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Ride & Tropico

The extra lyrics by Lana Del Rey
04.02.2014 um 23:51 Uhr
I was in the winter of my life – and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on endless world tour and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one, who once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet – but upon the unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again – sparkling and broken. But I didn't really mind because I knew that takes getting everything you ever wanted and then loosing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living – they asked my why. But there's no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lie your head.

Lana Del Rey – Ride ©2012 Lana Del Rey, Polydor Ltd. (UK), Interscope Records (US)
I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying – because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one – who belonged to everyone, who had nothing – who wanted everything with a fire of every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about – and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people – and finally I did on the road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore – except to make our lives into a work of art.

Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.

I believe in the country America I used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever: I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I'm at war with myself I ride. I just ride.

Who are you? Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where your're free to experience them?
I have.
I'm fuckung crazy. But I'm free.

– Lana Del Rey –

©2012 Lana Del Rey, under exclusive license to Universal Music Domestic Rock/Urban, a devision of Universal Music GmbH, written by Lana Del Rey and Justin Parker

I sing the body electric. The armies of those I love engirt me, and I engirt them – they will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, and discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Lana Del Rey – Tropico ©2013 Polydor Ltd. (UK), Interscope Records (US)
Womanhood, and all that is woman – and the man that comes from woman: the womb, the tits, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings. The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud. Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep. Walking, swimming, poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening. The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes. The skin, the sun-burnt shade, freckles, hair. The curious sympathy one feels, when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body. The circling rivers, the breath, and breathing it in and out. The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees the thin red jellies within you or within me – the bones and the marrow in the bones. The exquisite realization of health.
Oh I say, these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul.
Oh I say now these are the soul!

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix. Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.
Who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz.
Who bared their brains to heaven under the el and saw mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated.
Who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war.
Who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull.
Who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the terror through the wall.
Who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York.
Who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares.

And so, from being created in his likeness, to being banished for wanting to be too much like him, we were cast out, and the garden of eden transformed in to the garden of evil – Los Angeles, the city of angels, a land of gods and monsters, the in-between realm where only the choices made from your free will, will decide your souls final fate. Some poets called it the entrance to the underworld, but on some summer nights, it could feel like paradise – paradise lost.

You ask me why I love her? Well give me time, I'll explain.
Have you ever seen a Kansas sunset or an Arizona rain?
Have you ever drifted on a bayou down Louisiana way?
Or watched a cold fog come drifting in over San Francisco Bay?
Have you heard a bobwhite calling in the Carolina pines
Or heard the bellow of a diesel at the Appalachia mines?
Does the call of Niagara thrill you when you hear her waters roar?
Or do you look with awe and wonder, Massachusetts shore
Brave new men who stepped on Plymounth's rock?
And do you think of them when you stroll along a New York City dock?
Have you seen a snowflake drifting in the Rockies, way up high?
Or seen the sun come blazing down from a bright Nevada sky?
Do you hail to the Columbia as she rushes to the sea
Or bow your head at Gettysburg at our struggle to be free?
You ask me why I love her? I've got a million reasons why:
It's my beautiful America, beneath God's wide, wide sky.
(John Mitchum)

– Lana Del Rey –

©2013 Lana Del Rey, under exclusive license to Universal Music Domestic Rock/Urban, a devision of Universal Music GmbH, written by Lana Del Rey, Justin Parker and Dan Heath