I turn to the task I do again today,
I cannot hide - I’m flooded with the light.
I go to the mike, like to a holy site to pray -
No, no, today it’s to a rifle sight.

The heartless microphone doesn’t wish me well -
I know my voice will tire any hearer.
I’m sure if anywhere a lie I tell -
It’ll amplify it, mercilessly clear.

And the lights shine on my face unkind
From the side, the spotlights drive me blind
The beams lash at me as they repeat...
And the heat! The heat... The heat!...

Today my voice is strongly hoarse and low
But I dare not change to another key -
For if my soul slightly twists, I know
The mike will never straighten it for me.

That beast, the mike, it’s sharper than a blade,
And hears each cent of flatness that I do.
It doesn’t care that today is not my day
As long as every note I sing is true!

And the lights shine on my face unkind
From the side, the spotlights drive me blind
The beams lash at me as they repeat...
And the heat! The heat... The heat!...

Upon its supple neck that evil mike
Lifts up its head, it’s snakelike, serpentine:
The moment I fall silent it will strike -
I must keep singing - unto madness, unto dying.

Don’t stir, don’t move, don’t dare to, I say!
I see your fangs, you are a snake, I know!
I’m not a singer, I’m a snake charmer today -
It is to charm a cobra that I go.

And the lights shine on my face unkind
From the side, the spotlights drive me blind
The beams lash at me as they repeat...
And the heat! The heat... The heat!...

The hungry mike, with an eaglet’s greed again
Out of my mouth it grabs at every sound.
It’ll shoot a bullet deep into my brain -
By my guitar my hands are trapped and bound.

Is there no end to this endless time and place?
What is this thing, this microphone of mine?
It is a candle by an icon’s face -
But I’m no saint, and the microphone won’t shine.

And the lights shine on my face unkind
From the side, the spotlights drive me blind
The beams lash at me as they repeat...
And the heat! The heat... The heat!...

My melodies are simpler than a scale
But if I go off, even by a tone
My face is lashed, as by a bullwhip’s tail
By the still shadow of the microphone.

A storm or stillness - now what will I feel?
I cannot hide; I’m flooded with the light.
I go to the mike, like to a holy site to kneel...
No, no, today it’s to a rifle sight.

And the lights shine on my face unkind
From the side, the spotlights drive me blind
The beams lash at me as they repeat...
And the heat! The heat... The heat!...