| No, no use in lecturing them
|
| Or in threatening them
|
| They will just say, «Who are you?»
|
| Is that a question or not
|
| When you see that the plot
|
| Is predictably not new?
|
| But she’s still stunned at things you will do
|
| No, no use in taking their time
|
| Or in wasting two dimes
|
| Or the cult of that-knows-who
|
| When all you feel is the rain
|
| And it’s up to be rain
|
| When the person looks at you
|
| So, just be gracious and wait here with you
|
| So, when do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| So, when do I get to do it my way?
|
| When do I get to do like Sid Vicious did?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| Yes, it’s a tradition, they say
|
| Like a bright Christmas Day
|
| And traditions must go on
|
| And though I say, «Yes, I see»
|
| No, I really don’t see
|
| It’s my story they still own
|
| Sign your name with the next moan
|
| So, when do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| So, when do I get to do it my way?
|
| When do I get to do like Sid Vicious did?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| They introduce me
|
| Hello, hello
|
| Women seduce me
|
| And champagne throws
|
| Then the lights go low
|
| There’s only one song I know, oh
|
| Yeah, it’s old, which words were serene
|
| Now it’s home to the screams
|
| And to buying plans and shoes
|
| But I have no souvenirs
|
| Of these banker-cheque years
|
| Not a moment I could choose
|
| And not one offer that I could refuse
|
| So, when do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| So, when do I get to do it my way?
|
| When do I get to do like Sid Vicious did?
|
| When do I get to sing, «My Way»?
|
| In Heaven or Hell?
|
| Heaven or Hell? |