Jethro Tull - The Anniversary Collection [compilation] (1999) by Jethro Tull (보컬) on maniadb.com

Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
but you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
you don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.

Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.

Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today

Taking chances, and your reputation's going down,
Going out in the night time, good thing you made no sound.
But you don't fool me, 'cause I know what you feel.
If you ignore the things I see, someday soon's gonna
Find you way down on Beggar's Farm.

I pay my money, for no returns,
I think I need you, gonna find someone.
Oh, you don't fool me, 'cause I know what you feel.
When you go wild and I ask you why, I won't worry
When I see you lyin' down on Beggar's Farm.

But you're on to me, gonna turn away.
Won't even listen when you try to say
That you were only foolin' around, 'cause I know what you feel.
But if you ask me nicely, woman, I'll wake up early one day soon
And I'll visit you down on Beggar's Farm.

Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed,
Where a mother held her baby.
You'd do well to remember the things he later said.
When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making
That Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

My first and last time with you
And we had some fun.
Went walking through the trees, yes,
And I kissed you once.
Oh, I want to see you soon,
But I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday,
But it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
For a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
To turn out this way.
Oh, I had to leave today
Just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
For a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
To turn out this way.
Oh, I had to leave today
Just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
It was a new day yesterday
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.

Nothing is easy. Though time gets you worrying my friend it's okay.
Just take your life easy and stop all that hurrying; be happy my way.
When tension starts mounting and you've lost count of the pennies you've missed,
Just try hard and see why they're not worrying me; they're last on my list.
Nothing's easy.

Nothing is easy. You'll find that the squeeze won't turn out so bad.
Your fingers may freeze. Worse things happen at sea.
There's good times to be had.
So if you're alone and you're down to the bone, just give us a play.
You'll smile in a while and discover that I'll get you happy my way
Nothing's easy.

Happy, and I'm smiling, walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you, and above you there's no other
We'll go walking out while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, be forgiving, let's go living in the past.

Once I'd used to join in every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution but they don't know what they're fighting.
Let us close out eyes. Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, be forgiving, we'll keep living in the past.

Oh, be forgiving, let's go living in the past.
Oh, no, no, be forgiving, let's go living in the past.

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.

Well the dawn was coming
Heard him ringing on my bell
He said, "My name's a teacher
Oh, that is what I call myself"
And I had a lesson
That I must impart to you
It's an old expression
But I must insist it's true

Jump up, look around, find yourself some fun
No sense in sitting there hating everyone
No man's an island and his castle isn't home
The nest is full of nothing when the bird has flown

So I took a journey
Throw my world into the sea
With me went the teacher
Who found fun instead of me.

*Hey man, what's the plan, what was that you said
Suntanned, drink in hand, lying there in bed.
I try to socialize but I can't seem to find
What I was looking for, got something on my mind.

Then the teacher told me
It had been a lot of fun
Thanked me for his ticket
And all that I had done

*Repeat

You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream.
Can't hear your daddy's warning cry.
You're going back to be all the things you want to be
While in sweet dreams you softly sigh.
You'll hear my voice is calling to be mine again.
Live the rest of your life in a day.

Get out and get what you can
While your mommy's at home a-sleeping.
No time to understand,
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping.

No one can see us in your sweet dream.
Don't hear you leave to start the car.
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me.
Your place of resting is not far.
You'll hear my voices calling to be mine again.
Live the rest of your life in a day.

Get out and get what you can
While your mommy's at home a-sleeping.
No time to understand,
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping.

Get out and get what you can
While your mommy's at home a-sleeping.
No time to understand,
'Cause they lost what they thought they were keeping.

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.

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.

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.

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.

When you're fallen awake and you take stock of the new day
And you hear your voice croak as you choke on what you need to say.
Well don't you fret, don't you fear,
I will give you good cheer.

Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
If you wait then your plate I will fill.

As the verses unfold and your soul suffers the long day,
And the twelve o'clock gloom spins the room, you struggle on your way.
Well don't you sigh, don't you cry,
Lick the dust from your eye.

Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
We will meet in the sweet light of dawn.

As the Baker Street train spills your pain all over your new dress,
And the symphony sounds underground but you [wanted?] duress.
Well don't you squeal as the hell
Grinds you under the wheels.

Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
But the tune ends too soon for a song.

But the tune ends too soon for a song.

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness 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 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 black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the
night.
We'll
make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him
to play Monopoly and
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 do-er 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.

LATER.
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 too 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 ye 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 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 were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there! A man 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.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing
nylons
cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER
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 discoloured (in neat little
rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny 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? 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? 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 ar 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 pick up your dead as the sins of the father 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 vo

Walking through forests of palm tree apartments -
Scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents
Down by the waterhole - drunk every Friday -
Eating their nuts - saving their raisins for Sunday.
Lions and Tigers who wait in the shadows -
They're fast but they're lazy, and sleep in green meadows.

Well, let's Bungle in the Jungle - well, that's all right by me. Yes!
I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.

Just say a word and the boys will be right there
With claws at your back to send a chill through the night air.
Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder?
Thunder and lightning couldn't be bolder.
I'll write on your tombstone, "I thank you for dinner."
This game that we animals play is a winner.

Well, let's Bungle in the Jungle - well, that's all right by me. Yes!
I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.

[Instrumental]

The rivers are full of crocodile nasties
And He who made kittens put snakes in the grass.
He's a lover of life but a Player of Pawns -
Yes, the King on His Sunset lies waiting for dawn
To light up His Jungle as play is resumed.
The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune.

Well, let's Bungle in the Jungle - well, that's all right by me. Yes!
I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.
Yes, let's Bungle in the Jungle - well, that's all right by me. Yes!
Well, I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.
Let's Bungle in the Jungle - well, that's all right by me. Yes!
Well, I'm a tiger when I want love, but I'm a snake if we disagree.

The Minstrel in the Gallery looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes - observed the spaces between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred - oblique suggestions - and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters - static-humming panel-beaters - freshly
day-glo'd factory cheaters (salaried and collar-scrubbing).
He titillated men-of-action - belly warming, hands still rubbing on the
parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating one-line jokers - T.V.
documentary makers (over-fed and undertakers).
Sunday paper backgammon players - family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends
he'd made.

[Instrumental]

The Minstrel in the Gallery looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes - observed the spaces in between the old men's cackle.
And he brewed a song of love and hatred - oblique suggestions - and he
waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters - static-humming panel-beaters.

The Minstrel in the Gallery looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass - saw his face in everyone.
Hey!

He titillated men-of-action - belly warming, hands still rubbing on the
parts they never mention (salaried and collar-scrubbing).

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating one-line jokers - T.V.
documentary makers (over-fed and undertakers).
Sunday paper backgammon players - family-scarred and women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends
he'd made.

The Minstrel in the Gallery looked down on the rabbit-run.
And he threw away his looking-glass and saw his face in everyone.
Hey!
The Minstrel in the Gallery. Yes!
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes. Yeah!
Mm. The Minstrel in the Gallery.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
To make you feel much better than you could know -
Dust 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 Lute songs served in chilling 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.

[Instrumental]

Songs from the wood - make you feel much better
Songs from the wood - make you feel much better

[Instrumental]

Songs from the wood
Songs from the wood

[Instrumental]

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.

Songs from the wood - make you feel much better
Songs from the wood - make you feel much better

He sits quietly under every tree
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup.
The dew that dawn 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;
And carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack do you never sleep - does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so.
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The Rowan, the Oak and the Holly tree
Are the charges left for 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 coming. Jack, put out the light!"

I'll buy you six bay mares, to put in your stable;
Six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune
But I must be gone by the seventh day.

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
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 yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
Whistle along on the seventh day.

[Instrumental]

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

So come on - I'm the Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
So come on - I'm a Whistler. I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready - for the Whistler. I whistle along on the seventh day.
Whistle along on the seventh day.

[Instrumental]

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.

Clear light on a slick palm
as I mis-deal the day
Slip the night from a shaved pack
make a marked card play
Call twilight hours down
from a heaven home
high above the highest bidder
for the good Lord's throne
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill -
watch the old gods play
by Dun Ringill

We'll wait in stone circles
'til the force comes through
lines joint in faint discord
and the Stormwatch brews
a concert of Kings
as the white sea snaps
at the heels of a soft prayer
whispered
In the wee hours I'll meet you
down by Dun Ringill -
take you quickly
by Dun Ringill

Through clear skies tracking lightly from far down the line
No fanfare, just a blip on the screen
No quick conclusions now-- everything will be fine
Short-circuit glitsch and not what it seems
Flyingdale flyer-- you're only half way there
Green screen liar-- for a second or so we were running scared

On late shift, feeling drowsy-- eyes glued to the display
Dead cert alert, lit match to the straw
One last quick game of bowls-- we can still win the day
Fail-safe; forget the thing that you saw

They checked the systems through and they read A- O.K.
Some tiny fuse has probably blown
Sit back; relax and soon it will just go away
Keep your hands off that red telephone

Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains
Remind me of Jack-A-Lynn.
Lush hotels and pretty girls
Won't share the misty mood I'm in.
Silly, sad, I've never had
To write this before.
Oh, Jack-A-Lynn.

Funny how long nights alone
And 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 the Jack-A-Lynn.
Cold black cats in policeman's hats
Nosing where the mice have been.

And the lonely hours, forgiving now,
And I'm far, far from home.
A Jack-A-Lynn.
Jack-Jack-A-Lynn.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.