Hanging on to the Strings of the Guitar

A gentle breeze is sweeping over the ocean waves

The clouds are white cream cakes

The saloon walls are reeking of cigars and smoke

The ship is a floating chrome

The New World feels like a distant ally

We have just passed French Normandy by

The ballroom is dim and in the showman’s wake

Famous jazz players enter the stage

The star of the applause is a vocalist from France

With tantalizing eyes under her veil

She’s brought with her the latest trend in wealthy dance

1912 is the year when we sail

The New World  is eager to show off her show

Film studios might welcome her soon

And little does the well-dressed audience know

That this holiday is destined for doom

Chorus

Hanging on to the strings of the guitar

As if all the doors inside were still ajar

Hanging on to the devils of the sound

As if we had countless years to linger on and hang around

Once the melody has wrapped you

Nothing else will count

 

 

A snap and the iceberg has done real harm

The engine room fills with water

The crew is careful not to raise the alarm

But the waiter is lost in a prayer

The New World seems a fruitless try 

Soon enough we will see lopsided sky

The waltz should be danced one final  time

Making everyone join the line

Chorus

Hanging on to the strings of the guitar

As if all the doors inside were still ajar

Hanging on to the devils of the sound

As if we had countless years to linger on and hang around

Once the melody has wrapped you

Nothing else will count

 
English (United Kingdom)Hungarian (formal)