Lyrics

The Ballad of Ingmar Bergman
(© 1998 DGBly)

A silent stranger with a haunted face
It's Ingmar Bergman, and he's at your place
It seems he wants your house for a set
But the brilliant auteur has no script as yet.

You sign a contract that you barely skim
You learn post-facto that he's moved in
So he makes a movie - it's pretty grim
It's a real long story, and it's all about him.

He says he's Swedish, so he's prone to pout
God and all his angels can't move him out
His crew is full of big men named Sven
They drink your vodka, pass out again.

He comes from Faro, hates income tax
Suffers from headaches and anxiety attacks
He won't speak English, he gets depressed
On really bad days he won't get dressed.

The words are simple, but strangely deep
He's got a secret that makes him weep
Dad was a bishop, Mom once was rich
Which don't explain why he lives to bitch.

He breaks a wine glass, a red dissolve
A dream scene follows, sins to absolve
And then a spider says it's a priest
And then it bites YOU, not the artiste.

At last he's finished, got all he needs
You feel diminished by depressed Swedes
You're in the bidness, make no mistake
But all that idness was hard to take.

Yaaaaaaa Suuuuuure!