Author: Jethro TullAlbum title: AqualungAqualung 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. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: catfish.rising Lyrics to _Catfish Rising_ by Jethro Tull 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. Oh Jesus, is it really you? ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: crest.knave 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. Your request matches 1 albums and 9 songs. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: heavy.horses 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. Your request matches 1 albums and 9 songs. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: passion.play Author: Jethro Tull Album title: A Passion Play A Passion Play - ------- ---- "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. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: rock.island 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?" Your request matches 1 albums and 10 songs. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Directory: /u9/ftp/pub/music/lyrics/files/jethro.tull File: thick.as.a.brick 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. ****************************************************************** JETHRO TULL HEAVY HORSES SIDE ONE ... 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. |