Ian Anderson

Muscled, black with steel-green eye
swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie.
Tail balancing at half-mast.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat.
Eats but one in every ten ---
leaves the others on the mat.
...And the mouse police never sleeps ---
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ---
licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lazy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate.
...No, the mouse police never sleeps ---
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock.
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.

I remember when we had a lot of things to do ---
impressed by all the words we read
and the heroes that we knew.
Climb on your your dream --- a dream of our own making
to find a place that we could later lose
to whatever time would bring.

We were seventeen and the cakeman was affecting you ---
moving you to greater things (in a lesser way)
you had to prove.
The clock struck summertime. You were going round in circles now.
Wishing you were seventeen. At twenty-one, it was a long time gone.
And now here you are. You're locked in your own excuse.
The circle's getting smaller every day.
You're busy planning the next fifty years.
So stay the way you are and keep your head down to the same old ground.
Just paint your picture boy until you find
a closed circle's better than an open line.

Yes stay the way you are. I got a circle that's the same as yours.
It may be bigger, but I've more to lose.
Who is the luckier man --- me or you?

I see you better now, shaded in deeper blue.
Hardly needing to carry the find-your-way lamp
Down to the river.
Tonight flies a better moon.

Sad water buffalo lie fast near the shallows;
A splash revealing the fly-catching fishes.
Dark gods silently watching.
Tonight flies a better moon.

I guess you've known lovers here, compliant in passion;
Softly laid in the old reed bed, harshly
Lit in the noon sun.
Tonight flies a better moon.

Now cloaked in this milky light, new as the virgin dawn,
Shrouded sweetly in all kinds of mystery,
You turn, smile and then are gone.
Tonight flies a better moon.

I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles. And I ride that train
on a first class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet. Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down. Dressed to look the part.
Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone -
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.
But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin.
Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.

My hand of thumbs is shaking
I am so glad to meet you
All tongue-tied and twisted
My lips stuck like glue

More than a lifetime to say, "How are you?"
More than an ocean to cross becalmed.
Less than a second to sink in silence.
Yours truly, I remain disarmed.


Saw you peeping from the corner.
Your eyes seemed to call hello.
I'm all too easily mistaken,
My feet unsteady as they go.

Was I a suave and confident trickster
I would sweep you up and carry you down
To raspberry meadows under diamond skies
and just mess around. Just mess around.

My first and last time with you
And we had some fun.
Went walking through the trees, yeah!
And then I kissed you once.
Oh I want to see you soon
But I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
For a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
To turn out this way.
Oh I had to leave today
Just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

My first and last time with you
And we had some fun.
Went walking through the trees, yeah!
And then I kissed you once.
Oh I want to see you soon
But I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
For a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
To turn out this way.
Oh I had to leave today
Just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

My first and last time with you
And we had some fun.
Went walking through the trees, yeah!
And then I kissed you once.
Oh I want to see you soon
But I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
For a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
To turn out this way.
Oh I had to leave today
Just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

A raft of penguins on a frozen sea.
Expectant faces look down on me.
Shuffle uneasy. The whistler plays.
Counting eleven, they begin to pray.

Tenuous but clinging, the missing link
Joins us, closer than we might think.
Some half remembered coarse jungle drum ?
A naked heart-beat, trill and hum.


This world's no stage for the faint at heart.
Each symphony, a sum of parts.
Each overture, a sweet foreplay.
Let's crash and burn some other day.

Bonded in terror or suspicion deep
Tentative tiptoe or giant leap
Call down the angels to guide them in
A raft of penguins take to the wing.

A small cigar can change the world
I know, I've done it frequently at parties
Where I've won all the guests' attention
With my generosity and suave gentlemanly bearing
A little flat tin case is all you need
Breast-pocket conversation opener
And one of those ciggie lighters that look rather good
You can throw away when empty
Must be declared a great success
My small cigars all vanish within minutes

Excuse me, mine host, that I may visit
A nearby tobacconist
To replenish my supply of small cigars
And make the party swing again

I know my clothes seem shabby
And don't fit this Hampstead soiree
Where unread copies of Rolling Stone
Well-thumbed Playboys
Decorate the hi-fi stereo record shelves
If you ask me they're on their way
To upper-middle-class oblivion
The stupid twits, they roll their only
One cigarette between them
My small cigar's redundant now
In the haze of smoking pleasure
Call it a day
Get the hell away
Go down the cafe
For a cup of real tea

By the tube station, there's a drunk old fool
Who sells papers in the rush hour
I hand to him ten small cigars
He smiles, says, Son, God bless you

A small cigar
Has changed his world, my friend
A small cigar
Has changed the world again

A small cigar . . .

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today.

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
Gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
But you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
You don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Once it seemed there would always be
A time for everything.
Ages passed I knew at last
My life had never been.
I'd been missing what time could bring.

Fifty years and I'm filled with tears and joys
I never cried.
Burn the wagon and chain the mule.
The past is all denied.
There's no time for everything.

No time for everything.

A week of moments ? a clutch of days ?
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play.
Medley of quavers informs the tune.
It's all too much: over all too soon.

Sweet condensation on chilling wine
Traveler's palm, flamboyant tree
Fast photos ripped and lost consign
A week of moments to faint memory.


A week of moments plucked from the page
Found far horizons, a sunset stage.
Suitcases bulge, in silence packed
A chapter closed: no looking back.

The lightest touch upon my arm
No fierce restraint, no call to stay.
Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king
With pool attendants in chess piece array.

I'll make love to you in all good places -
Under black mountains, in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers that slither darkly,
Through far marches where the blue hare races.

Come with me to the Winged Isle -
Northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild.

I'll make love to you in narrow side streets,
With shuttered windows, and crumbling chimneys.

Come with me to the weary town -
Discos silent under tiles
That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
On concrete marches of acres wild.

By red bricks pointed with cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.

Come with me to the Winged Isle -
Northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild

Nobody sees her here, her eyes are slowly closing.
If she should want some peace she sits there, without moving,
And puts a pillow over the phone.
And if she feels like dancing, no one will know it.
Giving herself a chance there's no need to show her how it should be.

She can't remember now when she was all in pieces,
She's quite content to sit there listening to what he says,
How he didn't like to be alone.
And if he feels like crying she's there to hear him,
No reason to complain and nothing to fear, they always will be.

We saw the heavens break and all the world go down to sleep
and rocks on mossy banks drip acid rain from craggy steeps
Saw fiery angels kiss the dawn
Wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

And troubled dynasties, like legions lost, have blown away
Hounds hard upon their heels call to their quarry --- wait and play
Before the last faint light has gone
Wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

The angry waves grow high --- cut icy teeth on northern shores
Brave fires that flicker, cough --- give way to winds
through broken doors
And with the last line almost drawn --- wish you goodbye till further on
Will you still be there further on?

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone
Old man he's a mountain
Old man he's an island
Old man he's a-waking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
Old man he's calling for his supper
Calling for his whisky
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
Calling, calling all his children round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
Everyone is from somewhere
Even if you've never been there
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another christmas song
Old man is asleep now
Got appointments to keep now
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
Proving that the blood is strong

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harry's still here.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Another Harry's bar.
And another Harry's bar.
And another, and another Harry's bar.

Sailing round the true-blue sphere---
is it too late to bale out of here?
Well, there has to be some better way
to turn back the night,
spin on to yesterday.

The old man and his crew---
after all these years,
it's apogee.
Pilot training and remorse---
spirit friends fly too,
at apogee.
Apogee --- solar bright.
Apogee --- through the night.
Apogee --- overground.
Don't think I'll be coming down.

Screened for a stable mate
with nerves of ice we flew,
at apogee.
No creativity allowed
to pass through stainless veins of steel,
at apogee.
Apogee --- put the kettle on.
Tight-lipped --- soldier on.
High point --- communicate.
Don't forget to urinate.

So glad they put this window in.
How to explain, how to begin?
See! Tennyson and Wordsworth there
waiting for me in the cold, thin air.

Beware a host of unearthly daffodils
drifting golden, turned up loud.
Tell the boys back home,
I'm gonna get some.

The Wrong Stuff's loose in here ---
I'm climbing up the walls,
at apogee.
So hoist the skull and bones ---
death and glory's free,
at apogee.

A stranger wind, a solar breeze ---
I'm walking out upon the starry seas.
See pyramids, see standing stones ---
pink cotton undies and blue telephones.

Goodbye, cruel world that was my home ---
there's a cleaner space out there to roam.
Put my feet up on the moons of Mars ---
sit back, relax and count the stars.

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, Aqualung

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings onto your beard was
Screaming agony? Hey!
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Ohh

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Ohh

Dee dee dee dee dee...

Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung

Whoa, Aqualung

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, Aqualung

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings onto your beard was
Screaming agony? Hey!
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Ohh

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Ohh

Dee dee dee dee dee...

Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung

Whoa, Aqualung

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, Aqualung

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings onto your beard was
Screaming agony? Hey!
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Ohh

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Ohh

Dee dee dee dee dee...

Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung

Whoa, Aqualung

The middle lane has trapped my car
in red-light claustrophobia.
I slip the shackles, cut the rope ---
stand naked with a telescope
as the cat walks alone
under a big sky.
Against the dark so thin and white ---
gonna be a big sky night.

Miss Galileo, come with me
and view the new Astronomy.
Black hole dressing on salad plate ---
quasar at the kissing gate.
Now the cat, he walks alone
under a big sky.
Umbrella dome pin-pricked in lights ---
gonna be a big sky night.

My spectacles, my white lab coat ---
my coffee, thermos and my notes.
I pat my pockets. I got the keys
to the secrets of the observatory.
And closing the door,
I feel a new dawn
as the darker slides align ---
you to yours and me to mine.

And now you stand, assisting me ---
I can touch what I can see, see, see.
I look in wonder, I feel no shame ---
see the consequences of the game.
Expand the universe.
Head for the Big Bang.
Reach for my switch and shout ---
gonna turn the big sky out.

There's got to be astronomy.
Astronomy.

In the hands of science ---
the complete appliance.
We're moved to motor.
Do you fly a Spitfire?
Do you slide on a tea-tray?
Or walk on a short trip (Sundays).
Or drive come what may (enjoy).

Automotive science and engineering.

When big was better ---
and fast was chic,
the oil was cheaper ---
now we're up the creek.
But the Japs are coming
and everyone's turbo'd
and carbon fibre
is the way to go, go.

Down at the robot factory
things are humming.
New radical suspension ---
no humans testing.
(Wind it up, wind it up.)
Take a trip
in your Freudian slip.
Doctor Ferdinand (Ferdie)
has you in his grip.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of dawn:
Nose pressed against the triple glaze.
Floor to ceiling, wall to wall,
Silent traffic streams both ways.
Along the fussy freeway drivers
Dream of sunday barbecues.
Of a sudden, seems I can barely
Face my self: no face to lose.
Call the bosses. call supervisors.
Won't be in today to work for you.

E-mail that girl who's working nights.
She can dress down for this wind and rain.
Leave her new korean compact:
Let some cabbie take the strain.
Take a shower. take big espresso.
Take to the hills, and take a view.
Little black dress stretching over
Hard crystal peaks: soft valleys too.

Call the bosses. call for nurses.
Unfit today to work for you.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

Stormy-eyed on the edge of night:
(december, eastern time: late afternoon.)
Atlantic city tight behind.
Trump casina calls pontoon.
Gristle-burger, frazzled fries
End this romantic interlude.
Tomorrow morning's sweet awakening
Could hardly prove to be as rude.
Make the journey. make amends.
Work some hasty overtime in lieu.

No wet excuses. absent without leave.
I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.

My telephone wakes me in the morning --
Have to get up to answer the call.
So I think I'll go back to the family
Where no one can ring me at all.
Living this life has its problems
So I think that I'll give it a break.
Oh, I'm going back to the family
'cos I've had about all I can take.

Master's in the counting house
Counting all his money.
Sister's sitting by the mirror --
She thinks her hair looks funny.
And here am I thinking to myself
Just wond'ring what things to do.

I think I enjoyed all my problems
Where I did not get nothing for free.
Oh, I'm going back to the family --
Doing nothing is bothering me.
I'll get a train back to the city
That soft life is getting me down.
There's more fun away from the family
Get some action when I pull into town.

Everything I do is wrong,
What the hell was I thinking?
Phone keeps ringing all day long
I got no time for thinking.
And every day has the same old way
Of giving me too much to do.

In and out of the front door,
Ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown
They didn't see me wink my eye.
'Tis said they put we men to sleep
With just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs
And make them linger.
They carry their candles high
And they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean
With pressed and scented wild-flowers.

They grow all their roses red,
And paint our skies blue
Drop one penny in every second bowl
Make half the beggars lose,
Why do the faithful have such a will
To believe in something?

And call it the name they choose,
Having chosen nothing.

Think I'll sit down and invent some fool
Some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast,
He'll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door ran
One front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown
She smiled and I think she winked her eye.

Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
A young man's fancy and an old man's dream.
I'm self raising and I flower in her company.
Give me no sugar without her cream.

She's a warm fart at Christmas.
She's a breath of champagne on sparkling night.
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
Turns other women to envious green.
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and she's loveless.
She's a young man's vision in my old man's dream.

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands.
With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time.
You can call me on another line.
Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper warriors changing the names they

advertise from the station stand.
With cold print hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline.
If you catch me another time.

Didn't make her --- with my Baker Street Ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and Bacardi colours them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
with great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet
down in the Baker Street underground. (What the hell!)
Walking down the gutter thinking,
``How the hell am I today?''
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.

From early days of infancy, through trembling years
of youth, long murky middle-age and final hours
long in the tooth, he is the hundred names of terror ---
creature you love the least. Picture his name before
you and exorcise the beast.

He roved up and down through history --- spectre
with tales to tell. In the darkness when the
campfire's dead --- to each his private hell. If you look
behind your shoulder as you feel his eyes to feast, you
can witness now the everchanging nature of the beast.

Beastie

If you wear a warmer sporran, you can keep the foe at
bay. You can pop those pills and visit some
psychiatrist who'll say --- There's nothing I can do
for you, everywhere's a danger zone. I'd love to help
get rid of it, but I've got one of my own.

There's a beast upon my shoulder and a fiend upon
my back. Feel his burning breath a heaving, smoke
oozing from his stack. And he moves beneath the
covers or he lies below the bed. He's the beast upon
your shoulder. He's the price upon your head. He's
the lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.
He's your private nightmare pricking. He'd just love
to turn the screw. So stand as one defiant --- yes, and
let your voices swell. Stare that beastie in the face
and really give him hell.

You're taking chances.
And your reputation's going down.
Going out in the night-time.
You think you make no sound.
But you don't fool me.
'Cos I know what you feel.
If you ignore the things I say --
Someday soon's gonna find you
'way down on Beggar's Farm.

I pay my money for no returns.
I think I need you.
Going to find someone.
Oh, you don't fool me.
'Cos I know what you feel.
When you go out I ask you why.
And I won't worry when I see you lying
Down on Beggar's Farm.

When you run to me, going to turn away.
Won't even listen when you try to say
That you were only fooling around --
'Cos I know what you feel.
But if you ask me nicely, woman --
I'll wake up early one day soon and
I'll visit you down on Beggar's Farm.

You're taking chances.
And your reputation's going down.
Going out in the night-time.
You think you make no sound.
But you don't fool me.
'Cos I know what you feel.
If you ignore the things I say --
Someday soon's gonna find you
'way down on Beggar's Farm.

I pay my money for no returns.
I think I need you.
Going to find someone.
Oh, you don't fool me.
'Cos I know what you feel.
When you go out I ask you why.
And I won't worry when I see you lying
Down on Beggar's Farm.

When you run to me, going to turn away.
Won't even listen when you try to say
That you were only fooling around --
'Cos I know what you feel.
But if you ask me nicely, woman --
I'll wake up early one day soon and
I'll visit you down on Beggar's Farm.

She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.
It's a sensitive passage she's sailing -
Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings.

She rises before me, reading me clearly.
Empty nest left pressed in the pillow.
She can shift, she can sway
and bend like a willow.

I'm swept in the riptide, caught in a fish trap.
Gift-wrapped in my soft self centre.
Summer sun leaves me as one who can only taste winter.
She's a good, a good God-send: she can bend like a willow.

With a fully armed angel to cover me quickly.
I'm cool under enemy fire.
If I fall, she can crawl right under the wire.

When I'm caustic and cold, she might dare to be bold -
ease me round to her warm way of thinking:
fill me up from the cup of love that she's drinking.
And I find, given time. I can bend like a willow.
She bends like a willow.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
I'm beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
in the shadows by the station there.

I'll wish you up a silver train
to carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
I'm beside myself.

Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.

I'm beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

I'm so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
I'm beside myself.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

The mist rolls off the beaches:
the train rolls into the station.
Uh-Huh!
Weekend happiness seekers pent-up saturation.
Uh-Huh!
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm,
we weren't on the Glasgow train.
See you at the Pleasure Beach:
roller-coasting heroes.
Uh-Huh!

Big Dipper riding
we'll give the local lads a hiding
if they keep us from the ladies
hanging out in the penny arcades.
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
throwing up in the bathroom.
Landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper
it's the weekend rage.

Rich widowed landlady give me your spare front door key
Uh-Huh!
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to you next Thursday
Uh-Huh!
I may stay over for a week or two
drop a postcard to my mum.
I'll see you at the waltzer
we'll go big-dipping daily.
Uh-Huh!

Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Somebody took it on a dare in the night-time.
Run up to the radio, calling out to the wind.
Now, bring it, bring it back at least an hour before flight time.
It was a souvenir, but it was a right arm missing.
Swap a woodwork rhythm for a humbucking top line.

Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
A little slow in the brain box, but he had a quick right hand.
Run left, run right --- everywhere he look ---
nobody watching, no, but that was
all he took last night.

Running on the power of a stolen mandolin.
Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle.
Will he wake in the morning, wondering --- was it really worth it?
So make a little deal, Yeah, make a little hustle.

Ringing on the radio --- got a proposition for those English boys.
I'll make the sing-song --- you can make the background noise.
One, two, three, four --- one bar and in.
Give you back the mando, if you'll let this singer sing tonight.

Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Big Riff took it on a dare in the night-time.
Now it's four o'clock, and we're waiting at the sound-check.
Looking for a face staring in from the sunshine.
We got two strong lawmen from the sheriff's office.
They're going to lift Big Riff before he plays the first line.

Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
Yeah, help him on the stage now, put that microphone in his hand.
Think hard, think right --- nothing in his mind ---
So Riff did a runner, but he left the mandolin behind.

Got a birthday card at Christmas... it made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters. I simply had to read it twice.
Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys. The smell of frost was in the air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness. I looked again... it wasn't there.

People have showered me with presents. While their minds were fixed on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles. Pointy trees and angel wings.
I am the shadow in your Christmas. I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration. You offer content but no style.

That little baby Jesus... he got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense. Some penny baubles for his tree.
Have some time off for good behaviour. Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus... Let's share a birthday card with you.

Got a birthday card at Christmas
It made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters.
I simply had to read it twice.

Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys.
The smell of frost was in the air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness.
I looked again: it wasn't there.

People have showered me with presents.
While their minds were fixed on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles.
Pointy trees and angel wings.

I am the shadow in your Christmas.
I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration.
You offer content but no style.

That little baby Jesus.
He got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense.
Some penny baubles for his tree.

Have some time off for good behaviour.
Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus
Let's share a birthday card with you.

Hand in the snake pit - black mamba chase.
Head through the lion's cage - head on a plate.
Two feet on the hot coals - last dance at the ball.
Blindfold on the tightrope - whenever you call.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

Dark thoughts of the sleepless - hung out to dry.
Slip through the bedclothes - unblinking eye.
Long tongue flickering - fixed stare grip.
Sweet venomous potion, held to my lip.
Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me.

A tropical whisper. A sibilant kiss.
Soft strike teasing. Dangerous bliss.

Come, let me play with you, Black Satin Dancer.
In all your giving, given is the answer.
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter than the brightest flower
in my
garden.
Begging your pardon - shedding right unreason.
Over sensation fly the fleeting seasons.
Thin wind whispering on broken mandolin.
Bending the minutes - the hours ever turning on that old gold
story of
mercy.
Desperate breathing. Tongue nipple-teasing.
Your fast river flowing - your Northern fire fed.
Come, Black Satin Dancer, come softly to bed.

Black Satin Dancer, given is the answer.
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter than the brightest flower
in my
garden.

Come, let me play with you; Come, Black Satin Dancer.
In all your giving, given is the answer.
Your fast river flowing - your Northern fire fed.
Come, Black Satin Dancer, come softly to bed.

Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

And down at the airport are probably waiting
a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas ---
connections broken and Special Branch waiting
conspicuously standing in holiday clothing
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me
Get out and chase the small immortality
born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning
Homecoming one day too soon

And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
...one day too soon

Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running
and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

And down at the airport are probably waiting
a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas ---
connections broken and Special Branch waiting
conspicuously standing in holiday clothing
Black Sunday falls one day too soon

Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me
Get out and chase the small immortality
born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning
Homecoming one day too soon

And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
...one day too soon

I see a dark sail on the horizon
set under a black cloud that hides the sun

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding,
bring me my cross of gold as a talisman

Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing,
take women and children and bed them down

Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding,
bring me my cross of gold as a talisman

Bless with a hard heart those who surround me,
bless the women and children who firm our hands
Put our backs to the north wind, hold fast by the river
sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland

I see a dark sail on the horizon
set under a black cloud that hides the sun

so bring me my broadsword and clear understanding
bring me my cross of gold as a talisman

so bring me my broadsword and a cross of gold as a talisman
(Broadsword)

I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.

We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.

She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.

She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.

Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.

I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.

I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.

We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.

She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.

She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.

Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.

I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.

I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.

We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.

She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.

She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.

Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.

I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.

Walking through forests of palm tree apartments
Scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents
Down by the waterhole, drunk every Friday
Eating their nuts, saving their raisins for Sunday
Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows
They're fast but they're lazy, and sleep in green meadows

Well, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
Well, I'm a tiger when I want love
And I'm a snake if we disagree

Just say a word and the boys will be right there
With claws at your back to send a chill through the night air
Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder?
Thunder and lightning couldn't be bolder
I'll write on your tombstone, I thank you for dinner
This game that we animals play is a winner

Well, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
I'm a tiger when I want love
I'm a snake if we disagree

The rivers are full of crocodile nasties
And he who made kittens put snakes in the grass, he's
A lover of life, but a player of pawns
Yes, the king on his sunset lies waiting for dawn
To light up his jungle as play is resumed
The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune

Well, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
I'm a tiger when I want love
And I'm a snake when we disagree
Yes, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
Well, I'm a tiger when I want love
I'm a snake when we disagree
Well, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
I'm a tiger when I want love

On Preston Platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance
Brush away the cigarette ash
That's falling down your pants
And then you sadly wonder
Does the nurse treat your old man
The way she should?
She made you tea
Asked for your autograph--
What a laugh

On Preston Platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance
Brush away the cigarette ash
That's falling down your pants
And then you sadly wonder
Does the nurse treat your old man
The way she should?
She made you tea
Asked for your autograph--
What a laugh

along the costroad, by the headland
the early lights of winter glow
i'll pour a cup to you my darling
raise it up - say cheerio

along the costroad, by the headland
the early lights of winter glow
i'll pour a cup to you my darling
raise it up - say cheerio

Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things he later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things he later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things he later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

Pick up my wings and fly
Into a constable sky.
Look down on the world and try
To make you out on the distant ground.
Lonely toy in a lost toy-town.
Suspended in spiral sounds---
Sounds of circular breathing.

I'm a kite on a silver thread.
Daring lightning to strike me dead.

Harsh echoes of things you said
Banished me to a thinner space
With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face.
Hands cupped to my ears to place
The sound of circular breathing.

Matchbox cityscape below----
I watch lowry matchstick figures go.
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.

We travellers on the endless wastes in single orbits,
gliding cold-eyed march towards the dawn behind
hard-weather hoods a-hiding.
Meeting as the tall ships do, passing in the channel
afraid to chance a gentle touch ---
afraid to make the clasp.

In high-rise city canyons dwells the discontent of ages.
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl
commuters in their cages. Cryptic signals flash
across from pilots in the fast lane. Double-locked
and belted in --- too late to make the clasp.

Let's break the journey now on some lonely road.
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload.
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear.
Refill the cup and drink it up. Say goodnight and
wish good luck.

Synthetic chiefs with frozen smiles holding unsteady courses.
Grip the reins of history, high on their battle horses.
And meeting as good statesmen do before the T.V.
eyes of millions, hand to hand exchange the lie ---
pretend to make the clasp.

And ride with us young bonny lass - with the angels of the night.
Crack wind clatter - flesh rein bite on an out-size unicorn.
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight on a Cold Wind to Valhalla.
And join with us please - Valkyrie maidens cry above the Cold
Wind to
Valhalla.

Break fast with the Gods. Night angels serve with ice-bound majesty.
Frozen flaking fish raw nerve - in a cup of silver liquid fire.
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve and light the old Valhalla.
Come join with us please - Valkyrie maidens cry above the Cold
Wind to
Valhalla.

The heroes rest upon the sighs of Thor's trusty hand-maidens.
Midnight lonely whisper cries, "We're getting a bit short on
heroes
lately."
Sword snap fright white pale good-byes in the desolation of Valhalla.
And join with us please - Valkyrie maidens ride empty-handed on
the Cold
Wind to Valhalla.

And ride with us young bonny lass ---
with the angels of the night.
Crack wind clatter --- flesh rein bite on an out-size
unicorn.
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight on a cold wind
to Valhalla.
And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry
above the cold wind to Valhalla.
Break fast with the gods. Night angels serve
with ice-bound majesty.
Frozen flaking fish raw nerve ---
in a cup of silver liquid fire.
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve and light
the old Valhalla.
Come join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry
above the cold wind to Valhalla.
The heroes rest upon the sighs of Thor's trusty
hand maidens.
Midnight lonely whisper cries,
We're getting a bit short on heroes lately.
Sword snap fright white pale goodbyes in the
desolation of Valhalla.
And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens ride
empty-handed on the cold wind to Valhalla.

Just a little touch of make-up; just a little touch of bull;
just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul;
you can wear a gold Piaget on your Semaphore wrist;
you can dance the old adage with a dapper new twist.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
Crawl inside your major triad, curl up and laugh as your agent scores another front page photograph.
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo awaiting someone else to pull the chain.
Well grab the old bog-handle, hold your breath and light a candle.
Clear your throat and pray for rain to irrigate the corridors that echo in your brain
filled with empty nothingness, empty hunger pains.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium,
live and die upon your cross of platinum.
Join the crazed institution of the stars.
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.

Who would be a poor man, a beggar man, a thief
If he had a rich man in his hand
And who would steal the candy
From a laughing baby's mouth
If he could take it from the money man

Cross eyed Mary
Goes jumping in again
She signs no contract
But she always plays the game
She dines in Hamstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And her jacknife father
Drops her off at school

Laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Who'd rather make it with electric trains
Or maybe her attention, is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play

Cross eyed Mary
Finds it hard to get along
She's a poor man's rich girl
And she'll do it for a song
She's a rich man's stealer
But her favor's good and strong
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate
Help the poor man get along

Laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Who'd rather make it with electric trains
Or maybe her attention, is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play

Cross eyed Mary
Goes jumping in again
She signs no contract
But she always plays the game
She dines in Hamstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And jacknife father
Drops her off at school

Cross eyed Mary
Oh Mary
Oh cross eyed Mary

Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief
If he had a rich man in his hand?
And who would steal the candy from a laughing baby's mouth
If he could take it from the money man?
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract, but she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school

Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along
She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song.
She's a rich man stealer, but her favour's good and strong:
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate, helps the poor man get along.

Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract, but she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school

Cross-eyed Mary
Oh, Mary
Oh, cross-eyed Mary

Walking on air
Shoulder and head above you
Down in the street
Black canyons walking through

Hooded sad eyes
Fixed on your shuffle shoes
Life is a clue in your crossword

Typewriter turk
Telephone terror takes
Time to wind down
Push-button finger shakes

City of dreams
Back to your quiet nightmare
Your life is a clue in the crossword

Working to rule in your own time
Drag yourself home to your star sign page
Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer

Ladder of string
Climbing to sweet success
Homework aside
Your brain on the train to test

Pick up the news
You left on the seat beside you
Your life is a clue in the crossword

Your life is a clue in the crossword
Your life is a clue in the crossword

Walking on air
Shoulder and head above you
Down in the street
Black canyons walking through

Hooded sad eyes
Fixed on your shuffle shoes
Life is a clue in your crossword

Typewriter turk
Telephone terror takes
Time to wind down
Push-button finger shakes

City of dreams
Back to your quiet nightmare
Your life is a clue in the crossword

Working to rule in your own time
Drag yourself home to your star sign page
Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer

Ladder of string
Climbing to sweet success
Homework aside
Your brain on the train to test

Pick up the news
You left on the seat beside you
Your life is a clue in the crossword

Your life is a clue in the crossword
Your life is a clue in the crossword

May I make my fond excuses for the late-ness of the hour;
But we accept your invitation, and would bring you Beltane's flower.
For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song that
calls them
back.

Pass the word and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

Ask the Green Man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with
red.
Ask the old grey standing stones who show the sun his way to bed.
Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of Nature's palm, crossed with silver and with gold.

Pass the cup and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

Join in black December's sadness, lie in August's welcome corn.
Stir the cup that's ever filling with the blood of all that's born.
But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song that
calls them
back.

Pass the word and pass the lady and pass the plate to all who hunger.
And pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
And pass the Cup of Crimson Wonder.

Desert candle in a tented space
throwing softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
Pay my respects to her propriety.

Is this some crazy woman here,
dancing behind her thin black veil?
Am I misreading those mysterious eyes?
Duet impossible to harmonize.

I'm not inviting any stiff reaction.
I'm not one for naming holy names.
And I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Name of the Father ringing in her head --
Thinking over what the prophet said.
Words and tradition bind her in their spell.
Don't drink the water from this holy well.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Desert candle in a tented space
Softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
I tip my hat to her propriety.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Darlings are you ready for the long winter's fall?
said the lady in her parlor
said the butler in the hall.
Is there time for another?
cried the drunkard in his sleep.
Not likely
said the little child. What's done
the Lord can keep.
And the vicar stands a-praying.
And the television dies
as the white dot flickers and is gone
and no-one stops to cry.
The big jet rumbles over runway miles
that scar the patchwork green
where slick tycoons and rich buffoons
have opened up the seam
of golden nights and champagne flights
ad-man overkill
and in the haze
consumer crazed
we take the sugar pill.
Jagged fires mark the picket lines
the politicians weep
and mealy-mouthed
through corridors of power on tip-toe creep.
Come and see bureaucracy
make its final heave
and let the new disorder through
while senses take their leave.
Families screaming line the streets
and put the windows through
in corner shops
where keepers kept
the country's life-blood blue.
Take their pick
and try the trick
with loaves and fishes shared
and the vicar shouts
as the lights go out,
and no-one really cares.
Dark Ages
shaking the dead
Closed pages
better not read
Cold rages
burn in your head.