He makes his own dreams,
|
His own paradise
|
But paradise is just a false alarm.
|
And no one¡¯s really sadder than
|
The man with the golden arm.
|
|
He buys every thrill,
|
And pays any price,
|
And thinks he¡¯s having fun,
|
And what¡¯s the harm?
|
He¡¯s following the devil¡¯s plan
|
The man with the golden arm.
|
|
What is that strange desire
|
That sets his soul afire?
|
The hopeless need for it,
|
That makes him plead for it,
|
The walls start closing in,
|
The room begins to spin.
|
There¡¯s no escape,
|
And there¡¯s no friend
|
How did it start?
|
Where will it end?
|
|
The ending is clear.
|
And not very nice.
|
A nameless grave beside some prison farm.
|
There is no story sadder than
|
The man with the golden arm.
|
|
But there¡¯s a chance that he
|
Can shake the misery.
|
That¡¯s if he¡¯s strong enough,
|
And fights it long enough.
|
The ones who do are rare,
|
But with some hope and prayer,
|
The nightmare¡¯s gone,
|
And so¡¯s the end
|
You¡¯ll find the sun and walk among men.
|
And gone are the dreams.
|
The fool¡¯s paradise.
|
The heaven that was just a false alarm.
|
And no one¡¯s really gladder than
|
The man with the golden arm.
|
The man with the golden arm.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Man With The Golden Arm
|
| Frank Sinatra |
