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| 1. |
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| 2. |
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| 3. |
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| 4. |
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When I began I was full of altruistic dreams,
believed in princes and princesses, kings and queens - now I find they're all human inside, all bitterness and pride, so why shouldn't I be like that too? It seems that I've forgotten all I tried so hard to learn; it seems there's not an ounce of love or trust anywhere in the world. Friends - they're all harbouring knives to embed in your back out of revenge, or spite, or indifference, or lack of other things to do - in the end just who's going to be a friend for you when they kick you in the guts just as your hand holds out the pearl? It seems that there is nothing left but hatred and lust in the world. I don't give a damn anymore - I've only wound up betrayed. It's all been absolutely worthless - all the efforts I've made to be gentle and kind are repaid with contempt, degraded by sympathy and worthless kindness and love that isn't meant. I'm through with joy and company, I've done with pretty words, betrayed - there's no hiding-place anywhere in the world. I've nothing left to fight for except making my passion heard - I don't believe in anything anywhere in the world. |
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| 5. |
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| 6. |
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So here we are, alone -
Our children have grown up and moved away. Living their own lives, they say... It all seems very strange to me. I don't understand their ways: Our children amaze me all the time And I often wonder why they make me feel So sad and suddenly old. Now we're left with an empty home, From our nest all the birds have flown for foreign skies. We're discarded, of no further use, Though we gave our kids all our youth and all our lives - We really tried. Now there's only my wife and me; We used to have a family - now that's gone And only memories linger on... It all seems very wrong to me. To our sorrows they were quite deaf And as soon as they could they left us to our tears. We always tried to teach what was good - Yes, we gave our kids all we could through all the years. So here we are at last; The time has gone so fast and so have my dreams. I simply don't know what it all means, This pointless passage through the night, This autumn-time, this walk upon the water.... I wonder how long It will be till this song Is sung by our own sons and daughters? |
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| 7. |
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| 8. |
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Hope by and by, hope by and by ?
motes in the eye, portcullis is shut... a skull isn't much of a c-c-castle to live in when I know that the change is going to come, the change has got to come. Explosions in the brain attest to it. evolution down the drain ? let all the rest do it. Oh yeah, the only result is cumulative drek. It won't be the drug, it won't be the sex, it's got to be the Faculty X. Looking for a method, I play a straight bat, throw away the chances to slip. Yeah, you talk about the average ? I don't care about that and my words are only giving me lip when I know that the change has got to come, the change has got to come, or what am I living for? Or why am I here? I'm running, I give in more, far away from the near. Go meta-physical world, the sign that protects. It wasn't the last, it won't be the next, it's Faculty X. Reading seers, sages, prophets, obscurantist tracts, draining the elixir to the dregs; active yeast in the bottom is on the attack and it leaves me without any legs to stand on. Still I hope that the change will come. Meanwhile I don't know, I think I'll have to go, go for the governing body my consciousness elects. It won't be so clear, it won't be direct, it's all that I fear, it's all I suspect and I'll disappear in Faculty X. I pluck all these characters out of thin air, I push them down into the lungs; I infuse them with meaning as much as I dare. Stretch out for the shoreline and wait for the wave... |
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| 9. |
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God lives in the cathedral,
or so the Archbishop states... all fealty to the Church, all power to the state! Gold keys to the cathedral, they go with the bishop's cowl; he lives a spiritual life of material wealth. Are things so very different now? Oh yeah, oh now: save your prayers for the future. Say your prayers for the future. Oh, God's gone from the cathedral, a different power now holds sway, we can pack them up in the history books but the Middle Ages won't go away. The answer to our prayers is a Valium by the bedside, now we follow the pundits on TV, now we put our faith in Science and Progress and only have sex on our knees. And those who are strange are still locked in asylums and a sterile Pope proscribes the Pill and those who are rich are still getting richer and those who are poor still foot the bill. And God lives in underground silos, hanging on for Judgement Day; if we don't open our eyes pretty soon then the Dark Ages'll be here to stay. |
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| 10. |
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Time for a change:
I felt bad, things looked strange. Home, home on the range... yes, it's time for a change. "Well, young man, when you grow up what do you want to be?" "Please, sir, if that's alright I'd really rather like to learn how to be me." Switch on the light, getting late, almost night. A shilling puts you right, you can switch off the night. The world was looking stretched and tight, it's an overblown balloon. I've got the feeling something big has got to happen soon. Oh, time for a change, out of reach, out of range. Go and tell Doctor Strange that it's time for a change. Time for a change, time for a change. |
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| 12. |
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Here's a sensation I wouldn't trade ?
pinpoint in the onrush, dancing to the rhythm of the wiper blades. Up ahead on the autobahn headlights like a lava stream; up ahead in the distance is where we're going, where we will have been. Back in the motor, keep going overnight; we've got no certain destination but for all we know we might. So get back in the motor, let's drive it anyplace... better to travel hopefully than to arrive, in any case. While you check out the map-book, just like a novel that's all out of joint, our passport into anonymity... stick a pin into the vanishing point. I could drive for hours, don't even need to know the way to go; I could drive forever with some classical music on the radio. Back in the motor, back into overdrive and if we travel hopefully then we'll know we're alive. Get back in das Auto, let's drive it anyplace, better to travel hopefully than to arrive in any case. We could drive forever, we could drive forever, I caught you thinking, I bet you were, that we could drive forever in the never-never land of the metaphor. Back in the motor, keep going overnight; We've got no key to the highway but for all we know we might as well get back in the motor, let's drive it anyplace, better to travel hopefully than to arrive in any case. So get back in the motor, let's get on with the drive and if we travel hopefully then we know we're alive. Get back in the motor. Let's get back in the motor, get in tune with the motor, get back. |
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| 13. |
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Follow the instructions,
the envelope is sealed: we're waiting on an update, something like the reinvention of the wheel. Who made the world so complicated? Who made the watchword wait and see? I wake myself up, shake myself up, take myself apart but still can't see... The esoteric is lost on me. Follow the instructions: they speak in many tongues, in unlimited edition and the last step on the ladder is the bottom rung. The diagram is so confusing, anagrammatical the mystery; I wake myself up, shake myself up, break myself apart and find in me the esoteric machinery, the esoteric invisibly. Follow the instructions, tell us what you think; they lose something in translation, they might as well be printed in invisible ink. Esoteric machinery, the esoteric invisibly; the esoteric is lost on me, the esoteric invisibility. Who made the world so complicated? Who put the alpha in the ABC? I wake myself up, shake myself up, break myself apart but finally the esoteric is lost on me. The esoteric, no time to think, The esoteric, written in invisible ink. In invisible ink indivisible link in invisible ink. |
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| 14. |
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Time to burn, we could talk all the problems through...
Are the promises still unbroken, do the spoken words still ring true? Oh, and where are you? Time to burn, wakes and weddings, celestial choirs, and while one hand shakes on the bargain see the other stoke the suttee pyre; so we're all on fire, burning for tomorrow. So much time wish- and hoping, soon the future will come with a bridal wreath for the wedding in the hands of the prodigal son. So much left undone, here we are with time to burn. So much time wishful thinking, all the whitest of lies with the prodigal caught at the border and the order of service awry. No time for goodbyes, will we ever start to learn? Time to burn, wakes and weddings become confused, all the faces over-familiar in the whirlwind of deja-vu... Oh, but where are you? Time to burn, all our lifelines are gathered round with a speech from the back of a postcard all the memories free in one bound. Free, and gone to ground, free, and gone forever. Free, and gone to ground, so I will remember so much lost and found. Here we are with time to burn. |
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