cut loose like a deuce another runner in the night (was bruce springsteen ever blinded by the light? – part 2)

Estimated reading time is 4 minutes.

HERE ARE THE LYRICS to Bruce Springsteen’s original recording of Blinded By The Light as best that I can decipher them. I used a couple of lyrics sites and then listened to the recording repeatedly (and yes it’s “deuce” not “douche”) each time comparing the words I had typed with the words that I was hearing.

This is part 2 in a series of essays on Springsteen’s first commercially issued single, Blinded By The Light / The Angel, from 1973.

It was certainly ambitious an ambitious effort. It was also pretentious—as if he didn’t get what dos Passos Kerouac Ginsberg even Dylan were after and just damned the torpedos and went full speed ahead after something anything everything in sight and mind with nary a care in the world about structure grammar meaning and excessive in-jokes as if he were blinded by the light of success or least its possibilities and even probabilities plus it was more a failure than a success and there were too many damn words!

The punctuation and capitalization in the lyrics below are mine. I have assigned the verses (V) and choruses © numbers, such as V1, V2, C1, etc. This is for the sake of a comparison which will take place in the second part of this essay.



Madman drummers, bummers, and Indians
in the summer with a teenage diplomat.
In the dumps with the mumps
as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat.
With a boulder on my shoulder, feeling kinda older,
I tripped the merry-go-round.
With this very unpleasing sneezing and wheezing,
the calliope crashed to the ground.


Some all-hot half-shot was heading for a hot-spot
snapping his fingers, clapping his hands.
And some fleshpot mascot was tied into a lover’s knot
with a whatnot in her hand.


And now young Scott with a slingshot finally found a tender spot
and throws his lover in the sand.
And some bloodshot forget-me-not whispers,
“Daddy’s within earshot, save the buckshot, turn up the band.”


And she was blinded by the light, cut loose like a deuce,
another runner in the night
Blinded by the light, she got down but she never got tight,
but she’ll make it alright.


Some brimstone, baritone, anti-cyclone,
rolling stone preacher from the east.
He says, “Dethrone the dictaphone,
hit it in its funny-bone, that’s where they expect it least.”
And some new-mown chaperone standing in the corner
all alone watching the young girls dance.
And some fresh-sown moonstone was messing
with his frozen zone to remind him of the feeling of romance.


And he was blinded by the light, cut loose like a deuce,
another runner in the night.
Blinded by the light.
He got down but he never got tight,
but he’s gonna make it tonight.


Some silicone sister with her manager, mister,
told me I got what it takes.
She said, “I’ll turn you on, sonny, to something strong
if you play that song with the funky break.”
And Go-cart Mozart was checking out the weather chart
to see if it was safe to go outside.
And little Early Pearly came in by her curly-wurly
and asked me if I needed a ride.


Some hazard from Harvard was skunked on beer
playing backyard bombardier.
Yes, and Scotland Yard was trying hard,
they sent some dude with a calling card,
he said, “Do what you like, but don’t do it here.”
Well, I jumped up, turned around, spit in the air,
fell on the ground, asked him which was the way back home.
He said, “Take a right at the light, keep going straight
until night and then, boy, you’re on your own.”


And now in Zanzibar a shooting star
was riding in a side-car humming a lunar tune.
Yes and the Avatar said, “Blow the bar but first remove the cookie jar,
we’re gonna teach those boys to laugh too soon.”
And some kidnapped handicap was complaining
that he caught the clap from some mousetrap he bought last night.
Well, I unsnapped his skull-cap and between his ears
I saw a gap but figured he’d be all right.


He was just blinded by the light, cut loose like a deuce,
another runner in the night.
Blinded by the light.
Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the sun,
but mama that’s where the fun is.

Pentecostal enthusiasm or total disdain

Returning to Mr. Metcalf’s article in part 1 of this essay, he finishes up the paragraph above where I left off by stating, “And so we’ve reached a strange juncture. About America’s last rock star, it’s either Pentecostal enthusiasm or total disdain.”

The second half of “I Still Love Bruce Springsteen” serves as a positive review of Springsteen’s then-new album, DEVILS & DUST. Metcalf ends his opinion piece by affectionately telling the artist, “You old bullshitter, you got me again.”



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