Morricone Dancehall - Burning Airlines

Is this the body you were last found living in?

What you bury has a way of blossoming

All that bitterness in bloom on your skin

And the fiction cruelly continuing:

Slick surrogate to get to the bottom of everything

The detective sings

Bedridden in the far west wing

And all the aces are wired

And all forces conspire in this brutal bed

Without the body

There is no crime

Doctors all dance at your bedside now

No cure that medicine will allow

Shame!

Sexless and the air’s even belligerent

Counting down your senses

Sucking on cigarettes

Turning and burning on the spit where you spin

With the fiction cruelly continuing

Everything’s true when nobody is listening

The detective sings

Bedridden in the far west wing

And all the aces are wired

And all forces conspire in this brutal bed

Without the body

There is no crime

Heeled-up here

Unhealed

In twenty-to-fifty skin

Sealed up here

Some story that ends without loose ends

Doctors all dance at your bedside now

No cure that medicine will allow

Without the body

There is no crime

Without the body

There is no crime