\nBut that would be developing the negative view\n\nAnd you have to be exposed in voyeuristic colour\n\nThe public act, let you model your shame \n\nOn the mannequin catwalk, catwalk\n\nLet the cats walk, and the cat walks\
EXTT5=n\n\n\nI've played this scene before, I've played \n\n   this scene before\n\nI the mote in your eye, I the mote in your eye\n\nA misplaced reaction, satisfaction \n\n\n\nYou can't brush me under the carpet, \n\n   you can't hide me under the stair
EXTT5=s\n\nThe custodian of your private fears, \n\n   your leading actor of yesteryear\n\nWho as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity\n\nSentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity\n\nYou who I directed with lovers will, \n\n   you who I let
EXTT5= hypnotise the lens\n\nYou who I let bathe in the spotlights glare\n\nYou who wiped me from your memory like a \n\n   greasepaint mask\n\nJust like a greasepaint mask\n\n\n\nBut now I'm the snake in the grass, \n\n   the ghost of film reels past\n\
EXTT5=nI'm the producer of your nightmare and \n\n   the performance has just begun\n\nIt's just begun\n\n\n\nYour perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets\n\nAs you stutter paralysed with rabbits eyes, \n\n   searing the shadows\n\nFlooding th
EXTT5=e wings, to pluck elusive salvation \n\n   from the understudy's lips\n\nRetrieve the soliloquy, maintain the obituary\n\nMy cue line in the last act and you wait in \n\n   silent solitude \n\nWaiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt\n\n\n\nY
EXTT5=ou've played this scene before
EXTT6=\n\nVodka intimate, an affair with isolation in \n\n   a Blackheath cell\n\nExtinguishing the fires in a private hell\n\nProvoking the heartache to renew the licence\n\nOf a bleeding heart poet in a fragile capsule \n\nPropping up the crust of the 
EXTT6=glitter conscience \n\nWrapped in the christening shawl of a hangover\n\nBaptised in the tears from the real\n\n\n\nDrowning in the liquid seize on the Piccadilly line, \n\n  rat race\n\nScuttling through the damp electric labyrinth\n\nCaress Ophel
EXTT6=ia's hand with breathstroke ambition\n\nAn albatross in the marrytime tradition\n\nSheathed within the Walkman wear \n\n   the halo of distortion\n\nAural contraceptive aborting pregnant conversation\n\nShe turned the harpoon and it pierced my hear
EXTT6=t\n\nShe hung herself around my neck\n\n\n\nFrom the Time-Life-Guardians in their conscience \n\n  bubbles\n\nSafe and dry in my sea of troubles\n\nNine to five with suitable ties\n\nCast adrift as their side-show, peepshow, \n\n   stereo hero\n\nB
EXTT6=ecalm bestill, bewitch, drowning in the real\n\n\n\nThe thief of Baghdad hides in Islington now\n\nPraying deportation for his sacred cow\n\nA legacy of romance from a twilight world \n\nThe dowry of a relative mystery girl \n\nA Vietnamese flower,
EXTT6= a Dockland union\n\nA mistress of release from a magazine's thighs\n\nMagdalenes contracts more than favours \n\nThe feeding hands of western promise hold her \n\n   by the throat \n\n\n\nA son of a swastika of '45 parading a peroxide \n\n   stand
EXTT6=ard\n\nGraffiti conjure disciples testaments of hatred\n\nAerosol wands whisper where the searchlights \n\n   trim the barbed wire hedges\n\nThis is Brixton chess \n\n\n\nA knight for Embankment folds his newspaper castle\n\nA creature of habit, be
EXTT6=gs the boatman's coin\n\nHe'll fade with old soldiers in the grease stained\n\n   roll call\n\nAnd linger with the heartburn of Good Friday's last \n\n   supper \n\n\n\nSon watches father scan obituary columns \n\n    in search of absent school fri
EXTT6=ends\n\nWhile his generation digests high fibre ignorance\n\nCowering behind curtains and the taped up \n\n   painted windows\n\nDecriminalised genocide, provided door to \n\n   door Belsens \n\nPandora's box of holocausts gracefully cruising \n\n 
EXTT6=   satellite infested heavens\n\nWaiting, the season of the button, \n\n   the penultimate migration\n\nRadioactive perfumes, for the fashionably, \n\n   for the terminally insane, insane\n\nDo you realise? Do you realise? \n\nDo you realise, this 
EXTT6=world is totally fugazi\n\n\n\nWhere are the prophets, \n\nwhere are the visionaries, \n\n where are the poets\n\nTo breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary
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