Sitting on a park bench
eyeing up little girls
with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
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
goes down to a bog to
warm his feet.
Feeling alone
the army's up the rode
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't 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 on to your beard is
screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.
Cross-Eyed Mary
Who would be a poor man
a beggerman, a thief
if he had a rich man in his hand.
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.
Dines in Hampstead village
on expense accounted gruel,
and the jack knife barber
drops her off at school.
Laughing in the playground
gets no kicks from little boys:
would rather make it with a letching gray.
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 favour's good and strong:
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate
helps the poor man get along.
Cheap Day Return
On Preston platform
do your soft shoe shuffle dance.
Brush away the cigarette ash that's
fallen down your pants.
And you sadly wonder
does the nurse treat your old man
the way she should.
She made you tea:
asked for your autograph
what a laugh.
Mother Goose
As I did walk by Hampstead fair,
I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose
she was screaming.
And a foreign student said to me
was it really true there are elephants and lions too
in Piccadilly Circus.
Walked down by the bathing pond
to try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing
into hankerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew
I was a schoolboy.
And a bearded lady said to me
if you start your raving and your misbehaving
you'll be sorry.
Then the chicken-fancier came to play
with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:
she drives a lorry).
Laughed down by the putting green
I popped 'em in their holes.
Four and twenty labourers were labouring
digging up their gold.
I don't believe they knew
that I was Long John Silver.
Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
in his jet black mac (which he won't give back).
stole it from a snow man.
Wond'ring Aloud
Wond'ring aloud
how wew feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset
my hands in her hair.
We are out 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 makess you what you are.
Up to Me
Take you to the cinema
and leave you in a Wimpy Bar
you tell me that we've gone to far
come running up to me.
Make the scene at Cousin Jack's
leave him put the bottles back
mends his glasses that I cracked
well that one's up to me.
Buy a silver cloud to ride
pack the tennis club inside
trouser cuffs hung far too wide
well it was up to me.
Tyres down on your bicicle
your nose feels like an icicle
the yellow fingered smoky girl
is looking up to me.
Well I'm a common working man
with a half of butter bread and jam
and if it pleases me I'll put one one you man
when the copper fades away.
The rainy season comes to pass
the day-glo pirate sinks at last
and if I laughed a bit to fast.
Well it was up to me.
My God
People what have you done
locked him in his golden cage.
Made him bend to your religion
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the God of nothing
if that's all that you can see.
You are the God of everything
He's a part of you and me.
So lean upon him gently
and don't call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you wash to waive.
The bloody Church of England
in chains of history
requests' your earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who
he's got him fixed
with his plastic crucifix
confuses me as in who and where and why
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to endless sin
the endless whining sounds.
You'll be praying till next Thursday to
all the God that you can count.
Hymn 43
Oh father high in heaven smile down upon your son
whose busy with his money games his women and his gun.
And the unsung Western Hero killed an indian or three
and made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free.
If Jesus saves, well he'd better save himself
from the gory glory seekers who use his name in death.
I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon
his cross was rather bloody He could hardly roll his stone.
Slipstream
Well the lush separation enfolds you
and the products of wealth
push you along on the bow wave
of the spiritless undying selves.
And you press on God's waiter your last dime
as he hands you the bill.
And you spin in the slipstream
timeless unreasoning
paddle right out of the mess.
Locomotive Breath
In the Shuffling madess
of the locomotive breath,
runs the all time loser,
headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping
steam breaking on his brow
old Charlie stole the handle and the
train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
at stations one by one.
His woman and his best friend
in bed and having fun.
Crawling down the corridor
on his hands and knees
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train 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.
He picks up Gideons Bible
open at page one
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
Wind Up
When I was young, they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game.
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm
their half-asses smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply,
He said I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares);
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you: you got the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines
how do you dare tell me that I'm my fathers son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me compose a better song
'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
Ian Anderson - Vocals, flute
Martin Barre - Guitar
David Pegg - Bass
This Is Not Love
*******************
Winds howled. Rains spit down.
All these nights playing precious games.
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town
closed down for the winter and whispered names.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
snap our heels half-heartedly
and how come you know better than me
that this is not love.
No, this is not love.
Empty drugstore postcards freeze
sunburst images of summers gone.
Think I see us in these promenade days
before we learned October's song.
Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree;
curious, head-bent to see.
How come you know better than me
that this is not love.
Down to the sad south, smokey plumes
mark that real world city home.
Broken spells and silent gloom
ooze from that concrete honeycomb.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
snapped our heels half-heartedly
and how come you know better than me
that this is not love.
Occasional Demons
*******************
Well, you got a big-jib crane waiting to pick you up.
Mmm, you see those snakes that crawl, they're just dying to trip
you up.
Live out in sad shacks at the back of town.
Hold your breath while we do you down
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.
Well, you got a nice apartment here with appliances and CD.
We're gonna leave your stereo, but we'll have your soul for tea.
I'm not speaking of material things.
Gonna chew you up, gonna suck you in
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here;
occasional demons too.
Smokestacks, belching black, we're the have-nots in your shade.
How about a slice of life, how about some human trade?
Eat at the best restaurants in town.
No headwaiter going to turn us down
'cos we're all kinds of animals coming here;
occasional demons too.
Roll Yer Own
*******************
Roll yer own. Don't mean you got no money.
Only that you got no opportunity to shake it with that friend
of mine.
Roll yer own if you can't buy readymade;
if you won't be satisfied when you feel the sudden need
to unwind.
You know what moves you in the wee hours
when there's nothing on the answerphone.
And if you don't get enough of that electric love
don't try to get by -
Roll yer own, when there's no-one listening;
when those re-runs play on the late-night black and white TV.
Roll yer own, when there's something missing
and those wild cats howl, running in the moonshine.
Roll yer own: got to hit that spot
Roll yer own when your hands are hot.
Rocks On The Road
*******************
There's a black cat down on the quayside.
Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark.
Two young cops handing out a beating:
know how to hurt and leave no mark.
Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel
there's a call for the last round of the day.
Push back the bar stool, take that elevator ride.
Fall in bed and kick my shoes away.
Rocks on the road.
Can't sleep through the wild sounds of the city.
Hear a car full of young boys heading for a fight.
Long distance telephone keeps ringing out engaged:
wonder who you're talking with tonight?
Rocks on the road.
Tired plumbing wakes me in the morning.
Shower runs hot, runs cold playing with me.
Well, I'm up for the down side, life's a bitch and all that stuff:
so come and shake some apples from my tree.
Have to pay for my minibar madness.
Itemised phone bill overload.
Well now, how about some heavy rolling?
Move these rocks on the road.
Crumbs on the breakfast table.
And a million other things to spoil my day.
Now how about a little light music
to chase it all away?
To chase it all away.
Sparrow On The Schoolyard Wall
*******************
You want to be a bookworm? You wanna be aloof?
You wanna sit in judgement, looking down from the roof?
Try a wee sensation; but first you have to want to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
So dress a little dangerous and modify your walk.
There's nothing wrong with sparrows but try to be
a sparrowhawk.
Hunting in the evening and floating in the heat of the day.
You might, might acquire some predatory instinct.
Do the wolf pack crawl.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
Well, I don't want to be your daddy.
Don't want to be your engineer of sin.
And I don't want to play the piper here.
I'm only banging on a mandolin
and anyway, you're just a little sparrow
on the schoolyard wall.
There's nothing wrong with learning. Nothing wrong with
your books.
So exercise some judgement. Too much broth can spoil
the cook.
Feel a little sensation and know when it's time to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
Thinking Round Corners
*******************
All of you sit up in bed. Don't think in straight lines ahead.
Can't sleep? Head spin? Don't think in circles, it'll do you in.
Think back to the dream you had; no sense of being good
or bad.
Jump to the left, jump to the right. Think round corners
into night.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Pretty girl with neon eyes: best man between white thighs.
Bridegroom didn't know a thing: got his love in lights,
she wears two rings.
Think back to that dream you had. Blue boy sorry,
pink girl sad.
Yellow cow, big-eyed moon all coming round the corner soon.
Let's stand in rapids: cling to carnivals.
Spit life from the maypole in savage ceremony.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Paper cowboys, tin drums banging where the white
man comes.
Landowners with whips and chains but soft in bed amidst
warm rains.
Thinking back to the dream they had. Jack and Jill.
Jack the lad.
Homestead. Home free. How about leaving some for me?
Let's bathe in malt whisky: covet gold finery
through the eyes of a Jackdaw, dressed to the nines.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Thinking round corners.
Still Loving You Tonight
*******************
It's a lonely life I life and I life this life to go
and if I leave you with one thing it's just that I want you
to know
I'll still be loving you tonight.
I left flowers on your table, left the lock on your door.
Staked a claim in your heartlands, put grain in your store.
I'll still be loving you tonight.
Got fingers on the button of that telephone dial.
Call in and move your mountains, fill your spaces while
I'm still loving you tonight.
You want to know how I can leave you?
How I can move along this way?
Too much of a good thing can make you crazy
and it's a good thing that happened to me today.
I'll still be loving you tonight.
Doctor To My Disease
*******************
I've been treated for mild depression
and I've been treated for growing pains.
I've been treated for hallucinations;
now I can see it all coming again.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little, and you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
There's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Said it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
I got no cure for this condition
that you've been causing me tonight.
Well, you put my heart in overdrive:
hand me the bullet I must bite.
You can stir me up and you can cut me down.
You can probe a little, push that knife around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which you must agree:
It's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Do you have to break my engine
so you can fix it up again?
Tuned to crazy imperfection
just to score me out of ten.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little. Yeah, you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which you must agree:
that it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Like A Tall Thin Girl
*******************
Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants.
I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want.
I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat
when I saw her framed in the kitchen door.
She looked good enough to eat.
(And I mean eat.)
She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl.
She said, "Whose is this carry-out?" My face turned chilli red.
Well, I don't know about carrying out, but you can carry
me off to bed.
(And I mean bed.)
She was a tall thin girl. She moved like a tall thin girl.
Maybe I can fetch for it, and maybe I can stretch for it.
I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small
but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground
This girl was tall.
(And I mean tall.)
Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine
but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot, if you know
just what I mean.
Stands six foot three in his underwear;
going to get him down here and see
if this good lady's got a little sister 'bout the same size as me.
She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl.
Well, can I fetch for it? Well maybe I can stretch for it?
Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?
White Innocence
*******************
She drifted from some minor festival.
Didn't look like any summer of love:
just a thousand weekend warriors in a muddy field.
She was the hand to fit my glove.
Funny thing, the innocence of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
See how she moves just like two angels (in white innocence).
Yet one of them is on the run.
The other's tapping at my car window
and I'm squinting through the sun
trying to see if she's some child of the nineties:
or just another dangerous fantasy of mine.
Yeah. White innocence.
She was white innocence.
A perfect hole was in her stocking:
it made a perfect window to her heart.
I could have moved among her waterfalls:
her misty curtains drawn apart.
Did she see warm safety in my numbers
to want to hitch a ride this way?
Felt like I was taking her to market now
to be sold as the last lot of the day.
Funny thing, the distance of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
White innocence.
She pressed the button, lowered the window:
let her hand trail in the slipstream of the night.
A frost from nowhere seemed to lick her fingers:
I could have warmed them, but the moment wasn't right.
Obvious, she was headed nowhere special:
Yes, well it was even obvious to me.
I was doing some, some watching, some waiting:
she'd been here before, most definitely.
There was the promise of early bed-time.
There was the promise of heaven on earth.
Think I was sending out low-voltage electricity:
played it right down for what it was worth.
She turned and looked at me in white innocence
and with the clearest eyes of forever grey
she rested one small hand for a second on my knee:
I stopped the car. She walked away.
Funny thing, the wisdom of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
Away you go, now.
White innocence.
Sleeping With The Dog
*******************
Her love is like a candle: you light it up at night.
Her heart is like a pack of cards: one chance to guess it right.
Sometimes I do.
She's got a tongue like a viper but she can whisper like a dove.
Soft touch like brushed velvet; till she hits you from above
and sometimes she does.
She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log.
Just when I feel like dancing, I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes (woof) sleeping with the dog.
I have to guess at the mysteries of her unfathomable soul.
Guess when the time is right to make a broken spirit whole
and that time is due. C'm'on.
She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log
and just when I feel like dancing, I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes: (woof) sleeping with the dog.
Gold-Tipped Boots, Black Jacket And Tie
*******************
I'm battered and bruised. I got lines I can't use.
My head won't deliver. Well, I'm sold down the river.
But I'm turning again.
And I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I've been second to none:
this horse was ready to run.
Now I'm has-been and used:
disarmed and de-fused
but I'm turning again.
Yes, 'n' I'm turning again.
I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
I'm egg over-easy
and I'm washing-up squeezy.
Appliance for sale:
fat wind in your sail
and I'm turning again.
Well, I'm turning again.
Yes, 'n' I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I'm turning again.
When Jesus Came To Play
*******************
I was in my watering-hole with some ugly friends of mine
when the door came off its hinges like a cork from fizzy wine.
He said, "My name is Jesus: I'm the leader of the band.
Got to set up my equipment, if you boys can lend a hand."
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.
He set that bandstand jumping. Yeah, and he cranked it up so loud.
And he moved up to the microphone: had the attention
of the crowd.
He said, "My name is Jesus: going to turn your head around.
I'm going to make this easy. Got no time to mess around."
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.
"I got no twelve disciples, and I got no cross to bear.
If you thought you had me crucified, I guess you weren't there."
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play. When Jesus came.......
He sang about three or four numbers but we'd heard it all before.
We boys were getting restless: no girls were moving on the floor.
Those parables, they were merciless and the tables overturned.
And there were no minor miracles but false prophets,
they were burned.
Well, maybe he was Jesus; but his hair could have used a comb.
Long before he hit the last notes, we boys had all gone home.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.
Author: Jethro Tull
Album title: Crest Of A Knave
Steel Monkey
----- ------
As the moon slips up, and the sun sets down,
I'm a highrise jockey, and I'm heaven bound.
Do the workboot shuffle, loose brains from brawn.
I'm a monkey puzzle and the lid is on.
Can you guess my name? Can you guess my trade?
I'm going to catch you anyway.
You might be right. I'll give you guesses three.
Feel you climbing up my knee.
Guess what I am. I'm a steel monkey.
Now some men hustle and some just think..
And some go running before you blink.
Some look up and some look down
from three hundred feet above the ground.
Can you guess my name? And can you guess my trade?
Well, I won't rest before the world is made.
Arm in arm the angels fly.
Keep me from falling out the sky.
Steel monkey.
I work in the thunder and I work in the rain.
I work at my drinking, and I feel no pain.
I work on women, if they want me to.
You can have me climb all over you.
Now, have you guessed my name?
And have you guessed my trade?
I'm cheap at the money I get paid.
In the sulphur city, where men are men,
we bolt those beams then climb again.
Steel monkey.
Farm On The Freeway
---- -- --- -------
Nine miles of two-strand topped with barbed wire
laid by the father for the son.
Good shelter down there on the valley floor,
down by where the sweet stream run.
Now they might give me compensation...
That's not what I'm chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now, all I have got is a cheque and a pickup truck.
I left my farm on the freeway.
They're busy building airports on the south side...
Silicon chip factory on the east.
And the big road's pushing through along the valley floor.
Hot machine pouring six lanes at the very least.
Now, they say they gave me compensation...
That's not what I'm chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now, all I have left is a broken-down pickup truck.
Looks like my farm is a freeway.
They forgot they told us what this old land was for.
Grow two tons the acre, boy, between the stones.
This was no Southfork, it was no Ponderosa.
But it was the place that I called home.
They say they gave me compensation...
That's not what I'm chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
And what do I want with a million dollars and a pickup truck?
When I left my farm under the freeway.
Jump Start
---- -----
In the dark of the city backwoods, something stirs then slips away.
Law and order in darkest Knightsbridge. Crime and punishment at play.
Hey, Mr.Policeman won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines of your
love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
And through the bruised machinery, the smoking haze of industry.
Another day with ball and chain. I do my time then home again.
Hey, Mrs.Maggie won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines of your
love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
Well, should I blame the officers? Or maybe, I should blame the priest?
Or should I blame the poor foot soldier who's left to make the most from least?
Hey, Jack Ripper won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines of your
love.
You can blame the newsman talking at you on the satellite T.V.
And if you're fighting for your shipyards, you migt as well just blame the sea.
Hey, Mr.Weatherman come on over. Hook me up to the power lines of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
Said She Was A Dancer
---- --- --- - ------
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my business.
She surely knew a thing or two about control.
Next to the bar we hit the samovar. She almost slipped right through my fingers.
It was snowing outside and in her soul.
Well maybe you're a dancer, and maybe I'm the King of Old Siam.
I thought it through...best to let the illusion roll.
I wouldn't say I've never heard that tale before, my frozen little senorita,
but if your dream is good, why not share it when the nights are cold?
Hey Moscow, what's your story? Lady, take your time, don't hurry.
Maybe a student of the agricultural plan.
Hey Moscow, what's your name? If you don't want to say, don't worry.
It would probably be hard for me to make it scan.
With her phrase book in her silk soft hand she spoke in riddles while the vodka
listened.
I said, "Let me look up love, if I might be so bold."
She was the nearest thing to Rock and Roll that side of the velvet curtain
that separates eastern steel from western gold.
Hey Miss Moscow, what's your story? You needn't speak aloud, just whisper.
Am I just the closest thing to an Englishman?
You've seen me in your magazines, or maybe on state television.
I'm your Pepsi-Cola but you won't take me out the can.
She said she was a dancer - so she did.
She said she was a dancer. If I believed it, it was my business.
It felt like a merry dance that I was being led.
So I stole one kiss. It was a near miss. She looked at me like I was Jack the
Ripper.
She leaned in close. "Goodnight," was all she said.
So I took myself off to bed.
Dogs In The Midwinter
---- -- --- ---------
You ever had a day like I had today,
when things are stacked up bad?
You look around and every face you see
seems guaranteed to send you mad.
And you peer into those hallowed institutions.
And they bark at you from every side.
But the bite goes wide.
I see them running with their tails hanging low
like dogs in the midwinter.
The prophets and the wise men and the hard politicos
are all dogs in the midwinter.
Let the breath from the mountain still the pain.
Clear water from the fountain run sweeter than the rain.
Dogs in the midwinter.
The boss man and the tax man and the moneylenders growl...
they're all dogs in the midwinter.
The weaker of the herd can feel their eyes and hear them howl
like dogs in the midwinter.
Though the fox and the rabbit are at peace,
cold doggies in the manger turn last suppers into feasts.
Dogs in the midwinter.
We're all running on a tightrope, wearing slippers in the snow...
we're all dogs in the midwinter.
The ice is ever thinner. Be careful how you go
like dogs in the midwinter.
And it's hard to find true equilibrium
when you're looking at each other down the muzzle of a gun.
Dogs in the midwinter.
Budapest
--------
I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear.)
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest...hot night in Budapest.
We had to cozzy-up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.
You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the side-fills. 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 for ever.
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.
Mountain Men
-------- ---
The poacher and his daughter throw soft shadows on the water in the night.
A thin moon slips behind them as they pull the net with no betraying light.
And later on the coast road, I meet them and the old man winks a smile.
And who am I to fast deny the right to take a fish once in a while?
I walk with them, they wish me luck when I slip out on the Sunday from the kyle.
And from the church I hear them singing as the ship moves sadly from the pier.
Oh, poacher's daughter, Sundat best, two hundred brave souls share the farewell
tear.
There's a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.
Lay down and let the slow tide wash me back to the land where I came from.
Where the mountain men are kings and the sound of the piper counts for
everything.
Did my tour, did my duty. I did all they asked of me.
Died in the trenches and at Alamein...died in the Falklands on T.V.
Going back to the mountain kings where the sound of the piper counts for
everything.
Long generations from the Isles sent to tread the foreign miles
where the spiral ages meet. Felt naked dust beneath their feet.
Future sun called winds to blow and the past and present hard-eyed crow
flew hunting high and circling low over blackened plains of Eden.
There's a child and a woman praying for an end to the mystery.
Hoping for a word in a letter fair wind-blown from across the sea
to where the mountain men are kings and the sound of the piper counts for
everything.
There's a house on the hillside, where the drifting sands are born.
Lay down and let the slow tide wash me back to the land where I came from.
Where the mountain men are kings and the sound of the piper counts for
everything.
Where the real mountain men are kings and the sound of that piper counts for
everything.
Feel the naked dust beneath my toes while the future sun calls winds to blow
and the past and present black-eyed crow flies hunting high and circling low
between dream mountains of our Eden.
The Waking Edge
--- ------ ----
As I wake up in a room somewhere...
dawn light not yet showing.
There's just a thin horizon between me and her...
the edge of a half-dream glowing.
Well, you know, I felt her in my dream last night.
Strange how the sheets are warm beside me.
Now, how do I catch the waking edge?
As it slips to the far and wide of me.
Didn't I try to hold it down?
Freeze on the picture, hang sharp on the sound.
Catch the waking edge
another time.
Familiar shadows in my hotel room
are still here for the taking.
They seem to linger on as the street lights fade
and the empty dawn is breaking.
Private movie showing in my head...
which button do I press for re-run?
And how do I catch the waking edge?
The edge of a dream about someone.
Well, you know, I felt her in my dream last night...
now the sheets are cold beside me.
Raising Steam
------- -----
Over high plains, through the snow...
roll those tracks out, don't you know
I'm raising steam.
Thin vein creeping, hot blood flow...
spill a little where the new towns grow.
I got my whole life hanging in a sack,
heading out into that wide world wide.
You got your locomotive sitting on your track
and I don't care which way I ride.
I may not be coming back.
Left a lady with a heart
all in pieces come apart
raising steam.
That engine up front must
have a heart big enough for the both of us.
Riding shotgun on the sunset, stare it in the eye
rocking on my heels out to the west.
Funny how the whole world, historically,
feels the urge to chase the sun to rest.
We may not be coming back.
Let me be your engineer...
have you smiling ear to ear
raising steam.
And will you tell me how it feels
when you're up and rolling on your driving wheels?
I got my whole life hanging in a sack,
heading out into that wide world wide.
I'll be your locomotive blowing off its stack
and I don't care which way I ride.
I may not be coming back.
Raising steam.
Author: Jethro Tull
Album title: Heavy Horses
....And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
------- --- ----- ------ ----- ------
Muscled, black with steel-green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie
Tail balancing at half-mast.
....And the Mouse Police Never Sleeps
lying in the cherry tree.
Savage bed foot-warmer
of purest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
He's the all-night working cat
Eats but one in every ten
leaves the others on the mat.
....And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-boxtown-crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red
Licensed to multilate.
>From warm milk on a lazy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate
....No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock
Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.
Acres Wild
----- ----
I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.
Come with me to the Winged Isle
Northern father's Western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
through far marches of Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in narrowside streets
with shuttered windows,
crumbling chimneys
By red bricks pointed
with cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the weary town
Discos silent under tiles
that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
on concrete marches of Acres Wild.
No Lullaby
-- -------
Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears --
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you if you fall.
So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief
from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.
Gather your toys at the call-to-arms
and swing your big bear down
Upon our necks when we come to set
you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie
to chase the face that cries
And little birds can't fly
so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
Moths
-----
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came
And a new breeze chattered
in its May-bud tenderness
Sending water-lillies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary mouth of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide
Creatures of the candle
on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and weaving flutter
through the golden needle's eye
in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
on a Spring-tide high.
Life's too long (as the Lemming said)
as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher
before the candle's dead.
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame.
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came
to join in worship
of the light that never dies
in a moment's reflection
of two Moths spinning in her eyes.
Journeyman
----------
Spine-tingling railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams divide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking worm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
like a faithful dog with master
sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frosty flakes on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting -- Flip. Flop.
Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantasic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
and hear the soft shoes on the footbridge shuffle
as the wheels turn biting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Dusky diesel shudders in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
told the guard to turn the heating off.
Rover
-----
I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows
My comber of the beach
You've thrown the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies there.
So slip the chain and I'm off again.
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.
As the robin craves the summer
to hide his smock of red,
I need the pillow of your hair
in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness;
resourceful in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead
holding on a windward course.
Strip me from the bundle
of balloons at every fair:
coluorful and carefree
designed to make you stare.
But I'm lost and I'm losing
the thread that holds me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
in the lights of every town.
One Brown Mouse
--- ----- -----
Smile your little smile, take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twitch your whiskers. Feel that you're really real.
Another tea-time, another day older.
Puff warm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Do you wonder if I really care for you
Am I just the company you keep
Which one of us exercises on the old treadmill
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?
Smile your little smile, take some tea with me awhile.And every day we'll turn
another page.
Behind our glass we'll sit and look
at our ever-open book
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Heavy Horses
----- ------
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening.
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest seasoning.
Last of the line at an honest day's toil
Turning the deep sod under.
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone
Flies at the nostrils plunder.
The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie
with the Shire on his feathers floating
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy Horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding, slipping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The tractor's on its way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and your eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep plough, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing.
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
across these acres glistening
like dew on a carpet lawn.
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
as the Heavy Horses thunder by
to wake the dying city
with the living horseman's cry
At once the old hands quicken
bring pick and wisp and curry comb
thrill to the sound of all
the Heavy Horses coming home.
Weathercock
-----------
Good morning Weathercock: How did you fare last night
Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October and whip around your tail
Did you shake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?
Give us direction; the best of goodwill
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Do you simply reflect changes in the patterns of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather heeds the twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,
Do you life the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?
Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.
Put us in touch with your fair winds.
Sing to us softly, hum evening's song
Point the way to better days we can share with you.
"Do you still see me even here?"
The silver cord lies on the ground.
"And so I'm dead", the young man said
Over the hill, not a wish away.
My friends as one all stand aligned
Although their taxis came too late.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was a hush in the Passion Play.
Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath
Ripe with rich attainments all imagined
Sad misdeeds in disarray, the sore thumb screams aloud
Echoing out of the Passion Play.
All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key
Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
Into the ever-Passion Play.
And who comes here to wish me well?
A sweetly-scented angel fell.
She laid her head upon my disbelief
And bathed me with her ever-smile.
And with a howl across the sand
I go escorted by a band
Of gentlemen in leather bound
No one but someone to be found.
All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom.
Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing room.
The cameras were all around, We've got you taped- you're in the Play.
Here's your I.D., ideal for identifying one and all.
Invest your life in the memory bank, ours the interest and we
thank you.
The ice-cream lady wet her drawers, to see you in the Passion Play.
Take the prize for instant pleasure
Captain of the cricket team
Public speaking in all weathers
A knighthood from a queen.
All your best friends telephones never cooled from the heat of
your hand.
From your hand.
There's a line in a front-page story- 13 horses that also-ran.
Also-ran.
Climb in your old umbrella, Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
In the dome?
But the rain only gets in sometimes, and the sun never leaves you
alone.
You alone.
You alone.
Lover of the black and white- it's your first night.
The Passion Play goes all the way-spoils your insight.
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid
Why the old dog howls in sadness.
And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony
shoulders of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into
her geography revision.
The examining body examined her body.
Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
Peek at the lines upon your sleeve, since your memory won't do.
Tell me how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded
Why the old dogs howl with madness.
All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.
And now you've lost a skin or two- you're for us and we for you.
The dressing room is right behind
We've got you taped, you're in the Play.
How does it feel to be in the Play?
How does it feel to play the Play?
How does it feel to be the Play?
Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out.
For we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
Tell us, is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story
For the gory satisfaction of telling you how absolutely awful you
really are?
There was a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was a hush in the Passion Play.
This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles!
Owl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching. Sitting on a
fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close by.
Now this may not seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper
to no one in particular, "The hare has lost his spectacles", well, he
began to wonder.
Presently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud, and there, lying on
the grass, was Hare. In the stream that flowed by the grass- a newt.
And sitting astride a twig of a bush- a bee.
Ostensibly motionless, the hare was trembling with excitement, for
without his spectacles he was completely helpless. Where were his
spectacles? Could someone have stolen them? Had he mislaid them? What
was he to do?
Bee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer, began, "You
probably ate them thinking they were a carrot".
"No!" interrupted Owl, who was wise. "I have good eysight, insight,
and foresight. How could an intelligent hare make such a silly
mikstake?" But all this time, Owl had been sitting on the fence,
scowling!
Kangaroo were hopping mad at this sort of talk. She thought herself
far superior in intelligence to the others. She was their leader,
their guru. She had the answer: "Hare, you must go in search of the
optician"
But then she realized that Hare were completely helpless without his
spectacles. And so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, "I can't send Hare in
search of anything!"
"You can, guru, you can!" shouted Newt. "You can send him with Owl."
But Owl had gone to sleep. Newt knew too much to be stopped by so
small a problem: "You can take him in your pouch." But alas, Hare was
much too big to fit into Kangaroo's pouch.
All this time, it had been quite plain to Hare that the others knew
nothing about spectacles.
As for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn't care.
The lost spectacles were his own affair.
And after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair...
A-pair...
We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door
Eat in the corner, talk to the floor.
Cheating the spiders who come to say "Please"
Politely they bend at the knees.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
Of ladies lost and erring sons.
Lace-covered dandies revel with friends
Pure as the truth tied at both ends.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Scented cathedral-spire pointed down
We pray for souls in Kentish town.
A delicate hush- the gods floating by
Wishing us well- pie in the sky.
God of Ages, Lord of Time
Mine is the right to be wrong.
Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
Jack rabbit mister, spawn a new breed
Of love-hungry pilgrims, no bodies to feed
Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More"
Well, I'm all for leaving and that being done
I've put in a request to take up my turn
In that forsaken paradise that calls itself Hell
Where no one has nothing and nothing is well-
-meaning fool, pick up thy bed and rise
Up from your gloom smiling.
Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.
Colors I've none- dark or light, red, white or blue
Cold is my touch- freezing
Summoned by name, I am the overseer over you.
Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.
Fallen from grace, called on
To bring sun or rain, occasional corn from my oversight grew.
Fell with mine angels from a far better place
Offering services for the saving of face.
Now you're here you may as well admire
All whom living has retired
From the benign reconciliation.
Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
Seen in the sky, flashing.
I just lit a fag, then took my leave in the blink of an eye.
Passionate play, join round the maypole in dance
Primitive rite- wrongly
Summoned by name, I am the overseer over you.
Flee the icy Lucifer!
Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take
A feather from his pillow.
Here's the everlasting rub
Neither am I good or bad
I'd give up my halo for a horn
And the horn for the hat I once had.
I'm only breathing, there's life on my ceiling
The flies there are sleeping quietly...
Twist my right arm in the dark
I would give two or three for
One of those days that never made
Impressions on the old score.
I would gladly be a dog
Barking up the wrong tree
Everyone's saved- we're in the grave
See you there for afternoon tea.
Time for awaking, the tea-lady's making
A brew up and baking new bread...
Pick me up at half past none
There's not a moment to lose
There is the train on which I came
On the platform are my old shoes.
Station master rings his bell
Whistles blow and flags wave
A little of what you fancy does
You good, or so it should
I thank everybody for making me welcome
I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off.
Hail, Son of Kings! Make the ever-dying sign
Cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
There am I, waiting along the sand.
Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.
Magus Perde', take your hand from off the chain
Loose a wish to still the rain, the storm about to BE.
Here am I, Voyager into life.
Tough are the soles that tread the knife's edge.
Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the Devil.
Bring the gods, the gods' own fire in the conflict revel.
The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born
Renew the pledge of life's long song, rise to the reveille horn.
Animals queueing at the gate that stands upon the shore
Breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.
Man, son of man, buy the flame of ever-life
Yours to breathe and breath the pain of living, living BE!
Here am I! Roll the stone away
From the dark into ever-day.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
Into the ever-Passion Play.
Author: Jethro Tull
Album title: Rock Island
Kissing Willie
--------------
Breaking hearts in a market town. She eats filet of sole
and washes it down with sparkling wine.
Nice girl, but a bad girl's better. Qualifies in both ways
to my mind. But now she's kissing Willie.
She shows a leg -- shows it damn well. Knows how to drive a man
right back to being a child.
Well, she's a -- nice girl, but her bad girl's better. I can read
it in her cheating eyes and know that in a while -- Well,
she'll be kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)
Willie stands and Willie falls. Willie bangs his head
behind grey factory walls.
She's a -- nice girl, but her bad girl's better. Me and Willie
just can't help come, when she calls.
Now she's kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)
The Rattlesnake Trail
---------------------
Got a hair shirt round my shoulder. Got a cold stew in my spoon.
And I'm falling on my head, lifting feet of lead --
now it's got me baying at the moon.
Well, there's a race on for tomorrow. I'm stretching out
for what might have been.
Going to come out from the night, got my second sight --
play rough -- you know what I mean.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill -- on the rattlesnake trail.
Got the law laid down to the left of me. Got the real world to the right.
Heading up through the middle with the cat and my fiddle --
yeah, looking for a fight.
Going to ride hard in bandit country- on the blind side of the bend.
Keep my nose to the wind while the rabbit's skinned --
bed down at the journey's end.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill -- on the rattlesnake trail.
The rattlesnake trail.
I'm going on the rattlesnake trail.
Going to be with wolves in winter -- run in angry packs by day.
But when you give the dog a bone, he has to be alone --
growl, keep the other dogs away.
See that thin moon on the mountain. See that cold star in the sky.
Going to bring them down -- shake them to the ground --
put that apple in the pie.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
up that dusty hill -- on the rattlesnake trail.
Ears Of Tin
-----------
In the late hours of a sunset rendezvous --
chill breeze against tide, that carries me from you.
Got a job in a southern city -- got some lead-free in my tank.
Now I must whisper goodbye -- I'm bound for the mainland.
Island in the city, Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Now the sum breaks through rain as I climb Glen Shiel
on the trail of those old cattlemen who drove their bargain south again.
And in the eyes of those five sisters of Kintail
there's a wink of seduction from the mainland.
Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise -- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin.
Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm --
set my brain to "cruise."
I can see the glow of the suburb lights.
I'm fresh from the out-world --
singing the mainland blues.
There was a girl where I came from.
Seems a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill -- yeah, she calls
in my mainland blues.
There's a coast road that winds to heaven's door
where a fat ferry floats on muted diesel roar.
And there's a light on the hillside -- and there's a flame in her
eyes but how cold the lights burn on the mainland.
Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise. Their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter and falling on ears of tin.
in my mainland blues.
Undressed To Kill
-----------------
Working on the late shift -- first drink of the day.
Pull a chair up to the table, have to look the other way.
What kind of place am I in? And who's this over here?
Shaking through the silver bubbles climbing through my beer.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill?
Staring through the smoke haze -- plaid shirts in the night.
Well, I'm making sure that everything is zipped up tight.
Who's that jumping on the table? Putting tonic in my gin?
Brushing silken dollars on her cold white skin.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill?
She could have been sweet seventeen. There again, well, so could I.
There was a tear drop sparkle on the inside of her thigh.
Going to fetch myself a cold beer. I've got to get a grip.
Find some place to touch down. Find a landing strip.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Can you meet the eyes of a working girl
all undressed to kill?
Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road.
I wait outside, my motor running -- got a warm dream to unload.
Can I face her in the sunshine? In he harsh real light of day?
She walks out with recognition in her eyes -- I look away.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill.
Rock Island
-----------
Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out on the canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in
the unwashed halls.
And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.
I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a
jumbo to Bombay.
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
here know they're O.K.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
on her Rock Island.
Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? Their own little
patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
you can hardly stand.
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.
And you're back on your Rock Island.
Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
toughed you? Who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping
on your beach anyway?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
back to your Rock Island.
Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears
but that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, No use waiting
for that C.B.S. to come around.
'Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.
Heavy Water
----------
I walked out in the city night,
A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down there in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
heavy water on me.
She was a southern girl. We stood man to man.
I move like a stranger in a strange land.
She was a round hole, I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didn't seem to mind that dirty rain coming down --
shirt hanging open. She was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
smokestack blowing, bow they're pouring
heavy water on me.
What goes up has to fall back down.
It's no night to be out dancing in a party town
when it runs hot and it runs so wide --
running in the street like a thin black tide.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
heavy water on me.
Another Christmas Song
----------------------
Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone.
Old man, he's a mountain.
Old man, he's an island.
Old man he's a walking says
"I'm going to call, call all my children home."
Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum, this fine morning --
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he's calling for his supper.
Calling for his whisky.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah --
calling all his children round.
Sharp ears are tuned to the drones and chanter's warning.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere --
even if you've never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
that might be the old man calling me.
How many wars you fighting out there, this fine winter's morning?
Maybe there's always time for another Christmas song.
Old man is asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving --
proving that the blood is strong.
The Whaler's Dues
-----------------
Money speaks. Soft hearts lose. The truth only whispers.
It's the whaler's dues.
I've been running on diesel. Been running on coal.
Running on borrowed time, if truth's to be told.
Two whales in the ocean, cruising the night
search for each other before we turn out their light.
Been accused of deep murder on the North Atlantic swell
but I have three hungry children and a young wife as well.
And behind stand generations of hard hunting men
who raised a glass to the living, and went killing again.
Are you with me?
Money speaks, soft hearts lose. The truth only whispers.
Now pay the whaler's dues.
Can you forgive me?
Now I'm old and I sit land-locked in a back-country jail
to reflect on all of my sins and the death of the whale.
Send me back down the ages. Put me to sea once again
when the oceans were full -- yes, and men would be men.
Can you forgive me?
Big Riff and Mando
------------------
Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Somebody took it on a dare in the night-time.
Run up to the radio, calling out to the wind.
Now, bring it, bring it back at least an hour before flight time.
It was a souvenir, but it was a right arm missing.
Swap a woodwork rhythm for a humbucking top line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
A little slow in the brain box, but he had a quick right hand.
Run left, run right -- everywhere he look --
nobody watching, no, but that was all he took last night.
Running on the power of a stolen mandolin.
Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle.
Will he wake in the morning, wondering -- was it really worth it?
So make a little deal, Yeah, make a little hustle.
Ringing on the radio -- got a proposition for those English boys.
I'll make the sing-song -- you can make the background noise.
One, two, three, four -- one bar and in.
Give you back the mando, if you'll let this singer sing tonight.
Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Big Riff took it on a dare in the night-time.
Now it's four o'clock, and we're waiting at the sound-check.
Looking for a face staring in from the sunshine.
We got two strong lawmen from the sheriff's office.
They're going to lift Big Riff before he plays the first line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
Yeah, help him on the stage now, put the microphone in his hand.
Think hard. Think right -- nothing in his mind --
So Riff did a runner, but he left the mandolin behind.
Strange Avenues
---------------
Strange avenues where you lose all sense of direction
and everywhere is Main Street in the winter sun.
The wino sleeps -- cold coat lined with he money section.
Looking like a a record cover from 1971.
And here an I -- warm feet and the limo waiting.
Shall I make us both feel good? And would a dollar do?
But in your streets, I have no credit rating
and it might not take a lot to be alone just like you.
Heading up and out now, from your rock island.
Really good to have had you here with me.
And somewhere in the crowd I think I hear a young girl whisper
"Are you ever lonely, just like me?"
Thick as a Brick - Jethro Tull
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Part One:
DDDDDDDDDDD
Really don't mind if you sit this one out
My words but a whisper, your deafness D 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 that 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 blackheads on his shoulders, and there he pees himself in the night
We'll make a man of him, put him to trade
Teach him to play Monopoly, 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 doer 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
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 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 you 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 you 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 are all the sportsmen who always pulled you through ?
They're all resting down in Cornwall, writing up their memoirs
For a paperback edition of the boy scout manual
Part Two:
DDDDDDDDDDD
See there, a man is 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
(We will be gearing toward the average rather than the exceptional)
(God's 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 ?)
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 discolored
In neat little rows, sporting canvas frills
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention
Whilst queueing for sarnies at the office canteen
Singing, "How's your grannie ?", 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 ?
The dawn creation of the kings has begun
Soft Venus lonely maiden brings the ageless one
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 ?
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 to pick up your dead
As the sins of the fathers 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 the suit of armour
Of the wiser man who rushes clear ?
So, come on you 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
So, where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday ?
And where are all the sportsmen who always pulled you through ?
They're all resting down in Cornwall, writing up their memoirs
For a paperback edition of the boy scout manual
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
****************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L
p&c 1982 "The Broadsword And The Beast"
****************************************************************
Side 1: Beastie
* Beastie *
From early days of infancy, through trembling years of youth
Long marky middle-age and final hours long in the tooth
He is the hundred names of terror-creature you love the least
Picture his name before you exorcise the beast.
He roved up and down through History-spectre with tales to tell
In the darkness when the campfires dead-to each his private Hell
If you look behind your shoulder as you feel his eyes to feast
You can witness now the everchanging nature of the Beast.
Beastie
If you wear a warmer sporran, you can keep the foe at bay
You can pop those pills and visit some psychiatrist who'll say -
There is nothing I can do for you, everywhere's a danger zone
I'd love to help get rid of it but I've got one of my own.
Beastie - there's a beast upon my shoulder
Beastie - and a fiend upon my back
Beastie - feel his burning breath a heaving
Beastie - smoke oozing from his stack.
Beastie - and he moves beneath the covers
Beastie - or he lies below the beg
Beastie - he's the Beast upon your shoulder
Beastie - he's the price upon your head.
He's the lonely fear of dying and for some of living too
He's your private nightmare pricking.He'd just love to turn the
screw
So stand as one defiant - Yes, and let your voices swell
Stare that Beastie in the face and really give him Hell.
* Clasp *
We travellers on the endless wastes in single orbits dliding
Cold-eyed march towards the dawn behind hard-weather
hoods-a-hiding
Meeting as the tall ships do, passing in the channel
Afraid to chance a gentle touch - afraid to make the Clasp.
In high-rise city canyons dwells the discontent of ages
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl commuters in their cages
Criptic signals flash across from pilots in the fast lane
Double-locked and belted in - too late to make the Clasp.
Let's break the journey now on some lonely road
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear
Refill the cup and drink it up. Say goodnight and wish good luck.
Synthetic shiefs with frozen smiles holding unsteady courses
Grip the reins of History, high on their battle horses
And meeting as good statesmen do before the TV eyes of millions
Hand to hand exchange the lie - pretend to make the Clasp.
* Fallen On Hard Times *
Fallen on hard times - but it feels good to know
That milk and honey's just around the bend
Running on bad lines - we'd better run as we go
Tear up, tear up the overdraft again.
Oh dear Prime Minister - it's all such a mess
Go right ahead and pull the rotten tooth
Oh Mr. President - you've been put to the test
Come clean for once and hit us with the truth.
Looking for sunshine - oh but it's black and it's cold
Yet you say that milk and honey's just round the bend
Giving us a hard time, my friends
Harding us the same line again.
Fallen on hard times - and there's nowhere to hide
Now they've re-possessed the Rolls Royce and the milk
Turning on the peace sign - and it's back to the wood
Soon there will be raised an holy stink.
Somebody wake me. I've been sleeping too long
Oh, I don't have to take this lying down
You can keep your promises. Shove'em where they belong
Don't ask me to the party - won't be around.
* Flying Colours *
Shout if you will, but that just won't do
I, for one, would rather follow softer options
I'll take the easy line, another sip of wine
And if I ignore the face you wore, it's just a way of mine
To keep from flying colours.
Don't lay your bait while world waits
Around to see me shoot you down - it's all so second-rate.
When we can last for days on a loving night,
Or for hours at least on a warm whisper given
You always pick the best time to rise to the fight
To break the hard bargain that we've driven
Once again we're flying colours.
I thought we had it out the night before
And settled old scores, but not the hard way
Was it a glass too much ? Or a smile too few ?
Did our friends all catch the needle match - did we want them to
?
In a fancy restaurant we were all aglow
Keeping cool by mutual permission
How did the conversation get to where we came to blows
We were set up in a red condition
And again we're flying colours.
Shout - but you see it still won't do
With my colours on I can be just as bad as you
Have I had a glass too much ? Did I give a smile too few ?
Did our friends all catch the needle match - did we want them to
?
We act our parts so well, like we wrote the play
All so predictable and we know it.
We'll settle old scores now and settle the hard way
You may not even like to outgrow it !
Once again we're flying colours.
* Slow Marching Band *
Would you join a Slow Marching Band ?
And take pleasure in your leaving
As the ferry sails and tears are dried
And cows come home at evening.
Could you get behind a Slow Marching Band ?
- Join together in the passing
Of all we shared through yesterdays
In sorrows neverlasting.
Take a hand and take a bow
You played for me, thats all for now
Oh, and never mond the words just hum
Along and keep on going.
Walk on slowly - don't look behind you
Don't say goodbye, love. I won't remind you.
Dream of me as the nights draw cold
Still marking time through Winter
You paid the piper and called the tune
And you marched the band away.
Side 1: Broadsword
* Broadsword *
I see a dark sail on the horizon
Set under a dark cloud that hides the sun
Bring me my Broadsword and clear understanding
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman
Get up to the roundhouse of the cliff-top standing
Take women and children and bed them down.
Bring me my Broadsword and clear understanding
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman
Bless the women and children who firm our hands
Put our back to the North wind. Hold fast by the river
Sweet memories to drive us on for the Motherland.
* Pussy Willow *
In the half-tone light of a young morning
She signs and shifls on the pillow
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
To kiss the Pussy Willow.
In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing
In a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing
For her white Knight to appear.
Pussy Willow - down far-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes
Runs for the train - see, eight o'clock's coming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing
An apartment in old Mayfair
Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring
Or to die for a cause somewhere.
Pussy Willow - down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep for her young woman eyes
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
* Watching Me Watching You *
I sit by the cutting on the Beaconsfield line
He's watching me watching the train go by
And they move so fast - Boy, they really fly
He's still watching me watching you watching the trains go by
And the way he stares - feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand - making the goose-bumps crawl
He's watching me watching you watching him watching me
I'm watching you watching him watching me watching
Stares
At the cocktail party with a Bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by
And they move so smooth without even trying
He's still watching me watching you watching the trains go by
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesn't speak
I have to look the other way
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek
Got two drinks in his hand - see his lips move -
What the Hell's he trying to say.
* Seal Driver *
Take you away for my magic ship
I have two hundred diesel horses thundering loud
Sea birds call your name and the mountain's on fire
As the summer lightning cuts the sky like a hot wire
And you ride on the swell and your heart is alive
Think I'll make you my seal driver.
I'm no great : Looker, I'm no fast shakes
I'll give you a steady push on a six knot simmering high tide
I can hold us down - keep our head to the wind
Or let us roll on the broadside, cold spray flying in
And we'll ride on the swell and our hearts are alive
Let me make you my seal driver.
I could captain you if you'd crew for me
Follow white flecked spindrift - float on a moon kissed sea.
Could you fancy me as a pirate bold
Or a longship Viking warrior with the old gods on his side
Well, I'm an inshore man and I'm nobody's hero
But I'll make you tight for a windy night and a dark ride
Let me take you in hand and bring you alive
Going to make you my seal driver.
* Cheerio *
Along the coast road, by the headland
The early lights of winter glow
I'll pour a cup to you my darling
Raise it up - say Cheerio.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Muscled, black with steel - green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie
Tail balancing at half-mast.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
lying in the cherry tree
Savage bed food-warmer
of priest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
*** He's the all-nighi working cat
Eats but one in every ten ***
leaves the others on the mat.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town-crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ***
Licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lasy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate
... No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock
Warm-blooded night on a cold tie.
Acres Wild
~~~~~~~~~~
I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By beep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.
Come with me to the Wingled Isle ***
Nothern father's Western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
trough far marches of Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in narrow side streets
with shuttered windows,
crambling chimneys ***
By red bricks pointed
with cement fingers
Falking damply from sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the meary town ***
Discos silent undertiles
that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
on concrete marches of Acres Wild.
No Lullaby
~~~~~~~~~~
Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears -
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you fall.
So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief
from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.
Gather your toys at the call-to-arms
and swing your big bear down
Upon uor necks when we come to set
you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie
to chase the face that cries ***
And little birds can't fly
so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
Moths
~~~~~
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came
And a new breese chattered
in its May-bud tenderness ***
Sending water-lilies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings ***
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide ***
Creatures of the candle
on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and wearing *** flutter
through golden needle's eye
in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
on a Spring-tide high.
Life's too long (as the Lemming said)
as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher ***
before the candle's dead.
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came
to join in worship
of the light that never dies
in a moment's reflection
of two Moths spinning in her eyes.
Journeyman
~~~~~~~~~~
Spine-tinging railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams devide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments ***
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
like a faithfull dog with master
sleeping in thn draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frostly flaked on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop.
Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantastic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
and hear the soft choes on the footbridge shuffle
as the wheels turn bitting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Duscy diesel shudders in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
told the guard to turn the heating off.
SIDE TWO
Rover
~~~~~
I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows ***
My comber of the beach ***
You've through the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies here.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ***
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.
As the robin craves the summer
to hide his smock of red,
I need the pailow of your hair
in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness;
resourcefool in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead ***
holdin on a windward course.
Strip me from the bundle
of balloons at every fair:
colourfull and carefree ***
designed to make you stare.
And I'm lost and I'm losing
the thread that hold me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
in the lights of every town.
One Brown Mouse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twich your whiskers. Feel that you're realy real.
Another tea-time *** another day older.
Puff worm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Do you wonder if I realy care for you ***
Am I just the company you keep ***
Which one of us excercises on the old treadmill ***
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll seet and look
at our ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Heavy Horses
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening.
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the rlough
Salt on a deep chest seasoning.
Last of the line at an honest day's toil
Turning the deep sod under.
Flint at the fetlock, chasting the bone
Flies at the nostris plunder.
The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Persheron vie
with the Shire on his feather floating
Hauting soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy Horses, wore the land under me
Behind the plough gliding *** sliping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The traktor's on it's way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and you eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep ploug, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In still battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing.
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horses and a tumbing sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
across these acres glistening
like dew on a carpet lawn.
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
as the Heavy Horses thunder by
to wake the dying city
with the living horseman's cry
At once the old hands quicken ***
bring pick and wisp and curry comb ***
thrill to the sound of all
the Heavy Horses comming home.
Weathercock
~~~~~~~~~~~
Good morning Weathercock: how did you fare last night
Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October and whip around your tail
Did you snake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?
Give us direction; the best of goodwill ***
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing us to softly, hum evening's song ***
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Do you simply reflect changes in the pattern of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather needs the twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?
Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.
Put us on touch with your fair winds.
Sing us softly, hum evening's songs
Point the way to better days we can share with you.
****************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L p&c 1989 " Rock Island "
****************************************************************
* Kissing Willie *
Breaking hearts in a market town.
She eats fillet of sole and washes it down with sparkling wine.
Nice girl, but a bad girl's better. Qualifies in both ways
to my mind. But now she's kissing Willie.
She shows a led - shows it damn well.
Knows how to drive a man right back to being a child.
Well, she's a - nice girl, but her bad girl's better.
I can read it in her cheating eyes and know that in a while -
Well, she'll be kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)
Willie stands and Willie falls.
Willie hands his head behind grey factory walls.
She's a - nice girl, but her bad girl's better.
Me and Willie just can't help come, when she calls.
Now she's kissing Willie. (My best friend, Willie.)
* The Rattlesnake Trail *
Got a hair shirt round my shoulder. Got a cold stew in my spoon.
And I'm falling on my head, lifting feet on lead -
Now it's got me baying at the moon.
Well, there's a race on for tomorrow.
I'm stretching out for what might have been.
Going to come out from the night, get my second sight -
Play round - you know what I mean.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail.
Up that dusty hill - on the rattlesnake trail.
Got the law laid down to the left of me.
Got the real world to the right.
Heading up through the middle with my cat and my fiddle -
Yeah, looking for a fight.
Going to ride hard in bandit country - on the blind side of the bend.
Keep my nose to the wind while the rabbit's skinned -
Bed down at the journey's and.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill - on the rattlesnake trail.
The rattlesnake trail.
I'm going on the rattlesnake trail.
Going to be with wolves in winter - run in angry packs by day.
But when you give the dog a bone, he has to be alone -
Growl, keep the other dogs away.
See that thin moon on the mountain. See that cold star in the sky.
Going to bring them down - shake them to the ground -
Put that apple in the pie.
I'm going for the kill. I'm going tooth and nail
Up that dusty nill - on the rattlesnake trail.
* Ears Of Tin *
In the last hours of a sunset rendezvous -
Chill breeze against tide, that carries me from you.
Got a job in a southern city - got some lead-free in my tank.
Now I must whisper goodbye - I'm bound for the mainland.
Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humainity.
Now the sun breaks through rain as I climb Glen Shiel
On the trail of those old cattlemen who drove
their bargain south again.
And in the eyes of those five sisters of Kintail
There's a wink of seduction from the mainland.
Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise - their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin.
Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm - set my brain to "cruise".
I can see the glow of suburb lights.
I'm fresh from the out-world - singing the mainland blues.
There was a girl where I came from.
Seems like a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill - yeah, she calls in my mainland blues.
There's a coast road that winds to heaven's door
Where a fat ferry floats on muted diessel roar.
And there's a light on the hillside - and there's a flame in her eyes
But how cold the lights burn on the mainland.
Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise. Their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter and falling on ears of tin
In my mainland blues.
* Undressed To Kill *
Working on the late shift - first drink of the day.
Pull a cnair up to the table, have to look the other way.
What kind of place am I in ? And who's this over here ?
Shaking through the silver bubbles climbing through my beer.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
Undressed to kill ?
Staring through the smoke haze - plaid shirts in the night.
Well, I'm making sure that everything is zipped up tight.
Who's that jumping on the table ? Putting tonic in my gin ?
Brushing silken dollars on her cold white skin.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
Undressed to kill.
She could have been sweet seventeen. There again, well, so could I.
There was a tear drop sparkle on the inside of her thigh.
Going to fetch myself a cold beer. I've got to get a grip.
Find some place to touch down. Find a landing strip.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Can you meet the eyes of a working girl
All undressed to kill ?
Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road.
I wait outside, my motor running - got a warm dream to unload.
Can I face her in the sunshine ? In the harsh real light of day ?
She walks out with recognition in her eyes - I look away.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl
Undressed to kill.
* Rock Island *
Savage night on a misty island.
Lights wink out in the canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer.
Black rubber contrails in the unwashed halls.
And all roads out of here seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.
I've gone from here to Paris, London,
And even riding on a jumbo to Bombay.
The long haul back holds faint attraction,
But the people here know they're O.K.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
On her Rock Island.
Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island ?
Their own little patch of sand ?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall
And you find you can hardlystand.
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.
And you're back on your Rock Island.
Hey there, girlie with the torn dress, shaking:
Who was it touched you ? Who was it ruined your day ?
Whose foolprint calling card ? And what they want.
Stepping on your beach anyway ?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
Back to your Rock Island.
Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears
But that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune.
No use waiting for that C.B.S. to come around.
'Cos all roads out of here seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.
* Heavy Water *
I walked out in the city night.
A burning in my yes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down these in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.
She was a southern girl. We stared man to man.
I moved like a stranger in this strange land.
She was a round hole. I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didn't seem to mind that dirty rain coming down -
Shirt hanging open. She was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.
What goes up has to fall back down.
It's no night to be out dancing in a party town
When it runs hot and it runs so wide -
Running in the street like a thin black tide.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
Heavy water on me.
* Another Christmas Song *
Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone.
Old man, he's a mountain.
Old man, he's an island.
Old man he's a-waking says
" I'm going to call, call all my children home."
Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum, this fine morning -
The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he's calling for his supper.
Calling for his whisky.
Calling for sons and daughters, yeah -
Calling all his children round.
Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere - even if you've never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
That might be the old man calling me.
How many wars you fighting out there, this fine winter's morning ?
Maybe there's always time for another Christmas song.
Old man is asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and his daughters, and proving -
Proving that the blood is strong.
* The Whaler's Dues *
Money spraks. Soft hearts lose. The truth only whispers.
It's the whaler's dues.
I've been running borrowed time, if truth's to be told.
Two whales in the ocean, cruising the night
Search for each other before we turn out thir light.
Been accused of deep murder on thee North Atlantic swell
But I have three hungry children and a young wife as well.
And behind stand generations of hard hunting men
Who raised a glass to the living, and went killing again.
Are you with me ?
Money speaks, soft hearts lose. The truth only whispers.
Now pay the whaler's dues.
Can you forgive me ?
Now I'm old and I sit land-locked in a back-country jail
To reflect on all of my sins and the death of the whale.
Send me back down the ages. Put me to sea once again
When the oceans were full - yes, and men would be men.
Can you forgive mee ?
* Big Riff And Mando *
Marty loveed th sound of the stolen mandolin.
Somebody took it on a dare in the night-time.
Ran up to the radio, calling out to the wind.
Now, bring it, bring it back at least an hour before flight time.
It was a souvenir, but it was a right arm missing.
Swap a woodwork rhythm for a humbucking top line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
A little slow in the brain box, but he had a quick right hand.
Run left, run right - everywhere he look -
Nobody watching, no, but that was all he took last night.
Running on the power of a stolen mandolin.
Steal a little inspiration. Steal a little muscle.
Will he wake in the morning, wondering - was it really worth it ?
So, make a little deal. Yeah make a little hustle.
Ringing on the radio - got a proposition for those English boys.
I'll make the sing-song - you can make the background noise.
One, two, three, four - one bar and in.
Give you back the mango, if you'll let this singer sing tonight.
Marty loved the sound of the stolen mandolin.
Big Riff took it on a dare in the night-time.
Now it's four o'clock, and we're waiting at the sound-check.
Looking for a facee staring in from the sunshine.
We got two strong lowmen from the sheriff's office.
They're going to lift Big Riff before he plays the first line.
Big Riff, rough boy, wants to be a singer in a band.
Year, help him on the stage now, put that microphone in his hand.
Think hard. Think right - nothing in his mind -
So Riff did a runner, but he left the mandolin behind.
* Strange Avenues *
Strange avenues where you lose all sense of direction
And everywhere is Main Street in the winter sun.
The wind sleeps - cold coat lined with money section.
Lookihg like a record cover from 1971.
And here am I - warm feet and a limo wating.
Shell I make us both feel good ? And would a dollar do ?
But in your streets I have no credit rating
And it might not take a lot to be alone just like you.
Heading up and out now, from your rock island.
Really good to have had you here with me.
And somewhere in thew crowd I think I hear a young girl whisper
" Are you ever lonely, just like me ?"
*******************************************************************
***************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L p&c 1979 " Stormwa...."
***************************************************************
* North Sea Oil *
Black and viscous - bound to cure blue lethargy
Sugar-plum petroleum for energy
Tightrope-balanced payments need a small reprieve
Oh, please believe we want to be
in North Sea Oil
New-found wealth sits on the shelf of yesterday
Hot-air balloon - inflation soon will make you pay
Riggers rig and diggers dig their shallow grave
but we'll be saved and what we crave
is North Sea Oil
Prices boom in Aberdeen and London Town
Ten more years to lay the fears, erase the frown
before we are all nuclear - the better way !
Oh, let us pray: we want to stay
in North Sea Oil
* Orion *
Orion, light your lights: come guard the open spaces
from the black horizon to the pillow where I lie.
Your faithful dog shines brighter than its lord and master
Your jewelled sword twinkles as the world rolls by.
So come up singing above the cloudy cover.
Stare through at people who toss fitful in their sleep.
I know you're watching as the old gent by the station
scuffs his toes on old fag packets lying in the street
And silver shadows flick across the closing bistro.
Sweet waiters link their arms and patter down the street,
their words lost blowing on cold winds in darkest Chelsea.
Prime years fly fading with each young heart's beat
And young girls shiver as they wait by lonely bus-stops
after sad parties: no-one to take them home
to greasy bed-sittens and make a late-night play
for lost virginity a thousand miles away.
Orion, won't you give me your star sign
Orion, get up on the sky-line
I'm high on my hill and feel fine
Orion, let's sip the heaven's heady wine
* Home *
As the dawn sun breaks over sleepy gardens
I'll be here to do all things to comfort you.
And though I've been away
left you alone this way
why don't you come awake
and let your first smile take me home.
The shadows in the park were longer yesterday
and Lady Luck stood still, waiting for the kill.
And on a jumbo ride
over seas grey, deep and wide
I flew for heaven's sake
and let the angels take me home
Down steep and narrow lanes I see the chimneys smoking
above the golden fields ... know what the robin feels
in his summer jamboree.
All elements agree
in sweet and stormy blend -
midwife to winds that send me home.
* Dark Ages *
Darlings are you ready for the long winter's fall ?
said the lady in her parlour
said the butler in the hall.
Is there time for another ?
said the drunkard in his sleep.
Not likely
said the little child. What's done
the Lord can keep.
And the vicar stands a-praying
And the television dies
as the white dot flickers and is gone
and no-one stops to cry.
The big jet rumbles over runway miles
that scar the patchwork green
where slick tycoons and rick buffoons
have opened up the seam
of golden nights and champagne flights
ad-man overkill
and in the raze
consumer crazed
we take the sugar pill.
Jagged fires mark the picket lines
the politicians weep
and mealy-mouthed
through corridors of power on tip-toe creep
Came and see bureaucracy
make its final heave
and let the new disorder through
while senses take their leave.
Families screaming line the streets
and put the windows through
in corner shops
where keepers kept
the country's life-blood blue.
Take their pick
and try the trick
with loaves and fishes shared
and the vicar shouts
as the lights go out
and no-one really cares.
Dark Ages
shaking the dead
Closed pages
better not read
Cold rages
burn in your head.
* Warm Sporran (Instrumental) *
******************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L p&c 1976
" Too Old To Rock'n'Roll, Too Young To Die "
******************************************************************
* Quizz Kid *
Cut along the dotted line - slip in and seal the flap
Postal competition crazy
Though you wear the dunce's cap
Win a fortnight in Ibiza - line-up for the big hand-out
You'll never know unless you try -
What winning's all about - be a Quizz Kid
Six days later there's a rush telegram
Drop everything and telephone this number if you can
It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life
They'll wine you, dine you, underwine you -
Better not bring the wine - be a Quizz Kid
be a Whizz Kid
It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak
Answerable to everyone, responsible to all, publicly dissected
Brain sells spattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge
May be barbaric but it's fun
As the clock ticks away a lifetime
Hold your head up to the gun
Of a million cathode ray tubes aimed at your tiny skull
May you find sweet inspiration -
May your memory not be dull
May you rise to dizzy success
May your wit be quick and strong
May you constantly amaze us
May your answers not be wrong
May your head be on your shoulders
May your tongue be in your cheek
And most of all we pray that you may come back next week !
Be a Quizz Kid
Be a Whizz Kid
* Crazed Institution *
Just a little touch of make-up; just a little touch of bull
Just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul
You can wear a gold Piaget on your Semaphore wrist
You can dance the old adage with a new dapper twist
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think you really are ...
Crawl inside your major triad, curl up and laugh
As your agent scores another front page photograph
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo
Awaiting someone else to pull the chain
Well grab the old bog-handle, hold your breath and light a candle
Clear your throat and pray for rain to irrigate the corridors
That echo in your brain filled with emopty nothingness,
empty hunger pains
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you know you really are ...
* Salanander *
Salamander - born in the sun - kissed flame
Who was it lit your candle - branded you with your name ?
I see you walking by my window in your Kensington haze
Salamander, burn for me and I'll burn for you.
* Taxi Grab *
Shake a led; it's a big ruch, can't find a taxi, can't find a bus
Bodies jammed in the Underground
Evacuating London town
Nowhere to put your feet as the big store shoppers
Red lights - and the pavements meet
pin stripes - short step shuffle into the night
Tea time calls - the Bingo Halls open at 7 in the old front stalls
How about a Taxi Grab
There's an empty cab by the taxi stand
Driver's in the cafe washing his hands
Big diesel idles - the keys inside
C'mon Sally let's take a ride
Flag down - uptown - no sweat
For rush-hour travel, it's the best bet yet. Taxi Grab.
* From A. Dead Beat To An Old Greaser *
From a dead beat to an old greaser
Here's thinking of you
You won't remember the long nights
Coffee bars; black tights and white thighs in shop windows
Where blonde assistants fully-fashioned
A world made of dummies (with no mummies or daddies to reject them)
When bombs were banned every Sunday
And the Shadows did FBI
And tired young sax-players their instruments of torture -
Sat in the station sharing wet dreams of
Charlie Parker, Jack Kerouac, Rene Magritte
To name a few of the heroes who were too wise for their own good
Left the young brood to go on living without them
Old queers with young faces - who remember you name
Though you're a dead beat with tired feet
Two ends that don't meet to a dead beat from an old greaser
Think you must have me all wrong
I didn't care friend; I wasn't there friend
If it's the price of a pint that you need, ask me again
* Bad-Eyed And Loveless *
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's fancy and an old man's dream
I'm self-raising and I flower in her company
Give me no sugar without her cream
She's a warm fart at Cristmas
She's a breath of Champagne on a sparkling night
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
Turns other women to envious green
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's vision - in my old man's dream
* Big Dipper *
he mist rolls off the beachers; the train rolls into the station
Weekend happiness seekers - pent-up saturation
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm
We weren't on the Glasgow train
See you at the Pleasure Beat, Roller-coasting heroes
Big Dipper riding - we'll give the local lads a hiding
If they keep us from the ladies
Hanging out in the penny arcades
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
Throwing up in the bathroom, landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper, it's the weekend rage
Rich windowed landlady give me your spare front-door key
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to you next Thursday
I may stay over for a week or two
Drop a post card to me mum, I'll see you on the waltzer
We'll go big-dipping daily...
* Too Old To Rock'n'Roll, Too Young To Die *
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's fancy and an old man's dream
I'm self-raising and I flower in her company
Give me no sugar without her cream
She's a warm fart at Christmas
She's a breath of Champagne on a sparkling night
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
Turns other women to envious green
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's vision - in my old man's dream
* Big Dipper *
The mist rolls off the beaches; the train rolls into the station
Weekend happiness seekers - pent-up saturation
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm
We weren't on the Glasgow train
See you at the Pleasure Beat, Roller-coasting heroes
Big Dipper riding - we'll give the local lads a hiding
If they keep us from the ladies
Hanging out in the penny arcades
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
Throwing up in the bathroom, landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper, it's the weekend rade.
Rich widowed landlady give me your spare front-door key
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to you next Thursday
I may stay over for a week or two
Drop a postcard to me mum, I'll see you on the waltzer
We'll go big-dipping daily ...
Big Dipper riding - we'll give the local lads a hiding
If they keep us from the ladies
Hanging out in the penny arcades
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
Throwing up in the bathroom, landlady's in the backroom
I'm the Big Dipper, it's the weekend rade.
* Too Old To Rock'n'Roll, Too Young To Die *
The old Rocker wore his hair too long
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionable to the end - drank his ale too light
Death's head belts buckle - yesterday dreams
The transport "Caf" prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sews seams
in his post-war-babe gloom
Now he's too old to rock'n'roll, but he's too young to die
He once owned a Harley Davidson and A Triumph Borneville
Counted his friends in burned out spark plugs
And prays that he always will
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
All his mates are doing time
Married with three kids up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line
And some of them own little sports cars
And meet at the tennis club do's
For drinks on a Sunday - work on Monday
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes
Now they're too old to rock'n'roll, but they're too young to die
So the old Rocker gets out his bike to make a ton
Before he takes his leave
Upon the Al by Scotch Corner just like it used to be
And as he flies - tears in his eyes - his mind -
whipped words echo the final take
As he hits the trunk road doing around 120
with no room left to brake
And he was too old to rock'n'roll, but he was too young to die
* Pied Piper *
Well if you think Ray blew it, there was nothing to it
They patched him up as good as new
Now you can see him every day - riding down the queen's highway
Handing out his small cigars to the kids from school
And all the little girls with their bleached blonde curls
Clump up on their platform soles
And they say, " Hey, Ray - let's ride away
Downtown where we can roll some alley bowls "
And Ray grins from ear to ear and whispers ...
So follow me. Trail along, my leather jacket's buttoned up
And my four-stroke song will pick you up when your last class ends
And you can tell all your friends
The Pied Piper pulled you, the mad biker fooled you
I'll do what you want to
If you ride with me on a Friday anything goes
So follow me, hold on tight
My school girl fancy's flowing in free flight
I've a tenner in my skin tight jeans
You can touch it if your hands are clean
The Pied Piper pulled you, the mad biker fooled you
* The Chequered Flag (Dead Or Alive) *
The disk brakes drag
The Chequered Flag sweeps across the oil-slick track
The young man's home, dry as a bone
His helmet off, he waves: the crowd waves back
One lap victory roll. Gladiator soul
The taker of the day in winning has to say
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive
The sunlight streaks through the curtain tracks
Touches the old man where he sleeps
The nurse brings up a cup of tea - two biscuits
And the morning paper mystery
The hard road's end, the white God's send is nearer everyday
In dying the old man says
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive
The still-born child can't feel the rain
As the Chequered Flag falls once again
The deaf composer completes his final score
He'll never hear his sweet encore
The Chequered Flag, the bull's red rag
The lemming-hearted running ever-faster to the shore singing
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive
*********************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L
with kitchen prose, gutter rhymes and divers
SONGS FROM THE WOOD
SIDE ONE
Songs From The Wood
Let me bring you songs from the wood:
To make you feel much better than you
could know -
ust 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 lovers' lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
Galliards and I te songs served in chill-
ing ale.
Greeting 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.
Jack-In-The-Green
Have you ever seen Jack-In-The-Green?
- With his long tail hanging down.
He quitely sits under every tree
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from every empty acorn cup
The dew that down sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground -
Signals the snow-drops, 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 winter long.
Jack, do you never sleep - does the green still
run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times, motorways, power-
lines keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so.
I saw some grass growing through the pavements
today.
The Roman, the Oak and the Holly tree
Are charges left r him 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 Mistle Thrush is comming, Jack, put out the
light!"
Cup of Wonder
May I make my fond excuses for the late-ness of the hour;
But we accept your invitation, and would bring you
Beltane's flower.
For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old
straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song
that calls them back.
Chorus: Pass the wood and pass the lady.
Pass the plane to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass
the Cup of Crimson Wonder.
Ask the Green Man where he comes from, ask the cup that
fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones who show the sun his
way to bad.
Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that
they hold.
Walk the lines of Nature's palm, crosses with silver and
with gold.
Chorus.
Join in black December's sadness, lie in August's
welcome corn.
Stir the cup that's ever filling with the blood of all
that's born.
But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old
straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley will heed this song
that calls them back.
Chorus.
Hunting Girl
One day I walked the road and crosses a field to go
by where the hounds ran hard
And on the master raced behind, the hunters chased
to where the pass was barred.
One fine young lady's refused the tence to clear
I un-locked the gatebut she did wait until the pack had
disappeared.
Crop-handle carved in bone, sat high upon a throne of finest
Engleesh leather
The Queen of all the Pack: this joker raised his hat and
talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high-born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man's downfall in hand; I raised the
flag that she unfurled.
Boot leather flashing and spur-necks the size of your thumb.
This high-born hunter had tastes as strange as they come.
Unbrided passion: I took the bit in my teeth
Her standing over me on my knees underneath.
My lady, be discrete, T must get to my feet and go back to
the farm.
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate, I might come to
some harm.
I'm not inclined to acts refined, it that's how it goes.
Oh high-born Hunting Girl I'm just a normal low-born so-and-so.
Ring Out, Solstice Bells
Now is the solstice of the year.
Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in line.
Chorus Ring out those bells
Ring out, ring Solstice Bells.
Ring, Solstice Bells.
Join together 'neath the Mistle-toe.
By the Holy oak where-on it grows.
Seven Druids dance in seven time
Sing the song the Bells call, loudly chimming.
Chorus
Praise be to the distant sister Sun.
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the Bells call, loudly chimming.
Chorus
All lyrics by permission (c)1977 Salamander
& Son Music Ltd. Publishel in U.S.A.
and Canada by Chrysalis Music Corp.
J E T H R O T U L L
with kitchen prose, gutter rhymes and divers
SONGS FROM THE WOOD
SIDE TWO
Velvet Green
Walking on Velvet Green -
Scots Pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air,
shinning -
Walking on Velvet Green.
Walking on Velvet Green
Distant cows lowing.
NNever a care: with you legs in the air,
loving -
Walking on Velvet Green.
Won't you have my company, yes, take
it in your hand.
Go down, on Velvet Green, with
a country-n n.
Who's a young girl' fancy
and maid's dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all
night on Velvet Green.
One dusky half-hour's ride up to the
north.
There lies your reputation and all that
you're worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the
milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all
night on Velvet Green.
And the long grass blows in the evening
cool.
And August's rare delitesmay be April's
fool.
But think not of that my love, I'm tight
against the seam.
And I'm growing up to meet you down on
Velvet Green.
Now I may tell you that it's love and
not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let's lie in trust
On golden daffodils, to cath the silver
stream
That washes out the the wild oat seed on
Velvet Green.
We'll dream as lovers under the stars:
Of civilisation raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your
battle scars
As you walk home cold and alone upon
Velvet Green.
The Whistler
I'll buy you six bay mares, to put in you stable;
Six golden apples brought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune
But I must be gone by the seventh day.
Chorus So come on - I'm the Whistler
I have a fife, and a drum to play.
Get ready - I'm the Whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day.
All kinds of sadness I've left behind me.
Many's the day when I have done wrong.
But I'll be your for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.
Chorus
Deep red are the sunsets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle:
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.
Chorus
Pibroch (Cap in Hand)
There's a light in the house
in the wood
in the valley
There's a thought in the head of the man
Who carries his dreams
like the coat slung
on his shoulder,
Bringing your love
in the cup
in his hand.
And each step he takes is one
half of a life-time:
No word he would say could you
understand
So he boundles his regrets
into a gesture of sorrow,
Bringing your love
cup in hand.
Catching breath, as he looks
through the dinning-room window:
Candle-lit table for two
has been laid.
Strange slippers by the fire:
Strange boots in the hall-way.
Put my cup on my head -
I turn
and walk away.
Fire at Midnight
I believe in fires at midnight
when the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle;
a broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken must outside the window -
Frogs and newts slip in the dark.
Too much hurry ruins a'body:
I'LL sit easy; fan the spark.
Kidness by the dying embers of
another working day.
Go upstairs; take off your make-up -
Fold your clothes nearly away.
Me, I'll sit and wright this love song
As I all too seldom do -
Build a little fire this midnight:
It's good to be back home with you.
All lyrics by permission (c)1977 Salamander
& Son Music Ltd. Publishel in U.S.A.
and Canada by Chrysalis Music Corp.
*****************************************************************
J E T H R O T U L L p&c 1984 " Under Wraps "
*****************************************************************
* Lap of Luxury *
The money won't last forever -
Rent man called twice today
I hope some day you'll find me
In the Lap Of Luxury
Searched for a new apartment
But they drow on trees
Just want to lay my head
In the Lap Of Luxury
Stepped out on a new horizon
Felt a new spring in my feet
Found a job, it could set me up
Dangling in the Lap of Luxury
And the gaffer is a man of substance
Drives a Jag and takes high tea
Lives beyond the industrial Wasteland
Laughing in the Lap of Luxury
I need money, now, to soothe my heart !
Buy me a Datsun or Toyota
Get the tax man to agree
All expenses I can muster
From the Lap of Luxury
* Under Wraps *
Keep it quiet - ( go slow )
Circulate. Need to know
Stamp the date upon your file
Masquerade, but well worth while
Wrapped in the warmth of you
Wrapped up in your smile
Wrapped in the folds of your attention
Wear an air - ( keep mum )
Of casual indifference
Careful how you go
About your usual business
Wrapped in the daydreams of you
Wrapped up by your eyes
Wrapped in the folds of your attention
Under Wraps !
I'v got you under wraps
Tell you when - ( not yet )
Soon the great unveiling
Bless my boots ! Upon my soul !
Secrecy, it is my failing
Wrapped in your summer night
Wrapped in your autumn leaves
Wrapped in the winter of your sleeping
* European Legacy *
She smiles at me from beyond the Eastern sea-shore
Flashing Jewelling eyes, she hoists her skirts so high
Nouvelle Cuisine or an oyster bar - it's really up to her
I'll write every cheque she brings to me
She shoots on sight - it's her European Legacy
Round the castle walls - about the Highlands and the Islands
The faint reminders stand. Visitors who took a hand
A thousand years ago, or so - stranded high and dry by tides
Washed up a new identity, the channel's wide
But it's their European Legacy
I strain my eyes - against the southern light advancing
On whiter cliffs I'm high, the sea birds roll and thumble as they fly
I hear distant mainland music echo in my island ears
My feet begin to move instinctly
To the warmer beat of my European Legacy
* Later, That Some Evening *
Later, that some evening, she run. I think she run alone
Later, she had early warning from a hidden fone
Checked with the embassy - she might have been a million miles away
Should I circulate her likeness at all airports without delay
It was later - later, that some evening.
Early, we had had a drink or four in some Kensington hotel
Hard - it was hard to keep my mind on what she had to sell
And with all business done, we took a cab -
Should it be her place or mine ?
Good security prevaled and I was home just after nine
It was later - later, that some evening.
Now I want you back
Yes, they want you back
We want you back
My country wants you back
Later, in the wee small hours there was heavy traffic on the radio
Scare, at a channel port - small craft warnings to keep to shore
Lobstermen thought they saw a submarine
Half submerged suspiciously
Though I arrived too late, I'm sure she blew a kiss to me
As the sub sailed out to sea.
* Saboteur *
In and out of shady places - walking on cold corners of the mare
Following the trace you leave unwittingly
I wanna be no saboteur
Oh no, me no Saboteur
Painted ducks across your landscape - happy in your domesticity
( It don't come free )
Misfortune, like a Sparrow Hawk, hangs over you
Wanna be no Saboteur
Deepest regrets I humbly offer you as I cut into your life
With clean precision, all is simplified -pass the hat and pass the knife
By now you must be worried, wondering
Who is me and what lies behind my art
I'm only removing broken sea-shells from the beach -
Oh no, me no Saboteur
There's at least one of me inside your ranks in your factory or school
I anticipate a cleansing opportunity to take the horns by the bull
History forever writing pages to be cut or painted grey
Or celebrated like Jesus in his temple rage
As he chased the money-man away
I wanna be no Saboteur
Be no, be no Saboteur
* Radio Free Moscow *
Tune into messages from the Eastern avenue
Lock on to the ether - squeeze the signal through and through
War of the air-waves making scare-waves.
I'm getting pictures from my radio. Moscow Radio.
Voice of America - symbol of the free
Mine of disinformation pleading sympathy
Down in the cold-war games forever naming names
I'm getting pictures from my Radio (Free Moscow)
Keep getting pictures from my Radio (Free Moscow)
I put my headphones on - reach out on the beam
Shutter up the windows - I'm getting up some steam
Somebody's at the door catching me in the act -
They've been keeping the score.
I'm getting pictures from my Radio (Free Moscow)
Yes I'm getting pictures from my Radio (Free Moscow)
* Nobody's Car *
Black Volga followed me - Nobody's Car.
Mr. No-one at the wheel of Nobody's Car.
Wet pavements, thin apartments -
Quiet dissent from darkened doorways. I want out alive.
Speak up for me if you can.
So, careful how you drive in tourist city.
Slap in front of my hotel - it's Nobody's Car
Is that my limousine ? No, it's Nobody's Car
Are you on routine assignment ?
Plastic shades on black-browed eye-holes
I read this book before. I even saw the film.
How did the ending go ?
(Intourist city)
Black out
It's a weird scenario
I've seen a thousand times before but only on the video.
Feel my steps quick in the headlights of Nobody's Car.
Down cobbled alley with no exit from Nobody's Car.
Doors slam, two figures silhouette -
Somewhere before I feel we've met.
Can't tell you anymore.
I agreed to go along with all they asked of me.
Intourist city.
I drive Nobody's Car.
* Heat *
When the rats are running
And the boys are gunning
For heads on a tin plate -
You can hear the football
Softly in the back yard
And the black Jack is called
Face up on the last card.
You'd better call your witness
In your dirty business
Trop tard sera le cri
Better run while you can -
Better set the tall sail
Better make deep cover
Before the boys have you nailed.
There's just one chance to get away -
I'll catch up with you another day.
I'll close my eyes and count to ten
And come right after you again.
Grab your credit cards - cash in your resources
Take your passport from the drawer.
Don't stop to change the horses.
Get out of the Heat
Now can you feel the pressure ?
Have you got the measure
Of being a wanted man ?
Cold drink in your hand - hot sweat on your brow.
And there's no understanding going to help you now.
Nothing all parties of an earlier vacation
No use trying to board the train
After it's left the station.
* Under Wraps 2 *
Lyrics the same as 'Under Wraps'
* Paparazzi *
Paparazzi, can't make the man.
Paparazzi, can't break the man.
Next to the transit lounge see the Paparazzi tears
No one came today from Boston or Tangiers
And in departures - only faceless trippers trip
Loaded with duty free
Help in white knuckle grip.
Snap it up, flash away -
Steal a camel for a day.
Break the story in heavy type -
The news is running late tonight.
Be-decked with Nicon necklaces
Hear the Paparazzi cries.
Under their noses walk the famous in disguise
Conspicuously huddled there but no one stops to look.
They've got their crayons out to colour in the book.
Snap it up, flash away -
Steal a camel for a day.
Break the story in heavy type -
Paparazzi won't be home tonight.
Paparazzi - write it down
Paparazzi - turn it around
Paparazzi - take it, take it, break it
'Cos it's a story.
Now someone's cut the lines communication's down
All photo film is fogged.
Celebrities surround and jab their fingers at me
They kiss but I can't tell
Even poor Paparazzi must have privacy as well.
* Apogee *
Sailing round the true-blue-sphere -
Is it too late to bale out of here ?
Well, there has to be some better way
To turn back the night, spin on to yesterday.
The old man and his crew -
After all these years, it's Apogee
Pilot training and remorse -
Spirit friends fly too, at Apogee
Apogee - solar bright
Apogee - through the night
Apogee - overground
Don't think I'll be coming down.
Screened for a stable mate with nerves of ice we flew - at Apogee
No creativity allowed to pass through stainless veins
of steel at Apogee
Apogee - put the kettle on
Tight-lipped-soldier on
High point - communicate
Don't forget to urinate.
So glad they put this window in
How to explain, how to begin ?
See ! Tennyson and Wordsworth there
Waiting for me in the cold thin air.
Beware a host of unearthly daffodils
Drifting golden turned up loud
Tell the boys back home
I'm gonna get some.
The Wrong Stuff's loose in here - I'm climbing up the walls -
at Apogee
So hoist the skull and bones - death and glory's free at Apogee
A stranger wind, a solar breeze -
I'm walking out upon starry seas
See pyramids, see standing stones -
Pink cotton undies and blue telephones.
Goodbye, cruel world that was my home -
There's cleaner space out here to roam.
Put my feet up on the moons of mars -
Sit back, relax and count the stars.