Jethro Tull

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

Hey little buddies:
soft and silky night walkers.
Dangerous species -
Tiptoe menace long grass stalkers
on my bed:
no butter melting in your jaws.
Bonding monster -
Lethal weapon wearing claws.

Let's go out to hunt by numbers.

Tabby, spotted, black as coal -
Serval, Margy, Caracal.
Moggie in the moonlight listens:
whiskered sensory miracle.
Felis, befriend us -
Egyptian Mau - Freya's familiar.
Long in the future -
Cloned disciples, the castle guard.

Now, let's go out and hunt by numbers.

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He quietly sits under every tree ---
in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.

It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green ---
no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier ---
carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack, do you never sleep ---
does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
motorways, powerlines,
keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so ---
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.

Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other
We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting.
Let us close our eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won't give in, we'll keep living in the past.

Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.
Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

My Sunday feeling is coming on over me.
My Sunday feeling is coming on over me,
Now that the night is over.
Got to clear my head so I can see.
Till I get to put together,
That old feeling won't let me be.

Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night?
Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night?
I really don't remember,
But with one more cigarette and I think I might.
Till I get to put together,
Well that old feeling can't get me right.

Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said?
Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said?
Oh, I don't feel so good.
Need someone to help me to my bed.
Till I get to put together,
That old feeling is in my head.

Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

In the morning -- gonna get my things together.
Packing up and I'm leaving this place.
I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be a smile upon your face.

I didn't think how much you'd hurt me.
That's something that I laugh about.
Bring in the good times, baby.
And let the bad times out.

That old sun keeps on shining,
But someday it won't shine for you.
In the morning I'll be leaving.
I'll leave your mother too.

You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream
Can't hear your daddy's warning cry
You're going back to be all the things you want to be
While in sweet dreams you softly sigh

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

No one can see us in your sweet dream
Don't hear you leave to start the car
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me,
Your place of resting is not far

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Crystal fountain springing from the hill.
It irrigates your soul. you may drink your fill.
Water of life, carried high.
One hand upon the gallon jar. feel her fix my eye.

Every good traveller's for the taking.
All good money for the making.


Seller's market: wet appeal.
Water carrier------let's make the deal.

Covered face and black pool eyes.
Between us, no words spoken: no words to the wise.
Here's to another time and a drink somewhere.
Plush on a nain carpet; on a cafe chair.

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

Wond'ring aloud --
How we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
My hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
As we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other.

Wond'ring aloud --
Will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
And I shake my head.
And it's only the giving
That makes you what you are.

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.

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

Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, we'll put your name up in lights,
put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages
to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.

Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are?
Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes
to carve your name on Glory Row?

Down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
Between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,
Freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)
He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
In between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
Saw his face in everyone.

He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
And saw his face in everyone.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes...
The minstrel in the gallery

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

Flying so high, trying to remember
how many cigarettes did I bring along?
When I get down I'll jump in a taxi cab
driving through London town
to cry you a song.

It's been a long time
still shaking my wings.
Well, I'm a glad bird
I got changes to ring.

Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
but I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,
can't find what they're looking for
Waving me through
to cry you a song.

It's been a long time
still shaking my wings.
Well I'm a glad bird
I got changes to ring.

Lights in the street,
peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes
was never so sweet before
Came down from the skies
to cry you a song.

I'll take you down to that bright city mile,
There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile
That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain
When you join my explosion and play with my games

WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

No unconditional surrender: no armistice day
Each night I'll die in my contentment and lie by your grave
While you bring me water and I give you wine
Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine.

WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors.
Let me live in your country - let me sleep by your shores

WarChild dance the days, and the nights away

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

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

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

Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other
We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting.
Let us close our eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won't give in, we'll keep living in the past.

Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.
Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other
We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting.
Let us close our eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won't give in, we'll keep living in the past.

Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.
Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
Between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,
Freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)
He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
In between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
Saw his face in everyone.

He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
And saw his face in everyone.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes...
The minstrel in the gallery

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
Between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,
Freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)
He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
In between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred,
Oblique suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
Static-humming panel-beaters,

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
Saw his face in everyone.

He titillated men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention.
(salaried and collar-scrubbing.)

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
One-line jokers, TV documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers.)
Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
And saw his face in everyone.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes...
The minstrel in the gallery

Mean while back in the year one
When you belonged to no one
You didn´t stand a chance son
If your pants were undone

´Cause you were bread for humanity
And sold to society
One day you´ll wake in the present days
A million generations removed from expectations of
Being who you really want to be

Skating away
Skating away
Skating away
On the thin ice of a new day

So as you push of from the shore
Won´t you turn your head once more
And make your peace with ev´ryone
For those who choose to stay
Will live just one more day
To do the things they should have done

And as you cross the wilderness
Aspinning in your emptiness you feel you have to pray
Looking for a sign that the universal mind
Has written you into the passion play

Skating away
Skating away
Skating away
On the thin ice of a new day

And as you cross the circle line
Well the ice wall creaks behind
You´re a rabbit on the run
And silver splinters fly
In the corner of your eye
Shining in the setting sun

Well do you ever get the feeling
That the story´s too damn real and in the present tense
Or that ev´rybody´s on the stage
And it seems like you´re the only person sitting in the audience

Skating away
Skating away
Skating away
On the thin ice of a new day

Skating away
Skating away
Skating away

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.

You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream
Can't hear your daddy's warning cry
You're going back to be all the things you want to be
While in sweet dreams you softly sigh

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

No one can see us in your sweet dream
Don't hear you leave to start the car
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me,
Your place of resting is not far

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream
Can't hear your daddy's warning cry
You're going back to be all the things you want to be
While in sweet dreams you softly sigh

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

No one can see us in your sweet dream
Don't hear you leave to start the car
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me,
Your place of resting is not far

You hear my voice is calling
To be mine again
Live the rest of your life in a day

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping
No time to understand
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

Lend me your ear while I call you a fool.
You were kissed by a witch one night in the wood,
And later insisted your feelings were true.
The witches promise was coming,
Believing he listened while laughing you flew.

Leaves falling, red, yellow, brown, all look the same,
And the love you had found lay outside in the rain,
Washed clean by the water but nursing its pain.
The witches promise was coming,
And you're looking elsewhere for your own selfish gain.

Keep looking, keep looking for somewhere to be,
Well, you're wasting your time, they're not stupid like he is.
Meanwhile leaves are still falling, you're too blind to see.
You won't find it easy now, it's only fair.
He was willing to give to you, you didn't care.
You're waiting for more but you've already had your share.
The witches promise is turning,
so don't you wait up for him, he's going to be late.

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

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

Don't want to be a fat man
People would think that I was just good fun, man
Would rather be a thin man
I am so glad to go on being one, man

Too much to carry around with you
No chance of finding a woman, who
Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too

Don't want to be a fat man
Have not the patience to ignore all that
Hate to admit to myself
I thought my problems came from being fat

Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him
I've seen the other side to being thin
Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure the fat man would win

Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other
We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting.
Let us close our eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won't give in, we'll keep living in the past.

Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.
Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past.

In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

Nothing is easy.
Though time gets you worrying
My friend, it's OK.
Just take your life easy
And stop all that hurrying,
Be happy my way.

When tension starts mounting
And you've lost count
Of the pennies you've missed,
Just try hard and see why they're not worrying me,
They're last on my list.
Nothing's easy.

Nothing is easy, you'll find
That the squeeze won't turn out so bad.
Your fingers may freeze, worse things happen at sea,
There's good times to be had.
So if you're alone and you're down to the bone,
Just give us a play.
You'll smile in a while and discover
That I'll get you happy my way
Nothing's easy.

Through northern lights on back streets ---
I told the coachman, Just drive me on,
It's the same old destination
but a different world to sing upon.
So he threw back his head and he counted.
I jumped out about five to nine.
And I waved at the stage door-keeper ---
said, Mister, get me to the stage on time.

Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so I slipped behind a rainbow
and waited till the show had done.

I packed my ammunition.
Inside the crowd was shouting, Encore,
But I had a most funny feeling ---
it wasn't me they were shouting for.
So when the tall dark lady smiled at me
I said, Oh, baby let us go for a ride.
And we came upon two drinks or four
and popped them oh so neatly inside.

Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so we slipped behind a rainbow
and lay there until we had done.

Let me pack you deep in my suitcase.
Oh, there's sure to be room for two ---
or you can drive me to the airplane
but don't let me catch those rainbow blues.

Well the dawn was coming,
heard him ringing on my bell.
He said, My name's the teacher,
that is what I call myself.
And I have a lesson
that I must impart to you.
It's an old expression
but I must insist it's true.

Jump up, look around,
find yourself some fun,
no sense in sitting there hating everyone.
No man's an island and his castle isn't home,
the nest is full of nothing when the bird has flown.

So I took a journey,
threw my world into the sea.
With me went the teacher
who found fun instead of me.

Hey man, what's the plan, what was that you said?
Sun-tanned, drink in hand, lying there in bed.
I try to socialize but I can't seem to find
what I was looking for, got something on my mind.

Then the teacher told me
it had been a lot of fun.
Thanked me for his ticket
and all that I had done.

Hey man, what's the plan, what was that you said?
Sun-tanned, drink in hand, lying there in bed.
I try to socialize but I can't seem to find
what I was looking for, got something on my mind.

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today --
and you shake your head
and say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born --
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and not to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone --
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone --
you meet the stares. You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom with your rings upon your fingers
and your downy little sidies and your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol who lets you bend the rules.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man born --
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
It says here that cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn. Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The fading hero has returned to the night --
and fully pregnant with the day, wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red --
while the fool toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament.
Won't you? Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields
and you make all your animal deals
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

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 . . .

The actors milling helplessly--
The script is blowing out to sea.
But what the hell, we didn't even pass an audition.

The lines you'll have to improvise.
The words are written in the eyes
Of politicians who despise their fathers.

And so the play necessitates
That all you boys participate
In fierce competition to eliminate each other.

And groupies, on their way to war,
Get to write the next film score,
But the rock and roll star knows his glory is really nothing.

Men of religion, on the make,
Pledge an oath they undertake
To make you wise for God's own sake, and none other.

While ladies get their bedding done
To win themselves a bouncing son--
But bad girls do it for the fun of just being.

And me, I'm here to sing along,
And I'm not concerned with righting wrongs,
Just asking questions that belong without an answer.

But God is laughing up his sleeve
As He pours himself another cup of tea,
And He waves good-bye to you and me, at least for now

All right and honorable gentlemen
And lady, too
Will kindly try to restrain themselves
In derring-do

As verbal hard graffiti flies
And echoes wall to wall
Our precious model of democracy
It's the House of Commons brawl

One member from some dark mill town
Furious did cry
Spittle froth from folded chin
To dim the lie

Let's serve this brief and list the rush
Of who's allowed catcalls
Let's finish this right here and now
At the House of Commons brawl

Kick, punch with the government
As with jackets off they fly heaven-bent
Scratch gouge with the other side
As the party firmly admit a fight

Another day in the lives of those
Who would guide us through
If all is prepped that we should
By their example do
But there again I think for less
For gyving to the wall
The wrong house but the right idea
To end the Commons brawl

Tear it down in double quick time
To get the eighth truck shifted 'bout midnight
The locker rooms are empty but the
Strobo Tickers?][strobe boats?]
still spin with their pitching lights
And someone with a yellow pass
Gives out precise directions as to where and when

And here am I with a drumstick,
While young girls set to rendezvous,
and be recognized again
Tomorrow is an off-day,
Be in Baltimore by Thursday is the only law.
There's a suite down at the hotel
Reserved for making merry with connecting doors.
The lighting man's already improvised a bar,
And printed invitations to the ball.
Off duty cops line corridors wearing Tull
[two?] T-shirts proudly
on the band's [...] wall

Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives,
Best boots and road suits and nine lives.

Feeling that it might be wrong to
Temporarily belong to the P.A. man [men?]
Some angel from the midwest is regretting being
Undressed with no suntan
His polaroid is snapping
The head carpenter is rapping on
The gates of dawn

Sitting lonely with a warm beer
The girl with dental braces wishes that she hadn't gone.

Crew nights, no bar fights or [feeders?] [veeders?] wives
Thin walls and late [blade?] calls and nine lives.

Still no clue on the first line, but I think
late calls'' is definitely correct for the second line.
It makes sense from a stagehand terminology perspective.
I know that it sounds like there's a ``b'' sound in there,
but I think it's just a minor flaw in Ian's diction.
(It's really tough to sing clearly,especially in rock music.)

Crew nights, no flashlights or folding knives,
Best boots and road suits and nine lives.

Critic of the black and white
It's your first night.
The Passion Play gets in the way,
Spoils your insight.

Tell me how the baby's made,
How the lady's laid,
Why the old dogs howl with sadness.

The blue thing in the ball leaves naught but a bloody footprint on
the memory of last summer's trip to Europe

Did you buy a passport from the queen?

And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony
shoulder of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously
into her geography revision.
The examining body examined her body.

Your mother she protected you
And softened every blow
And brought you up to fear the worst
To be careful as you go

And the learned educators
With drip-feed [thrifty?] facts to fill
You up to here with reason
Well-meaning overkill

If you find yourself a-growing
to be old before your time
Get off the endless corridor
Set your soul out on the line

Drive on the young side of life

When the pressure pains are building
And you're forced to join the crush
In the race to mediocrity
So respectable and plush

And while the child within is raging
And threatens to break out
Get off the endless corridor
Make a timely turnabout

Drive on the young side of life.

Hard liner, she brings ice when I bring fire.
She's a hard liner.
Tightrope cross Niagara
She'd cut the wire
Never feel a thing.
Walked the sidewalk of another strange avenue.
Kicked my heels and wished my feet were in some other shoes.
But I'm not running from that hard liner.

Well she brings ice when I bring fire.
She's a real hard liner.
How does she retain my heart's desire?
It's a funny thing.
Knows what she wants, knows how to get it, too.
Scares me with cold logic, scares me with the witch's brew.
But I keep on drinking.
Hard liner.

Hard liner.
I'm framed and I'm hanging on the wall.
She's a hard liner.
I'm like some big game trophy hat-stand in the hall.
But I remember warm and loving nights.
Her [red?] hair, restaurants,
Swaying bust, headlights
It's a funny thing.

Hard liner.
Yeah, she brings ice when I bring fire.
Hard liner.
Tightrope 'cross Niagara, don't cut my wire.
Hard liner, hard, hard liner.
She brings sun when I bring rain.
She's a real hard liner.
Yeah, we've got it all crossed up again.

Hard liner. Hard liner.
Now I don't think we can stay in the same town.

Got a grand house out in the country.
Marble pillars holding the door.
Empty bottles lining the wall from the night before.
Got a Roller out in the garage.
But the wheels are stuck to the floor.
Got no reason to go anywhere--no friends call anymore.
I don't want to be me, I don't want to be me,

I know it's hard to see, But I don't want to be me.
Had me playing down at the palace.
I was declared the belle of the ball.
Made the boys take my goods and chattels away--
now I'm staring at an empty hall.
I don't want to be me.

Pardon me--I'm on my way.
Pardon me but I'm going.
Taking on the simple life and I feel the grass roots growing.
I'm going to ride the ragged road--
diamond spurs jangling into the sunset.
No circuits running overload--Well maybe I'm not done yet.

Now there's nothing left in the cupboard
and three bears' been eating my soup.
My life is one big critical mess if you take a look.
And the butler's off in Ibiza on expense account gone berserk.
But I can't check out of this crazy world
without being a jerk--I don't want to be me.

The tiger flashes sharpened teeth.
Bowler-hatted; summer briefs
Beneath his pinstriped skin.

To kill demands a business sense;
Economy moves non-residence
Approaching from down-wind.

Being a tiger means you laugh
Whenever lesser tigers have
To eat meat that's infected.

Being a tiger means your mate
When overfed will defecate
In places least expected.

Knowing a tiger means you must
Accept his promise of mutual trust
And offer him your throat.

Loving a tiger means you take
Second place to the cake you bake
And with undying servile obedience
keep the stiffly starched collar
of his conference shirt spotless
and remove daily the daubed bloody
evidence of his dastardly misdeeds
from the otherwise immaculate elegance
of his pinstripe tiger coat.

Period.

The tiger flashes sharpened teeth.
Bowler-hatted; summer briefs
Beneath his pinstriped skin.

To kill demands a business sense;
Economy moves non-residence
Approaching from down-wind.

Being a tiger means you laugh
Whenever lesser tigers have
To eat meat that's infected.

Being a tiger means your mate
When overfed will defecate
In places least expected.

Knowing a tiger means you must
Accept his promise of mutual trust
And offer him your throat.

Loving a tiger means you take
Second place to the cake you bake
And with undying servile obedience
keep the stiffly starched collar
of his conference shirt spotless
and remove daily the daubed bloody
evidence of his dastardly misdeeds
from the otherwise immaculate elegance
of his pinstripe tiger coat.

Period.

The tiger flashes sharpened teeth.
Bowler-hatted; summer briefs
Beneath his pinstriped skin.

To kill demands a business sense;
Economy moves non-residence
Approaching from down-wind.

Being a tiger means you laugh
Whenever lesser tigers have
To eat meat that's infected.

Being a tiger means your mate
When overfed will defecate
In places least expected.

Knowing a tiger means you must
Accept his promise of mutual trust
And offer him your throat.

Loving a tiger means you take
Second place to the cake you bake
And with undying servile obedience
keep the stiffly starched collar
of his conference shirt spotless
and remove daily the daubed bloody
evidence of his dastardly misdeeds
from the otherwise immaculate elegance
of his pinstripe tiger coat.

Period.

The tiger flashes sharpened teeth.
Bowler-hatted; summer briefs
Beneath his pinstriped skin.

To kill demands a business sense;
Economy moves non-residence
Approaching from down-wind.

Being a tiger means you laugh
Whenever lesser tigers have
To eat meat that's infected.

Being a tiger means your mate
When overfed will defecate
In places least expected.

Knowing a tiger means you must
Accept his promise of mutual trust
And offer him your throat.

Loving a tiger means you take
Second place to the cake you bake
And with undying servile obedience
keep the stiffly starched collar
of his conference shirt spotless
and remove daily the daubed bloody
evidence of his dastardly misdeeds
from the otherwise immaculate elegance
of his pinstripe tiger coat.

Period.

The master playwright
Urges you to play right/play wrong;
Life is long and every night's the first night.

The wardrobe mistress
Urges you to dress left/dress right;
What a mess when your underpants are too tight.

Who's on the stage door
To help you find the way in/way out?
It's not a sin to be knowing that you don't know.

When you breathe your last line
Will you make your exit stage left/stage right?
Well, you might decide while there's still time.

You have an angel on your shoulder
But you wear the old god's horns.
And you dance around the maypole
While the vicar makes a toast
To the pagan celebration
And extends an invitation to us all
So he can save us when we fall.

Who's your leading lady?
Will you help to get her off the bus? It's best
to pass the test before you get too lazy.

Strike up the orchestra.
Take your cues on the up-beat/Beat down
Anyone who says he doesn't like the sound.

Last light's out
They're all abed
And something's in my room
Creeping down towards me on the wall

Daddy said it's just some flickering
headlight through the gloom
Making shapes through trees outside the hall

But what the hell does he know?
He doesn't feel the dread
The cold restricting terror in the dark

I've seen that silhouette before
Something the newsman said
Something about some monster in the park

Chorus:
It's you, you're the man on the TV screen
It's you front page face of the dead
Locked up in the light of day
At night come out to play
To terrorize me there above my bed

The air is still and heavy now
There's thunder in the sky
He's dreaming up some message he can send

I'm scared completely helpless
and I think I'm going to cry
Are grownups brave or do they just pretend?

His face is growing clearer
I can see his eyes glow red
My teddy bear's the only friend I can feel

The shadow's hand slips down the wall
And touches teddy's head
I now suspect that shadow will touch me

Chorus

Repeat chorus

It's you...

The tiny ant leaves his tiny ant drops in the sand,
And makes his home inside a rusty watering can,
Occasionally going out to look for bread and jam.

He runs into a sparrow who hasn't eaten for a week,
And later, quite contented, the sparrow cleans his beak,
Failing to notice pussy cat has come out to take a leak.

Our cat partakes of dinner when a sodden kangaroo
Emerges from the undergrowth and asks to use the loo.
Kangaroos aren't usually dangerous, for that would never do.

My goodness, will you look at all the animals queuing on the stairs!
Look at the animals in the zoo; how would you like to be one?
They're waiting to use the lavatory and putting chewing gum in each
other's hair.
Look at the animals, look at you; well how would you like to free one?

Good gracious, will you look at all the animals playing with their tools!
Look at the animals, look at you; well how would you like to queer one?
Flying from the chandeliers and treading in their elephantine stools.
Look at the animals, two by two; aren't you glad to be one?

This kangaroo's a lunatic and his pouch is very full
Of pussy cats and penguins who can't fly as a rule,
But then neither could the pussy cat: he never went to school.

The kangaroo gets nervous when confronted by the size
Of an elephant named Simon who is always telling lies;
He swears he wears green corduroys and can button up his fly.

Presently, a fatter Simon's indigestion fails.
He regurgitates the whole damn mess into an aluminum pail,
And the tiny ant scuttles back inside his watering can
Occasionally going out to look for bread and jam.

One day he'll walk from out of this place.
You'll see a quiet determination on his face.
He'll toe no lines. Suffer no fools.
But he'll raise three cheers to the losing team
from the other school.
A little dedication. A little pair of daddy's shoes to fill.
Compleat education. One day he'll be a man of principle.

And the battle's on. And he'll play to win.
Feel the blue blood rushing quick beneath his skin.
And grim they stand. And hard they fall.
Harder still, when their backs are up against the wall.
Gonna get your attention. But he's carrying his cross
to the other hill.
With divine intervention, he can be a man of principle.

In the evening light, with a fair-ground girl--
he stops himself as his head begins to whirl.
And he walks her home. And there's a kiss goodbye.
She feels a chill as she looks him in the eye.
Well, there's a time and a place now
and it's not tonight she'll bend his will.
Slow realization--she's looking at a man of principle.
Hung from the highest station by his old school tie--
undressed to kill
He could be a real sensation. But he's a man of principle

Did you learn your lines today?
Well, there is no rehearsal.
The tickets have all been sold
For tomorrow's matinee.

There's a telegram from the writer,
But there is no rehearsal.
The electrician has been told
To make the spotlights brighter.

There is one seat in the circle--
Five hundred million in the stalls.
Simply everyone will be there,
But the safety curtain falls
When the bomb that's in the dressing room
Blows the windows from their frames.
And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came.

There is one seat in the circle--
Five hundred million in the stalls.
Simply everyone will be there
But the safety curtain falls
When the bomb that's in the dressing room
Blows the windows from their frames.
And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came.

When the bomb that's in the dressing room
Blows the windows from their frames.
And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came.

Did you learn your lines today?
Well there is no rehearsal.
The interval will last until
The ice-cream lady melts away.

The twelve piece orchestra are here,
But there is no rehearsal.
The first violinist's hands are chilled--
He's gone deaf in both ears.

Well, the scenery is colorful,
But the paint is so damn thin.
You see the wall behind is crumbling,
And the stage door is bricked in.
But the audience keep arriving
'til they're standing in the wings.
And we take the final curtain call,
And the ceiling crashes in.

I looked out of my window, saw a stencil black,

NO STEP. NO STEP.

There were nervous mothers with children crying in the back.

NO STEP. NO STEP.

Someone bought me my ticket, now I'm on the wing.

Hope my angels are watching me, do I hear them sing?

NO STEP. NO STEP.

Those afterburners cut in and kicked us high.

NO STEP. NO STEP.

The thin air shimmered, the sun cut through and burned my eye.

NO STEP. NO STEP.

Someone bought me my ticket, now I'm on the wing.

Hope my angels are watching me, do I hear them sing?

NO STEP.
NO STEP NO STEP.
NO STEP NO STEP.
NO STEP NO STEP.

Give me a jet stream schooner or a crew-legged goose.

NO STEP. NO STEP.

I'm a clear-air jockey when they turn me loose

NO STEP. NO STEP.

Someone bought me my ticket to the captain's seat.

Will the shakes soon leave me, will I find my feet?

NO STEP. NO STEP.
NO STEP. NO STEP.

NO STEP.

I'd like to take you
to the edge of every morning
On a magic eiderdown
To a window chair

In the Paradise Steakhouse
Where there's a cup of silver coffee
Steaming chrome reflections
From the mist in your hair

Try not to watch me (Try not to watch me)
Just call me after darkfall (Call me after darkfall)
I'll bring a whip to sow
My seed on your land

In the Paradise Steakhouse
There's a cup of silver coffee
A sheath of steel so you may hold
My sword in your hand

I'll cut you, divide you
Into tender pieces
No wings to fly away
Upon my dear

In the Paradise Steakhouse
On a plate upon a table
I will carve your name with care
To last the years

I'd like to eat you (I'd like to eat you)
All fire will consume you (Fire will consume you)
Roast on the spit of love
On this arrow true

In the Paradise Steakhouse
I'll taste every finger
Baking [picking?] in the ashes
Til the flames rise anew

[Repeat first and second stanzas]

Come running. Go for overkill.
If you don't come now, I'll be over the hill, all right?
Tell me, All right.
Got a sell-by date. Soon be out of stock.
Pop me in your trolley you can start my clock. Well, all right?
Tell me, All right.
I could be on your shelf, could be the risk you take.
I'm a cup of hot coffee, I'm a piece of cake.

I'm the hot chicken in your superstore.
You can take me home if you can take some more, Well, all right?
Tell me, All right.
I could be on your shelf, could be the bread you bake.
I can fill your larder, I'm a piece of cake.

Show me rosemary, I'll show her wild thyme.
See you at the checkout or on the credit line. Well, all right?
Tell me, All right.
I'm your spicy filling, I'm your low-fat spread.
I'll be your smooth rubber, be your pencil lead, All right?
Tell me, All right.
If you set me to simmer, if you grill my steak--
you can bowl me over, I'm a piece of cake.

One two three Two

The editor lies screaming (begging in his working drink),
Questioning Who is God's favorite rock star this week?
And will the front page pay [take?] him?

The deadline for the headline is the breadline.

She moves with machinery for the fancy sports car trade.
Part of the industrial process: she sees that they stay made.
She works from early A.M.. They work her to the bone.
When I call her in the evening, she's too tired to lift the phone.

Damned if I'll wait for her, and I'll be damned if I don't.
Damned if I only see that Rosa on the factory floor.

Signed on for the duration. They say she came from the East.
With her tool bag and her coveralls, to pay the rent at least.
She doesn't talk with workers on the rest of the line
and over in the canteen, she's alone most of the time.

Somewhere in her history is a lock without a key.
She doesn't trust the management--and she won't trust me.
We're two different animals. We live jungles apart.
She circles round her freedom and I circle round her heart.

In long years of ancient time, stood alone a friend of mine.
Reflected by the ever-burning sigh of a god who happened by.

And in the dawn, there came the song
Of some sweet lady singing in his ear.
Your god has gone, and from now on,
You'll have to learn to hate the things you fear.

We want to know, are we inside the womb?
Of passion plays, in thy righteousness consumed?
Or just in lush contentment of our souls?

And so began the age of man,
And they left his body in the sand.
Their glasses raised to a god on high,
Who smiled upon them from the sky.

So take the stage.
Spin down the ages.
Loose the passion.
Spill the rage upon your son
Who holds the gun up to your head.
The play's begun.

Then God, the director, smells a rat.
Pulls another rabbit from His hat.
Sniffs the air and He says Well, that's that--I'm going.

Would you like to see my lion
My friend Cecil is damp and smooth
A damp smooth sea lion
Yes, Cecil is a sealion

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

Cecil is a clever sealion
Cecil sometimes swims
And often sits

And balances multi-coloured striped balls?

Yes balances multi-coloured striped balls
Clever Cecil

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a seali-

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

Cecil the sealion is serene
He doesn't wear spectacles or a scarf

No central heating or cement?

Well the whole ocean is Cecil's home

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

(Cecil is a sea lion)

I walked down that boulder road,
Through a child's eye saw places where I used to go.
Where I crawled barefoot with a fishing pole
to the rock that overlooked that steelhead hole
but it's true--silver river turning blue.

It was a small town in a smaller world.
Just a black dot on an old map with its edges curled.
Where they built their industries on the edge of town--
Leaching chemicals from underground
now it's true--that silver river turning blue.

Just got a late reaction. Face reality and stare it down.
Sometimes it's harder hanging on. Much easier to look around.
But I need that job.

Well, this place no city: we're just small players here.
Like a million other heroes drinking poor man's beer.
We know what's right. We're just living it wrong.
But there's no easy answer in the green man's song.
What do you do? When your river's turning Blue.

Brain-storming, habit-forming, battle-warning weary winsome actor spewing
spineless chilling lines--
The critics falling over to tell themselves he's boring
And really not an awful lot of fun.

Well who the hell can he be when he's never had V.D.,
And he doesn't even sit on toilet seats?

Court-jesting, never-resting--he must be very cunning
To assume an air of dignity
And bless us all
With his oratory prowess,
His lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air.

And every night his act's the same
And so it must be all a game of chess he's playing--

But you're wrong, Steve. You see, it's only solitaire.

Young Gladys was a silky maiden
At thirteen, she was going strong, yeah.
Oh, Gladys.

Nicely filled out, fully laden,
But down below there was something wrong, yeah.
Oh, Gladys.

Nobody told her about the secrets
That ladies have to hide
Mom had no words to describe the things
That happened inside.
Need someone to help me,
I feel that there's a curse on me, oh.

Went down into the local disco,
For what used to be the one night, yeah,
Oh Gladys.

Felt a searching hand to frisk her,
Along the legs of the water line, yeah,
Oh Gladys.

Now Gladys knew she was in no condition
In no mood to play

I cracked a knee in her soft spot, nothing
Had got in her way.

I want no one to touch me,
I feel there's a curse on me, oh.

Directed down to the local drugstore
Got fixed up, now she's doing fine, yeah
Oh Gladys

Equipped with various kinds of apparatus
You know the feminine hygiene kind, yeah
Oh Gladys

Must have been a man to do these things
Who won her fall from grace
That day he programmed Eve

You should have seen the smile on his face
He said You'll need someone to help you
When you feel like cursing me, oh.