| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
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Jericho's strange, throbbing with life at its heart -
people are drawn together, simultaneously torn apart.... Foundations are shattered in the city inside the barricaded doors; hiding behind their walls, lonely as night falls, maybe the people are waiting for trumpets. Babylon's strange, seventh wonder of the earth - gardens ablaze in colour, slowly rotting in the dirt and, with your head on fire, you can't really see. The hanging gardens sing, but with a hollow ring : the life is false, it's killing me.... Don't look back or you'll turn to stone; look around before your life is overgrown with concrete slabs. On your back the searching eyes that stab between chintz curtains, glinting, but never owning to a name... like the inmates of asylums all the citizens are contagiously insane.... Atlantis is strange, the explosion of an age - no-one really knows what to do, and the city is a cage. It traps in ashen hours and concrete towers, imprisons in the social order. The city's lost its way, madness takes hold today... I can't live under water. |
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| 2. |
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Willie, what can I say to you to hold true in
Your changing life? You've come into a cruel World : little girls can lose their way in the Growing night -- I hope you'll be alright. Willie, try to stay a child sometime, for as long As you feel you can learn. Babies all turn to People, and people can really be strange : they Change and, changing, bring pain. Try to treat your parents well because they care, And what more can you do? When you find your lovers, be good to them as You hope they'll be to you Be honest, Be true. Willie, you are the future; all our lives, in the end, Are in your hands. Life's hard now you know, It gets harder, and hope is but a single strand; We pass it on and hope you'll understand.... We know that we do it wrong, we're not so strong And not so sure at all; groping in our blindness, We may seem big now but, really, we're so small And alone and searching for a home in the night. Meanwhile you're still a baby; you'll be a lady Soon enough and then you will feel the burn. So hold my words : people all turn to children, Spiteful children, and they're really so cruel... cruel fools! Just follow your own rules - Don't think that I'm silly, Willie, If I say I hope that there is hope for you. |
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| 3. |
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| 4. |
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Where are all the joys of yesterday?
Where, now, is the happiness and laughter that we shared? Gone, like our childhood dreams, aspirations and beliefs; time is a thief, and he ravages our gardens, stripping saplings, felling trees, trampling on our flowers, sucking sap and drying seeds. In the midnight candle-light of experience all colour fades, green fingers grey. Time, alone, shall murder all the flowers, still, there's time to share our plots and all that we call 'ours'. How much worse, then, if we all deny each others' needs and keep our gardens privately? Its getting colder, wind and rain leave gashes; looking back, I only see the friends I've lost. Fires smoulder, raking through the ashes my hands are dirty, my mind is numb, I count the cost of 'I': "I need to get on, I've got to tend my garden; got to shut you out, no time to crave your pardon now". Now I see the garden that I've grown is just the same as those outside; the fences that, erected to protect, simply divide.... There's ruination everywhere, the weather has played havoc with the grass... does anyone believe his garden's really going to last? In the time allotted us, can any man keep miserly his own? Is there any pleasure in a solitary growth? Come and see my garden if you will, I'd like someone to see it all before each root is killed. Surely now its time to open up each life to all, tear down the walls, if it's not too late! There is so much sorrow in the world, there is so much emptiness and heartbreak and pain. Somewhere on the road we have all taken a wrong turn... how can we build the right path again? Through the grief, through the pain, our flowers need each other's rain.... |
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| 5. |
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Once, all the stars in the sky were bright,
now they're red and fading and all the colours we wore, the shades that we bore have moved. And the gold turns to red with no time for changes. Red Shift, all moving away from we. Once, constellations were holy, now darkness pervades all the older ones and in the brunt of implosion, all yesterday's golden now reddened suns and hope is a word with no space for blame in. Red Shift, displaced now in time and relativity, Red Shift, all moving away from we. So here I am, though I might well be with me, I'm falling down deep to the rim of the wheel. Is it sham? Does the world have a meaning? The more that we know , the greater confusion grows: stars are like atoms, and atoms are patterns and probably in the end maybe its all been a dream .... Time locked in negative matter, all theories shatter beneath the weight. Happy is the man who believes that the world is a dream and all reason, fate. And time moves on with no time, the eye moves on with no rhyme, and I'm a song in the depth of the galaxies. Red Shift is taking away my sanity, Red Shift, all moving away from we .... |
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| 6. |
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I lay down beside you:
I am a unicorn, you a virginal maid, and I come in laughing play but, maybe, to be saved. Peer through the backcloth: I am a character in the play. The words I slur are pre-ordained, we know them anyway. Don't change your mind, don't be a fickle friend; don't change your mind, don't pretend to something false. Open the toy-box : You are Pandora, I am the World. If you cross the stream, you never can return; If you stay, you'll surely burn. Don't change your mind, don't come all orchid eyes; don't change your mind, don't disguise the fear you feel, it's real, and you must guard your castle well, for I am the lone wolf and the boar at bay. Grant me your Pax, you know we only live today, and on, and on, and into "So long" It takes so long to drown, it takes so very long to choke on the taste you'd spurned. If you cross the stream you never can return, If you stay you'll surely burn. |
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| 7. |
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Sometimes it's very scary here, sometimes it's very sad,
sometimes I think I'll disappear; betimes I think I have. There's a line snaking down my mirror, splintered glass distorts my face and though the light is strong and strange it can't illuminate the musty corners of this place. There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the clouds; I draw my murky meanings there but seven years' dark luck is just around the corner and in the shadows lurks the spectre of Despair. A cracked mirror 'mid the drapes of the landing: split image, labored understanding... I'm only trying to find a place to hide my home. I've lived in houses composed of glass where every movement is charted but now the monitor screens are dark and I can't tell if silent eyes are there. My words are spiders upon the page, they spin out faith, hope and reason - but are they meet and just, or only dust gathering about my chair? Sometimes I get the feeling that there's someone else there: the faceless watcher makes me uneasy; I can feel him through the floorboards, and His presence is creepy. He informs me that I shall be expelled. What is that but out of and into? I don't know the nature of the door that I'd go through, I don't know the nature of the nature that I am inside .... I've lived in houses of brick and lead where all emotion is sacred and if you want to devour the fruit you must first sniff at the fragrance and lay your body before the shrine with poems and posies and papers or, if you catch the ruse, you'll have to choose to stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant. What is this place you call home? Is it a sermon or a confession? Is it the chalice that you use for protection? Is it really only somewhere you can stay? Is it a rule-book or a lecture? Is it a beating at the hands of your Protector? Does the idol have feet of clay? Home is what you make it, so my friends all say, but I rarely see their homes in these dark days. Some of them are snails and carry houses on their backs; others live in monuments which, one day, will be racks. I keep my home in place with sellotape and tin-tacks; but I still feel there's some other Force here.... He who cracks the mirrors and moves the walls keeps staring through the eye-slits of the portraits in my hall. He ravages my library and taps the telephone. I've never actually seen Him, but I know He's in my home and if he goes away, I can't stay here either. I believe...er ...I think... well, I don't know ...... I only live in one room at a time, but all of the walls are ears and all the windows, eyes. Everything else is foreign, 'Home' is my wordless chant : mmmmmaah! Give it a chance! I am surrounded by flesh and bone, I am a temple of living, I am a hermit, I am a drone, and I am boring out a place to be. With secret garlands about my head unearthly silence is broke, the room is growing dark, and in the stark light I see a face I know. Could this be the guy who never shows the cracked mirror what he's feeling, merely mumbles prayers to the ground where he's kneeling: "Home is home is home is home is home is home is me!"? All you people looking for your houses, don't throw your weight around, you might break your glasses and if you do, you know you just can't see, and then how are you to find the dawning of the day? Day is just a word I use to keep the dark at bay and people are imaginary, nothing else exists except the room I'm sitting in, and, of course, the all-pervading mist - sometimes I wonder if even that's real. Maybe I should de-louse this place, maybe I should de-place this louse, maybe I'll maybe my life away in the confines of this silent house. Sometimes it's very scary here, sometimes it's very sad, sometimes I think I'll disappear,sometimes I think ..... I.... |
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| 8. |
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| 9. |
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I lay down beside you:
I am a unicorn, you a virginal maid, and I come in laughing play but, maybe, to be saved. Peer through the backcloth: I am a character in the play. The words I slur are pre-ordained, we know them anyway. Don't change your mind, don't be a fickle friend; don't change your mind, don't pretend to something false. Open the toy-box : You are Pandora, I am the World. If you cross the stream, you never can return; If you stay, you'll surely burn. Don't change your mind, don't come all orchid eyes; don't change your mind, don't disguise the fear you feel, it's real, and you must guard your castle well, for I am the lone wolf and the boar at bay. Grant me your Pax, you know we only live today, and on, and on, and into "So long" It takes so long to drown, it takes so very long to choke on the taste you'd spurned. If you cross the stream you never can return, If you stay you'll surely burn. |
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| 10. |
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Once, all the stars in the sky were bright,
now they're red and fading and all the colours we wore, the shades that we bore have moved. And the gold turns to red with no time for changes. Red Shift, all moving away from we. Once, constellations were holy, now darkness pervades all the older ones and in the brunt of implosion, all yesterday's golden now reddened suns and hope is a word with no space for blame in. Red Shift, displaced now in time and relativity, Red Shift, all moving away from we. So here I am, though I might well be with me, I'm falling down deep to the rim of the wheel. Is it sham? Does the world have a meaning? The more that we know , the greater confusion grows: stars are like atoms, and atoms are patterns and probably in the end maybe its all been a dream .... Time locked in negative matter, all theories shatter beneath the weight. Happy is the man who believes that the world is a dream and all reason, fate. And time moves on with no time, the eye moves on with no rhyme, and I'm a song in the depth of the galaxies. Red Shift is taking away my sanity, Red Shift, all moving away from we .... |
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