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She tossed her cigarette as the ignition turned
She said, "There's one thing now that every clown must learn"
We drove away and she said, as the warehouse burned
"There is no heaven for i Pagliacci"

She said, "American boy, THAT'S how freedom feels
Not the kind they give you, but the kind you steal
And you will never be free until you see there really is
No heaven for i Pagliacci"

I said I'd pray for her, she said, "Tell a joke for me
Life is much too short to waste on dignity
Let our laughter burn all of Italy
There is no heaven for i Pagliacci"

And so we lay together 'neath the Turkish smoke
I said my heart might break, she said, "It long since broke
We are not vandals, love, we simply get the joke
It goes, 'But doctor, I am Pagliaccio'"

Was that how grace would feel? Was that how angels pray?
"Trick or treat, my sweetheart"? "Tanti auguri a te"?
From "Happy April Fool" to "Merry Judgment Day"
There is no heaven for i Pagliacci

And so that's how I found my way
My signorina and the kerosene and me
Drove to the shipyard, singing, "Ta-ra-ra-boom, non c'è
Paradiso per i Pagliacci"


from It's a Bastard to Be Lonely, released November 6, 2013



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D.G. Scherrer, the voice that lost its man Phoenix, Arizona

D.G. Scherrer is a singer-songwriter and award-winning poet. He began writing songs when he was 12 years old, singing for a punk band. Since then he has become a songwriter's songwriter, crafting dark, catchy, lyrically sophisticated tunes in the tradition of Cohen and Van Zandt. Still, the vitriol of punk lingers in his songs, as well as in the sheer volume of his voice when he roars a chorus. ... more

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