Amy Winehouse’s Back To Black. Prose Remix.

“Rehab.”

They tried to make me go to rehab, I said “No, no, no.  Yes, I been black, but when I come back, you’ll know, know, know.”

I ain’t got the time. And if my daddy thinks I’m fine?  Just try to make me go to rehab, I won’t go, go, go.

I’d rather be at home with Ray.  (I ain’t got seventy days.)  ‘Cause there’s nothin’–there’s nothin’ you can teach me that I can’t learn from Mr. Hathaway.  Didn’t get a lot in class, but I know it don’t come in a shot glass.  They try to make me go to rehab, I say “No, no, no.”  Yes, I been black, but when I come back, you’ll know, know, know.  I ain’t got the time, and if my daddy thinks I’m fine, just try to make me go to rehab, I won’t go, go, go.

The man said “Why’d’ya think you here?”  I said, “I got no idea.  I’m gonna–I’m gonna lose my baby!  So, I always keep a bottle near…”

He said, “I just think you’re depressed.”  “Kiss me,” “Yeah, baby,” and the rest.  They try to make me go to rehab, I said “No, no, no.”  Yes, I been black, but when I come back, you’ll know, know, know.

I don’t ever wanna drink again.  I just–ooh–I just need a friend.  I’m not gonna spend ten weeks…have everyone think I’m on the lam?

It’s not just my pride. It’s just, ’til these tears have dried…they tried to make me go to rehab, I said “No, no, no.”  Yes, I been black, but when I come back, you’ll know, know, know.  I ain’t got the time!  And if my daddy thinks I’m fine?  Just try to make me go to rehab.  I won’t go, go, go.

“You Know I’m No Good.”

Meet ya downstairs in the bar, and hurt.  Your rolled-up sleeves and your skull t-shirt?  You say “What did you do with him today?”, and sniff me out like I was Tanqueray.

‘Cause you’re my fella, my guy.  Hand me your Stella and fly!  By the time I’m out the door, you tear men down like Roger Moore.

I cheated myself.  Like I knew I would.  I told ya, I was trouble.  Ya know that I’m no good.

Upstairs in bed, with my ex-boy–he’s in a place, but I can’t get joy.  Thinking on you in the final throes?  This is when my buzzer goes.  Run out to meet you, chips and pitta; you say “when we married” (’cause you’re not bitter).  There’ll be none of him no more.  I cried for you on the kitchen floor.

I cheated myself, like I knew I would.  I told ya, I was trouble.  Ya know that I’m no good.

Sweet reunion, Jamaica and Spain, we’re like how we were again.  I’m in the tub, you on the sink; lick your lips as I soak my feet…

And then you notice, little carpet burn…my stomach drops and my guts churn…you shrug, and it’s the worst…who truly stuck the knife in first?

I cheated myself.  Like I knew I would.  I told ya I was trouble.  Ya know that I’m no good.  I cheated myself, like I knew, I would.  I told ya. I was trouble.  Yeah, ya know that I’m no good.

“Me And Mr. Jones.”

Nobody stands in between me and my man.  It’s me and Mr. Jones.

What kinda fuckery is this?  You made me miss the Slick Rick gig!  I thought I didn’t love ya when I did…can’t believe ya played me out like that!  No, ya ain’t worth Guest List.  Plus, what of all them girls you kiss?  You can’t keep lying to yourself like this.  Can’t believe you played yourself like this.

Rulers? One thing.  But, come, Brixton–nobody stands in between me and my man, ’cause it’s me and Mr. Jones.

What kinda fuckery are we?  Nowadays?  You don’t mean dick to me.  I might let you make it up to me…who’s playing Saturday?

What kinda fuckery are you?  ‘side from Sammy, you’re my best black Jew, but I could swear that we were through.  I still wonder ’bout the things you do…

“Mr. Destiny,” nine and fourteen–nobody stands in between me and my man, ’cause it’s me and Mr. Jones. Me, me and…oh.

“Just Friends.”

When will we get the time to be “just friends?”

It’s never safe for us, not even in the evening, ’cause I’ve been drinking.  Not in the morning, when your shit works…

It’s always dangerous, when everybody’s sleeping, and I’ve been thinking…can we be alone?  Can we be alone?

When will we get the time to be just friends?  When will we get the time to be just friends?

And, no, I’m not ashamed, but the guilt will kill you (if she don’t first).  I’ll never love you like her.  So we need to find a time to just do this shit together! ‘fore it gets worse…I wanna touch you.  But that just hurts.

When will we get the time to be just–just friends? When will we get the time to be just friends, “just friends?”

When will we get the time to be just friends…just friends.   When will we get the time to be…just friends, just friends.  Just friends.

“Back To Black.”

He left no time to regret.  Kept his dick wet, with his same ol’ safe bet.  Me, and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my guy.

You? Went back to what you knew, so far removed from all that we went through.  I tread a troubled track.  My odds are stacked.  I go back to black.

We only said goodbye with words–I died a hundred times.  You go back to her, and I go back to…

Us…I loved you much.  It’s not enough–you love blow and I love puff.  And, life…is like…a pipe…and I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside…

We only said goodbye with words. I died a hundred times.  You go back to her, and I go back to–

We only said goodbye with words. I died a hundred times.  You go back to her, and I go back to–

…black.

Black.

Black.

Black.

Black.

Black.

Black.

I go back to–I go back to…

We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times.  You go back to her, and I go back to–we only said goodbye with words.  I died a hundred times.  You go back to her and I go back to black.

“Love Is A Losing Game.”

For you, I was a fling.  Love is a losing game.  Five-story fire as you came…love is a losing game.  One I wish I’d never played; oh, what a mess we made.  And now, the final frame.  Love is a losing game.

Played out by the band, love is a losing hand.  …more than I could stand…love is a losing hand.  Self-professed, profound.  (‘Til the chips were down.)  I know you’re a gamblin’ man.  Love is a losing hand.

Though I’m rather blind, love is a fate resigned.  Memories mar my mind.  Love is a fate resigned, over futile odds, and laughed at by the gods.  And now, the final frame.  Love is a losing game.

“Tears Dry On Their Own.”

All I can ever be to you is a darkness that we knew, and this regret I got accustomed to.  Once, it was so right, when we were at our height.  (Waitin’ for ya in the hotel at night??)  I knew I had to’ve met my match–every moment we could snatch!  I don’t know why I got so attached.  It’s my responsibility, and you don’t owe nothing to me, but to walk away I have no capacity.

He walks away–the sun goes down–he takes the day and I’m grown.  In your wake?  In my blue shade?  My tears dry on their own.

I don’t understand. Why do I stress The Man, when there’s so many bigger things at hand?  We coulda never had it all, we had to hit a wall, so this is inevitable withdrawal!  Even if I stop wanting you, a perspective pushes through: I’ll be some next man’s other woman soon.  I cannot play myself again, I should just be my own best friend!  Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men.

He walks away, the sun goes down, he takes the day and I am grown.  In your wake, in this blue shade?  My tears dry on their own.

So we are history.  Your shadow covers me.  The sky above, ablaze…he walks away–the sun goes down–he takes the day and I’m grown.  And in your wake, in this blue shade??  My tears dry on their own.

I wish I could say “No regrets, no emotional debt,” ’cause As We Kiss Goodbye The Sun Sets.  So we are history!  The shadow covers me, the sky above a blaze! (That only lovers see…)

He walks away–the sun goes down–he takes the day and I’m grown.  And in your wake, in my blue shade?  My tears dry on their own.  He walks away–the sun goes down–he takes the day, but I am grown.  And in your wake, in this deep shade?  My tears dry on their own.

“Wake Up Alone.”

It’s okay in the day.  I’m stayin’ busy.  Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder “Where is he?”  Got so sick of crying, so, just lately, when I catch myself I do a 180.  I stay up, clean the house (at least I’m not drinking?).  Run around, just so I don’t have to think about thinking.  That silent sense of content that everyone gets?  Just disappears as soon as the sun sets.  His face in my dream seizes my guts–he floods me with dread.  Soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes, by the bed…pour myself over him, moon spillin’ in…and I wake up alone…

If I was my heart?  I’d rather be restless.  The second I stop, the sleep catches up and I’m breathless.  This ache in my chest, as my day is done now–the dark covers me, and I cannot run now.  My blood running cold, I stand before him–it’s all I can do to assure him.  When he comes to me, I drip for him tonight…drowning in me…we bathe under blue light…

His face in my dream seizes my guts…he floods me with dread.  Soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes, by the bed…pour myself over him…moon spillin’ in…and I wake up, alone…and I wake up, alone…and I wake up alone…

“Some Unholy War.”

If my man was fighting some unholy war, I would be behind him.  (Straight shook-up beside him.)  With strength he didn’t know. (It’s you I’m fighting for.)

He can’t lose with me in tow.  I refuse to let him go.  At his side, and drunk on pride?  We wait for the blow.

We put it in writing.  (“But who you writing for?”  Just us, on kitchen floors.)  Justice done, reciting, my stomach standing still. (I like you readin’ my will.)  He still stands, in spite of what his scars say, and I’ll battle ’til this bitter finale.  Just me, my dignity, and this guitar case.

If, if, my man’s fighting some unholy war (–and I will stand beside you.  But who you dyin’ for?  B, I would have died, too.  I’d’ve liked to.)  If my man was fighting some unholy war…if my man was fighting…

“He Can Only Hold Her.”

He can only hold her for so long.  The lights are on, but no one’s home.  She’s so vacant (her soul is taken); he thinks, “What’s she runnin’ from?”  Now, how can he have her heart, when it got stole?  So he tries to pacify her.  But what’s inside her never dies.

Even if she’s content in his warmth, she is plagued with urgency.  Searching kisses?  The Miss misses The Man. That, he longs to be.

Now, how can he have her heart?  When it got stole?  So he tries to pacify her, ‘cuz what’s inside’ll never die.  So, he tries to pacify her, but what’s inside her?  It never dies, whoa-oh.  So he tries to pacify her.

But what’s inside her never dies.

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5 thoughts on “Amy Winehouse’s Back To Black. Prose Remix.

  1. Tip. Read with the music playing, and without, in whichever order you choose. Also, “Tears Dry” is going to be a work in progress for years, but I do know that, most of the time, she’s not saying “wake.”

  2. Oh yeah. The titles link the videos. Fuck the videos, who cares. I open the tunes in a tab behind this when I’m editing it.

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