| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 2:56 | 
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Besieged in the battlements of Babylon,
Still looking for the hat-peg to hang your head upon - Now you've found a place you think is Avalon: You can talk to anyone here. You can throw your arms around your nearest neighbour And the smiling ones'll tell you that you've saved her, That she's saved you... They offer the golden promises The instantly divine; You swallow the golden promises Hook, sinker and line. If you choose to throw your soul around the attitude Reasoning and independent thought go down the tube As you go slavening after every inane platitude - How weak you find yourself here. Do you really need to lose yourself completely? How come you seem to rate it all so cheaply? It's so weak-kneed To go for the golden promises, Mail-order Oly vows; You go for the golden promises - I think you really ought to know better by now. So I do my best and I do my nut, I try to explain all these angles But you turn away. Oh, now you're looking in the white of my eyes, And you know what I'm going to say: - Don't go for the golden promises, Don't go for the easy way... It's right here on the doorstep: Fool's gold - don't throw your life away. |
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| 2. |
| 3:40 |
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I just can't see why you can't see what I mean,
but I can't make things any plainer, the words get in the way - is that quite what I mean? If not now, then certainly sooner or later we've got a problem with communication - look, I scrabble with my hands I try to get some head-room from the elevation but you just don't understand Most of the things we say mean we most of the time treat our speech with derision, flap our hands in body-telegram - I know that gets through so much better than anything said with precision, We've got a problem with communication and it's getting quite absurd,,, Well, I think I'm going to flip out from the sheer frustration, yes, I'm losing faith in words, We've got a problem with communication, only getting through in anagrams - I try to get some linkage from articulation, I try to get some head-room from the elevation, I try to pull back something from my education,,, Yes, I try to, try to, try to but I just don't understand, I try, I just don't understand, I talk, you just don't understand, Sometimes I don't know why I bother, but I'm bothered, |
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| 3. |
| 2:43 |
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He prescribes the subject
He proscribes outsiders His terms have a golden ring. He wants to find some order Quantifying chaos In words that all the children sing. He tabulates the lexicon Vocabulary minimised Bow down to the Jargon King. All questions become so simple If we eat the inane answer If we all agree to ju-ju speak We fit into the formula We all without exception Approve the rule. We don't understand He must be clever He must be clever He must be right He must be right We don't understand Closed the ranks and barricades Imposed the secret language Complexity all catch-phrased Word-drugged any anguish Pigeon-holed allusions Shut the vault behind us It's an obvious conclusion We'll be the chattels of His Highness. Bow down to the Jargon King And his minion code-words. Here comes the reign |
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| 4. |
| 4:04 |
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Everything clumsy slow-motion,
I look for the source. Buildings loom up like icebergs On collision course. I don't want to go in there, I just want to be alone, Unpick the stitches of time In London In the no-go zone. I've been kicking around like a dog, Lost myself in the blank mass of fog, It's some kind of service. All humanity's fall-out is there, Slumped in doorways And mouthing cold air - I have heard this. Fogwalking, fogwalking. Since the curfew The streets are half-dead, All the good folk asleep in their beds, It's so easy to go off the rails When the fog spores Are breeding inside by head. Fogwalking: there's a presence that I sense Fogwalking: the neck muscles tense Fogwalking: it's right here inside me, Try to find a defense - oh, no. Fogwalking through the wreckage, Fogwalking through the worm-eaten Night Apple, Fogwalking through what used to be Whitechapel. |
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| 5. |
| 2:38 |
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Such distance to the tips of the fingers,
The ganglion loom jerks inside; The body grows steadily stranger But the spirit won't be denied. That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball, The limbs pump in overdrive; The body grows seemingly weaker But the s Pirit won't be denied. Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead As the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes; The body becomes a constant traitor But the spirit won't be denied. And they call that living a normal live, But normality's not standardized. Though the body gets ever more root-bound The spirit won't be denied Yes, the spirit survives. ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By HAMMILL, PETER <i>Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing</i> |
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| 6. |
| 3:26 |
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Dance the dance
dance the dance till show time the show goes on. Dance the dance dance the dance in slow time if that's what you want. Dance the dance in the back of the car dance the dance in the cocktail bar till show time let it ride. Dance the dance I feel I've been here before, dance the dance this could be anywhere at all in slow time. Danced the dance, or it soon will be; danced the dance, I'll be back here with me in no time. Danced the dance, in no time danced the dance. Danced the dance, it's show time dance the dance in slow time. |
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| 7. |
| 1:45 | 
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| 8. |
| 19:38 |
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