Introduction Site Map Site Search TullSongs TullAlbums TullScapes
TullBooks TullUnreleased TullClips TullLinks TullResources About & Awards
Muscled, black with steel-green eye swishing through the rye grass with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie. Tail balancing at half-mast. …And the mouse police never sleeps lying in the cherry tree. Savage bed foot-warmer of purest feline ancestry. Look out, little furry folk! He's the all-night working cat. Eats but one in every ten leaves the others on the mat. …And the mouse police never sleeps waiting by the cellar door. Window-box town crier; birth and death registrar. With claws that rake a furrow red licensed to mutilate. From warm milk on a lazy day to dawn patrol on hungry hate. …No, the mouse police never sleeps climbing on the ivy. Windy roof-top weathercock. Warm-blooded night on a cold tile.I'll make love to you in all good places under black mountains in open spaces. By deep brown rivers that slither darkly through far marches where the blue hare races. Come with me to the Winged Isle northern father's western child. Where the dance of ages is playing still through far marches of acres wild. I'll make love to you in narrow side streets with shuttered windows, crumbling chimneys. Come with me to the weary town discos silent under tiles that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly on concrete marches of acres wild. By red bricks pointed with cement fingers Flaking damply from sagging shoulders. Come with me to the Winged Isle northern father's western child. Where the dance of ages is playing still through far marches of acres wild.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.The leaded window opened to move the dancing candle flame And the first Moths of summer suicidal came, 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 month 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 but before the candle's dead. The leaded window opened to move the dancing candle flame. And the first moths of summer suicidal came, oh, suicidal came. To join in the worship of the light that never dies in a moment's reflection of two moths spinning in her eyes.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 Gerard's 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.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: colourful 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.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.
Lyrics: © Chrysalis Records Ltd., London, UK, 1978 - All Rights
Repeat: The Best Of Jethro Tull - Vol.II
Live : Bursting Out