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This trick-photo with two Ians was printed on the inside of the cover
of the first German and US releases of the Benefit album.
In days of peace sweet smelling summer nights of wine and song; dusty pavements burning feet. Why am I crying, I want to know. How can I smile and make it right? For sixty days and eighty nights and not give in and lose the fight. I'm going back to the ones that I know, with whom I can be what I want to be. Just one week for the feeling to go and with you there to help me then it probably will. I won't go down acting the same old play. Give sixty days for just one night. Don't think I'd make it: but then I might. I'm going back to the ones that I know, with whom I can be what I want to be. Just one week for the feeling to go and with you there to help me then it probably will.
Everyday there's someone asking "What is there to do?" Should I love or should I fight, is it all the same to you? No I say I have the answer proven to be true, But if I were to share it with you, you would stand to gain and I to lose. Oh I couldn't bear it so I've got nothing to say. Nothing to say. Every morning pressure forming all around my eyes. Ceilings crash, the walls collapse, broken by the lies that your misfortune brought upon us and I won't disguise them. So don't ask me will I explain, I won't even begin to tell you why. No, just because I have a name well I've got nothing to say. Nothing to say. Climb a tower of freedom, paint your own deceiving sign. It's not my power to criticize or to ask you to be blind To your own pressing problem and the hate you must unwind. So ask of me no answer there is none that I could give you wouldn't find. I went your way ten years ago and I've got nothing to say. Nothing to say
Nobody sees her here, her eyes are slowly closing. If she should want some peace she sits there, without moving, and puts a pillow over the phone. And if she feels like dancing, no one will know it. Giving herself a chance there's no need to show her how it should be. She can't remember now when she was all in pieces, she's quite content to sit there listening to what he says, how he didn't like to be alone. And if he feels like crying she's there to hear him, no reason to complain and nothing to fear, they always will be.
Oh, I feel sympathy. Be grateful my son for what you get. Expression and passion. Ten days for watching the sunset; when I was your age amusement we made for ourselves. "Permission to breathe sir,'' don't talk like that, I'm your old man. They'll soon be demobbed son, so join up as soon as you can. You can't borrow that 'cause that's for the races and doesn't grow on trees. I only feel what touches me and feel in touching I can see a better state to be in. Who has the right to question what I might do, in feeling I should touch the real and only things I feel. It's advice and it's nice to know when you're best advised. You've only turned thirty, so son, you'd better apologize. And when you grow up, if you're good we will buy you a bike.
Watery eyes of the last sighing seconds, blue reflections mute and dim beckon tearful child of wonder to repentance of the sin. And the blind and lusty lovers of the great eternal lie go on believing nothing since something has to die. And the ape's curiosity money power wins, and the yellow soft mountains move under him. I'm with you L.E.M. though it's a shame that it had to be you. The mother ship is just a blip from your trip made for two. I'm with you boys, so please employ just a little extra care. It's on my mind I'm left behind when I should have been there. Walking with you. And the limp face hungry viewers fight to fasten with their eyes like the man hung from the trapeze whose fall will satisfy. And congratulate each other on their rare and wondrous deed That their begrudged money bought to sow the monkey's seed. And the yellow soft mountains they grow very still witness as intrusion the humanoid thrill.
Flying so high, trying to remember how many cigarettes did I bring along? When I get down I'll jump in a taxi cab driving through London town to cry you a song. It's been a long time still shaking my wings. Well, I'm a glad bird I got changes to ring. Closing my dream inside its paper-bag. Thought I saw angels but I could have been wrong. Search in my case, can't find what they're looking for. Waving me through to cry you a song. It's been a long time still shaking my wings. Well I'm a glad bird I got changes to ring. Lights in the street, peeping through curtains drawn. Rattling of safety chain taking too long. The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before Came down from the skies to cry you a song.
Once it seemed there would always be a time for everything. Ages passed I knew at last my life had never been. I'd been missing what time could bring. Fifty years and I'm filled with tears and joys I never cried. Burn the wagon and chain the mule. The past is all denied. There's no time for everything. No time for everything.
All the places I've been make it hard to begin to enjoy life again on the inside, but I mean to. Take a walk around the block and be glad that I've got me some time to be in from the outside, and inside with you. I'm sitting on the corner feeling glad. Got no money coming in but I can't be sad. That was the best cup of coffee I ever had. And I won't worry about a thing because we've got it made, here on the inside, outside so far away. And we'll laugh and we'll sing get someone to bring our friends here for tea in the evening Old Jeffrey makes three. Take a walk in the park, does the wind in the dark sound like music to you? Well I'm thinking it does to me. Can you cook, can you sew? Well, I don't want to know. That is not what you need on the inside, to make the time go. Counting lambs, counting sheep we will fall into sleep and we awake to a new day of living and loving you so.
Got to take in what I can. There is no time to do what must be done, While I do some thinking. Sleeping is hard to come by, So we'll all sit down and try to play in time, and we feel like singing. Talking to people in my way. Blues were my favorite colour, til I looked around and found another song that I felt like singing. Trying so hard to reach you; playing what must be played, what must be sung and it's what I'm singing. Talking to people in my way.
Hello you straight-laced lady, dressed in white but your shoes aren't clean. Painted them up with polish in the hope we can't see where you've been. The smiling face that you've worn to greet me rising at morning sent me out to work for my score. Please me and say what it's for. Give me the straight-laced promise and not the pathetic lie. Tie me down with your ribbons and sulk when I ask you why. Your Sunday paper voice cries demanding truths I deny. The bitter-sweet kiss you pretended is offered, our affair mended.
Sossity: You're a woman. Society: You're a woman. All of the tears you're wasting are for yourself and not for me. It's sad to know you're aging Sadder still to admit I'm free. Your immature physical toy has grown, too young to enjoy at last your straight-laced agreement: woman, you were too old for me. Sossity: You're a woman. Society: You're a woman.
In 2001 a digitally remastered version of this album was released, containing the following bonus tracks: - Singing All Day - Witch's Promise - Just Trying To Be - Teacher (original UK mix) In most cases these tracks were recorded during the sessions for this album, but didn't make it to the final release for a variety of reasons. Please check the Tull Songs section to access the lyrics to these songs.
Lyrics: © Chrysalis Records Ltd., London, UK, 1970 - All Rights
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