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(Instrumental)
The hallway. From outside, an ordinary house. A great house, true - four hundred and eighty three rooms, each one with its own marble wash basin and douche, bidet as it may. But inside, and the positions are reversed. A human failing, some say a disease, but a disease that Sir Francis Dashwood knew, and knew it well. Upstairs, inside and a revelation. It's a discotheque. No, no, uh.. there Are paintings, real, and look here - a rare seventeenth century masterpiece, and if I can scrape a little of it off, beneath I can find hidden a fourteenth century underpiece. Made entirely of tiny pieces of eggshells, this lurid work has caused controversy in the world of embroidery and anthropologicky. No, I'll say it again, anthropolology. Umm.. no quite possibly make an anthropol, no, uh, I mean an apolog..ph.. It has enthralled distinguished professors, and in layman's language is "blinking well baffling". But to be more obtusely, "buggered if I know." Yes, "buggered if I know." And that's all we've gleaned so far from experts in fourteenth century painting, renaissance, greengrocers, and recently revived members of the public. Buggered if I know. Vivian Stanshall, about three o'clock in the morning, Oxfordshire, 1973, Goodnight |
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We're homeward bound across the blue sea.
Going home. We're homeward bound across the blue sea, And we're come from the old country. And away, love, away. Going home. We're homeward bound this very day, And we're come from the old country. The sails are unfold and the anchor's aweigh. Going home. She yeilds to the breeze as she gathers her way, And we're come from the old country. And away, love, away. Going home. We're homeward bound this very day, And we're come from the old country. We're homeward bound across the blue sea. Going home. We're homeward bound across the blue sea, And we're come from the old country. And away, love, away. Going home. We're homeward bound this very day, And we're come from the old country. |
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In dulci jubilo, now sing with hearts aglow
Our delight and pleasure lies in praesepio Like sunshine is our treasure Matris in gremio Alpha est et O, Alpha est et O! O Jesu parvule, for Thee I long alway Comfort my hearts blindness, O puer optime With all thy loving kindness, O Princeps gloriae Trahe me post te, Trahe me post te! O Patris caritas, O nati lenitas Deeply were we stained, Per nostra crimina But Thou for us has gained, Caelorum gaudia That we were there, O that we were there! Ubi sunt gaudia, In any place but there There are angels singing, In Nova Cantica And there the bells are ringing, In regis curia O that we were there, O that we were there. O, that we were there... |
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