2. Flawed Gems And The Other Side Of Tull
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I'll see you at the weighing in when your life's sum-total's made. And you set your wealth in godly deeds against the sins you've laid. So place your final burden on your hard-pressed next of kin: Send the chamber pot back down the line to be filled up again. Take your mind off your election and try to get it straight. And don't pretend perfection: you'll be crucified too late. And he'll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat. Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, I thank you all for that. And as you join the good ship earth and you mingle with the dust be sure to leave your underpants with someone you can trust. And the hard-headed social worker who bathes his hands in blood will welcome you with arms held high and cover you with mud. And he'll say you really should make the deal as he offers round the hat. Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, well. I'll thank you all for that.
In long years of ancient time, stood alone a friend of mine. Reflected by the ever-burning sigh of a god who happened by. And in the dawn, there came the song of some sweet lady singing in his ear. Your god has gone, and from now on, you'll have to learn to hate the things you fear. We want to know, are we inside the womb of passion plays, and by righteousness consumed? Or just in lush contentment of our souls? And so began the age of man. They left his body in the sand. Their glasses raised to a god on high who smiled upon them from the sky. So take the stage. Spin down the ages. Loose the passion. Spill the rage upon your son who holds the gun up to your head; the play's begun.
Then God, the director, smells a rat. Pulls another rabbit from His hat. Sniffs the air and He says, "Well, that's that I'm going.'' The actors milling helplessly the script is blowing out to sea. But what the hell, we didn't even pass an audition. The lines you'll have to improvise. The words are written in the eyes of politicians who despise their fathers. And so the play necessitates that all you boys participate in fierce competition to eliminate each other. And groupies, on their way to war, get to write the next film score. But the rock and roll star knows his glory is really nothing. Men of religion, on the make, pledge an oath they undertake to make you white for God's own sake, and none other. While ladies get their bedding done to win themselves a bouncing son, but bad girls do it for the fun of just being. And me, I'm here to sing along, and I'm not concerned with the righting wrongs, just asking questions that belong without an answer. The God is laughing up his sleeve as He pours himself another cup of tea, and He waves goodbye to you and me, at least for now.
c) No Rehearsal
Did you learn your lines today? Well, there is no rehearsal. The tickets have all been sold for tomorrow's matinee. There's a telegram from the writer, but there is no rehearsal. The electrician has been told to make the spotlights brighter. There's one seat in the circle, five hundred million in the stalls. Simply everyone will be there, but the safety curtain falls When the bomb that's in the dressing room blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. (Spoken:) There's one seat in the circle, five hundred million in the stalls. Simply everyone will be there, but the safety curtain falls When the bomb that's in the dressing room blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. When the bomb that's in the dressing room blows the windows from their frames. And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came. Did you learn your lines today? Well there is no rehearsal. The interval will last until the ice-cream lady melts away. The twelve piece orchestra are here, but there is no rehearsal. The first violinist's hands are chilled he's gone deaf in both ears. Well, the scenery is colourful, but the paint is so damn thin. You see the wall behind is crumbling, and the stage door is bricked-in. But the audience keep arriving`till they're standing in the wings. And we take the final curtain call, and the ceiling crashes in.
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in? While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin? There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder. And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older. And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high come a Beltane. Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth? And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth? Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent. And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument. Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot from soft lips in the rain come a Beltane. Happy old new year to you and yours. The sun's up for one more day, to be sure. Play it out gladly, for your card's marked again. Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly? While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country. And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around. With his walking cane of sweet hazel brings it crashing down. Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane. Come a Beltane.
Walking on air, shoulder and head above you. Down in the street, black canyons walking through. Hooded sad eyes, fixed on your shuffle shoes. Life is a clue in your crossword. Typewriter turk. Telephone terror takes time to wind down. Push-button finger shakes. City of dreams. Back to your quiet nightmare. Your life is a clue in the crossword. Working to rule in your own time. Drag yourself home to your star sign page. Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer. Ladder of string climbing to sweet success. Homework aside. Your brain on the train to test. Pick up the news (you left on the seat beside you). Your life is a clue in the crossword. Your life is a clue in the crossword. Your life is a clue in the crossword.
They left me, leaving my house on fire, me running round - got out through the window. While clinging to the skirts of fate was not my idea of fun; I'll jump to it gladly. The town was filled with smoke and hate. Came to my senses just too late to realize that all I ever owned was borrowed. I thanked them for having shown me that nothing ever really belongs to anyone. They burned my books and they broke my car, and gave the dog to a man who used him for breeding. They felled my trees and they tramped flowers and threw the kitten into my new pool. The same things done to other men had made them run away from the city. This being the case, I joined them there and breathing air spent the night with these new friends. The town was filled with smoke and hate. Came to my senses just too late to realize that all I ever owned was borrowed. I thanked them for having shown me that nothing ever really belongs to anyone.
Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains remind me of Jack-A-Lynn. Lush hotels and pretty girls won't cheer the misty mood I'm in. Silly, sad, I've never had to write this before, oh, Jack-A-Lynn. Funny how long nights allow thoughts of Jack-A-Lynn. When phantoms tread around my bed to offer restless dreams they bring. And it's just the time and place to find a sad song to play for Jack-A-Lynn. Magpies that shriek, old boots that leak call me to Jack-A-Lynn. Coal-black cats in policeman's hats nosing where the mice have been. And the long miaow's beginning now and I'm far, far from home and Jack-A-Lynn. Jack, Jack-A-Lynn Jack, Jack-A-Lynn Jack, Jack-A-Lynn Jack, Jack-A-Lynn
Out on the fast and free way, humming along through a build-up ad-man's dream. Steaking past in a cloud of spray goes the high-performance motor queen. And she looks round at me reflecting neon in her motoreyes. And now the chase is on. I know who'll be the loser: me. See the end curve coming, then we're back on the street through the late theater crowds. And the stop lights go and we're cruising side by side still humming loud. And she looks round again her motoreyes going to tell me when. Put her right foot to the floor. Shows me she's no slow woman. She takes her cafe noir, smokes small cigars showing just a touch of thigh (sigh!). And sips her whisky straight, and she stays up late to kiss the morning bye-bye. Now we're out of town, going to shake her down if I can stay along. Got my blue light on, put her in the net with my siren song. Pulls over to the side her motoreyes are staring wide. She flashes her I.D. and makes a bigger fool of me. Motoreyes, motoreyes, motoreyes, motoreyes.
Blues Instrumental (Untitled) [Instrumental]
I have to call you up. Think I've seen a vision of rhythm in gold. No cat could ever move that way. No puss would dare to be so bold. Must tell the boys to follow you. Catch you where you go to ground. A lady of means, I can see. Rhythm in gold is getting to me. What's your name, and where can I find you? Are you just a rich man's friend, or was it always in the family? You seem to throw the challenge down, by the way you didn't even look at me. Put the boys on you. Immobilize your nine-eleven. There's nothing I could do for you that would really matter much anyway. You belong to everyone. Rhythm in gold's the number that you play. Put the boys on you. Sabotage your nine-eleven.
Everybody's jumping on the circus train. Some jump high, some jump off again. And the razzmatazz is rolling, women folk unveiled. All truths to light, all crosses nailed. Aiming high where the eagle circles, where he keeps his tail feathers clean. And wonders "Am I still a free bird? Or just a part of the machine". They hitch their covered wagons and they roll out west. Politics in the pockets of their Sunday best. Shaking hands, kissing babies, for all that they're worth. they promise you gold, promise heaven on earth. Still, that old bald eagle circles, it's not the first time that he's seen his reflection in the eyes of innocence. He's become just another part of the machine, part of the machine. I wish I had an eagle like you to look up to. He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky up above the whole machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Smart guys aren't running they're home and dry. Up in the mountains where the eagle flies. They wouldn't take that job offered on a plate. They got to fly with the eagle, and he won't wait. Looking down on the smoke and the factories till the truth creeps up unseen. They see themselves in the faces of their children and realize they too are part of the machine. Part of the machine. I wish I had an eagle like you to wake up to. He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky, hey let's be part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of the machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine. Part of your machine.
Lyrics: © Chrysalis Records Ltd., London, UK, 1988 - All Rights
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