Telephone Call From Istanbul
Tom Waits Lyrics


All night long on the broken glass
Living in a medicine chest
Medite-Romanian hotel back
Sprawled across a roll top desk
The monkey rode a blade on an overhead fan
They paint the donkey blue if you pay
I got a telephone call from Istanbul
My baby's coming home today

Will you sell me one of those if I shave my head?
"Get me out of town" is what fireball said
Never trust a man in a blue trenchcoat
Never drive a car when you're dead
Saturday's a festival, Friday's a gem
Dye your hair yellow and raise your hand
Follow me to Beulah's on dry creek road
I got to wear the hat that my baby done sewed

Will you sell me one of those if I shave my head?
"Get me out of town" is what fireball said
Never trust a man in a blue trenchcoat
Never drive a car when you're dead
Saturday's a festival, Friday's a gem
Dye your hair yellow and raise your hand
Follow me to Beulah's on dry creek road
I got to wear the hat that my baby done sewed

Well, take me down to buy a tux on red rose bear
I got to cut a hole in the day
I got a telephone call from Istanbul
My baby's coming home today

Sell me one of those if I shave my head
"Get me out of town" is what fireball said
Never trust a man in a blue trenchcoat
Never drive a car when you're dead
Saturday's a festival, now Friday's just a gem
Dye your hair yellow and raise your hand
Follow me to Beulah's on dry creek road
I got to wear the hat that my baby done sewed, whoa

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Written by: THOMAS ALAN WAITS

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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Most interesting comment from YouTube:

Dean Moriarty

A genuine kundalini an eco mile long and exercising a burning satisfaction was kissing a girl on the lips while an echo of the moon hanging about by the falls was doing a rendition of a serenade in this Osiris of certain love when suddenly an explosion of large birds flapped up towards the sky and swirled the mists... ‘This one for the road’ was the cry, and then the story began:
Out in a field of walking across the big river, Zen considered herself a good sport, all things considered but every time a white butterfly fluttered around her she’d just have to dance, no matter what, even when there was no salt left to throw over her shoulder.
This was unknown to the darkest place of spades momentarily in their joy of a secret weapon unfired called the Jefferson rifle, but somehow the union brigands had got their hands on it.
They were out hunting one day in the same fields when they came upon Zen picking flowers so they immediately called her a spy and were just about to shoot her out of hand when a white butterfly danced between them and made its way to her and caused her to dance.
The unionists were so fascinated by her dancing they forgot all about the war and that’s when Zen made her escape by picking up her skirts and running like hell.
When the gang came to themselves they raised the Jefferson rifle and fired it but it jammed and by then Zen was gone.
So they gave up hunting and stuff and lay down on top of a pool table and went to sleep, well, at least one did, the others went home.
And then a funny thing happened: God’s secret agent, Mr Mustapha Mustabeen was on a mission to take over the internet and send it to hell without a note of good conduct. He’d been given his orders in the usual way by divine visions but little did he know that the elite of the upper class and the rulers in power had found a way to subvert the part of the brain that picks up visions and had put their own visions there instead and so now by reverse osmosis he was on a false mission which wasn’t so divine.
So God had to think really hard and use a lot of brain power to figure out how to turn this to his advantage. Because God was really old now and it took him longer to think things out and he also had a touch of Alzheimer’s to boot so it took him many days to come up with a plan but by then everyone was dead and gone because God’s days are really, really long but it cured the problem anyway which took a load off of God’s mind
And as of late He didn’t really want to do much more than just sit in his rocking chair and shoot the breeze with his old rival the devil who had retired a while back and was now a reformed super-angel if a little arthritic in the joints. But this is just another by the by, a mumble in the dark...zzzzz



All comments from YouTube:

António José Nunes Alegre

Ah, Tom - you either love him or your heart is a shriveled up old prune.

Joe Crunkleton

Both.

deniz asar

İstanbul'dan telefon geldi
Yârim bugün eve dönüyormuş
- - -
I got a telephone call from Istanbul
My baby's coming home today

deniz asar

@Besim Tibuk Hazretleri Tom Wait bence bir ozandır. Türkiye'deki halk ozanları da türkülerde "bebeğim" yerine "yârim"i kullandığı için çeviriyi bu şekilde yapmıştım. :)

Besim Tibuk Hazretleri

bebegim

Ahmet Faruk Ergün

asdkljalskjlk yarim mi

Berk Ç

:D

nehir kılıç

ÖDÖDLWŞLQKCŞDLCŞEPFLWLCÖS

sidDkid87

"never trust a man in a blue trench coat
 never drive a car when your dead" . . . sage advice - love Waits : )`

Music Lover

@Sarisa Techasukij especially don't trust Sherlock he is more than black trench coat

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