Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Whoa, Aqualung

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
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you 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 onto your beard was
Screaming agony? Hey!
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring

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
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Ohh

Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me
Ohh

Dee dee dee dee dee...

Aqualung, my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, it's only me

Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent

Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung

Whoa, Aqualung

In and out of the front door,
Ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown
They didn't see me wink my eye.
'Tis said they put we men to sleep
With just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs
And make them linger.
They carry their candles high
And they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean
With pressed and scented wild-flowers.

They grow all their roses red,
And paint our skies blue
Drop one penny in every second bowl
Make half the beggars lose,
Why do the faithful have such a will
To believe in something?

And call it the name they choose,
Having chosen nothing.

Think I'll sit down and invent some fool
Some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast,
He'll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door ran
One front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown
She smiled and I think she winked her eye.

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands.
With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time.
You can call me on another line.
Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
Newspaper warriors changing the names they

advertise from the station stand.
With cold print hands.
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline.
If you catch me another time.

Didn't make her --- with my Baker Street Ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

Ale-spew, puddle-brew --- boys, throw it up clean.
Coke and Bacardi colours them green.
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
with great finesse.
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet
down in the Baker Street underground. (What the hell!)
Walking down the gutter thinking,
``How the hell am I today?''
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.

Come, let me play with you, Black Satin Dancer.
In all your giving, given is the answer.
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter than the brightest flower
in my
garden.
Begging your pardon - shedding right unreason.
Over sensation fly the fleeting seasons.
Thin wind whispering on broken mandolin.
Bending the minutes - the hours ever turning on that old gold
story of
mercy.
Desperate breathing. Tongue nipple-teasing.
Your fast river flowing - your Northern fire fed.
Come, Black Satin Dancer, come softly to bed.

Black Satin Dancer, given is the answer.
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter than the brightest flower
in my
garden.

Come, let me play with you; Come, Black Satin Dancer.
In all your giving, given is the answer.
Your fast river flowing - your Northern fire fed.
Come, Black Satin Dancer, come softly to bed.

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
Well, I'm a tiger when I want love
And 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
I'm a snake if we disagree

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
And I'm a snake when 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
I'm a snake when we disagree
Well, let's bungle in the jungle
Well, that's all right by me, yes
I'm a tiger when I want love

On Preston Platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance
Brush away the cigarette ash
That's falling down your pants
And then you sadly wonder
Does the nurse treat your old man
The way she should?
She made you tea
Asked for your autograph--
What a laugh

And ride with us young bonny lass - with the angels of the night.
Crack wind clatter - flesh rein bite on an out-size unicorn.
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight on a Cold Wind to Valhalla.
And join with us please - Valkyrie maidens cry above the Cold
Wind to
Valhalla.

Break fast with the Gods. Night angels serve with ice-bound majesty.
Frozen flaking fish raw nerve - in a cup of silver liquid fire.
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve and light the old Valhalla.
Come join with us please - Valkyrie maidens cry above the Cold
Wind to
Valhalla.

The heroes rest upon the sighs of Thor's trusty hand-maidens.
Midnight lonely whisper cries, "We're getting a bit short on
heroes
lately."
Sword snap fright white pale good-byes in the desolation of Valhalla.
And join with us please - Valkyrie maidens ride empty-handed on
the Cold
Wind to Valhalla.

And ride with us young bonny lass ---
with the angels of the night.
Crack wind clatter --- flesh rein bite on an out-size
unicorn.
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight on a cold wind
to Valhalla.
And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry
above the cold wind to Valhalla.
Break fast with the gods. Night angels serve
with ice-bound majesty.
Frozen flaking fish raw nerve ---
in a cup of silver liquid fire.
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve and light
the old Valhalla.
Come join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry
above the cold wind to Valhalla.
The heroes rest upon the sighs of Thor's trusty
hand maidens.
Midnight lonely whisper cries,
We're getting a bit short on heroes lately.
Sword snap fright white pale goodbyes in the
desolation of Valhalla.
And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens ride
empty-handed on the cold wind to Valhalla.

Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief
If he had a rich man in his hand?
And 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
She 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 grey
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 stealer, but her favour's good and strong:
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate, helps the poor man get along.

Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract, but she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school

Cross-eyed Mary
Oh, Mary
Oh, cross-eyed Mary

Don't want to be a fat man
People would think that I was just good fun, man
Would rather be a thin man
I am so glad to go on being one, man

Too much to carry around with you
No chance of finding a woman, who
Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too

Don't want to be a fat man
Have not the patience to ignore all that
Hate to admit to myself
I thought my problems came from being fat

Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him
I've seen the other side to being thin
Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure the fat man would win

Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, we'll put your name up in lights,
put you down on Glory Row.
Would you be the star of ages
to light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.

Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you.
We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes.
How did you get to be who you are?
Will your children share the blame?
Is it really worth the time it takes
to carve your name on Glory Row?

Down on Glory Row.
It's the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.

Hello sun.
Hello bird.
Hello my lady.
Hello breakfast. May I
buy you again tomorrow?

Our Father high in heaven, smile down upon your son
Who is busy with his money games - his women and his gun
Oh Jesus save me

And the unsung western hero, he killed an Indian or three
And then he made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free
Oh Jesus save me

If Jesus saves, well he better save himself
From the gory glory seekers who use his name in death
Oh Jesus save me

If Jesus saves, well he better save himself
From the gory glory seekers who use his name in death
Oh Jesus save me

Well I saw him in the city, and on the mountains of the moon
His cross was rather bloody, and he could hardly roll his stone
Oh Jesus save me

Ladies of leisure,
With their eyes on the back roads.
All looking for strangers,
To whom they extend welcomes
With a smile and a glimpse of
Pink knees and elbows;
Of satin and velvet
Good ladies, good fortune.
Ladies.

They sing of their heroes:
Of solitary soldiers
Invested in good health
And manner most charming.
Whose favors are numbered
(none the less well intended)
By hours in a minute;
By those ladies who bless them.
Ladies.

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’ll 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 the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
Oh, he feels the pistons screaming
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

He sees his children jumpin’ off
At stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
So he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train it 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
Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
I think God, he stole the handle
And the train it won't stop going
No way to slow down

No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down

What would you like for Christmas ---
a new polarity?
You're binary, and desperate to deal
in high figures
that lick us with their hotter flame ---
lick each and everyone the same.
And March, the mad scientist,
rings a new change
in ever-dancing colours.

He rings it here and he rings it...
but no one stops to see
the change of fate and the fate of change
that slips into his pocket ---
so he locks it all away from view
and shares not what he thought you knew.
And April is summer-bound,
And February's blue.
And no one stops to see the colours.

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.

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.

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-glow'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, TV documentary makers
(overfed 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 upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces
In 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,

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass -
Saw his face in everyone.

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, TV documentary makers
(overfed 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 threw away his looking-glass -
And saw his face in everyone.

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes...
The minstrel in the gallery

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, lions too,
Piccadilly Circus?

Walked down by the bathing pond
To try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred school girls
Sobbing into handkerchiefs 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.
And 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
And 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 snowman.
As I did walk by Hampstead Fair,
I came upon Mother Goose,
So I turned her loose--
She was screaming.

Walked down by the bathing pond
To try and catch some sun.
Must have been least a hundred school girls
Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew
I was a schoolboy.

People what have you done?
Locked Him in His golden cage
Golden cage

Made Him bend to your religion
Him resurrected from the grave
From the grave

He is the God of nothing
If that’s all that you can see
You are the God of everything
He’s inside you and me

So lean upon Him gently
And don't call on Him to save
You from your social graces
And the sins you used to waive
You used to waive

The bloody Church of England
In chains of history
Requests your earthly presence
At the vicarage for tea

And the graven image
You know who
With his plastic crucifix
He's got Him fixed
Confuses me as to who and where and why
As to how he gets his kicks
He gets his kicks.

Confessing to the endless sin
With endless whining sounds
You'll be praying 'til next Thursday
To all the gods that you can count

A one, two, three.
There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way -
And there's a note on the telephone - some roses on a tray.
And the motorway's stretching right out to us all, as I pull on my old
wings - One White Duck on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real? One White Duck on your wall.
One Duck on your wall.

I'll catch a ride on your violin - strung upon your bow.
And I'll float on your melody - sing your chorus soft and low.
There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
You can see from the fireplace, One White Duck on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real? One White Duck on your wall.
One Duck on your wall.

So fly away Peter and fly away Paul - from the finger-tip ledge of
contentment.
The long restless rustle of high heel boots calls.
And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.
Something must be wrong with me and my brain - if I'm so patently
unrewarding.
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that way - and my zero to your
power of ten equals nothing at all.

There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door.
And I'm available for consultation,
But remember your way in is also my way out, and love's four-letter word is
no compensation.

Well, I'm the Black Ace dog handler: I'm a waiter on skates - so don't you
jump to your foreskin conclusion -
Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays -
To be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday lunch confusion.

Brain-storming habit-forming battle-warning weary
Winsome actor spewing spineless chilling lines ---
The critics falling over to tell themselves he's boring
And really not an awful lot of fun.
Well who the hell can he be when he's never had V.D.,
And he doesn't even sit on toilet seats?
Court-jesting, never-resting
He must be very cunning
To assume an air of dignity
And bless us all with his oratory prowess,
His lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air.
And every night his act's the same
And so it must be all a game of chess he's playing
"But you're wrong, Steve: you see, it's only solitaire."

I'd like to take you
to the edge of every morning
On a magic eiderdown
To a window chair

In the Paradise Steakhouse
Where there's a cup of silver coffee
Steaming chrome reflections
From the mist in your hair

Try not to watch me (Try not to watch me)
Just call me after darkfall (Call me after darkfall)
I'll bring a whip to sow
My seed on your land

In the Paradise Steakhouse
There's a cup of silver coffee
A sheath of steel so you may hold
My sword in your hand

I'll cut you, divide you
Into tender pieces
No wings to fly away
Upon my dear

In the Paradise Steakhouse
On a plate upon a table
I will carve your name with care
To last the years

I'd like to eat you (I'd like to eat you)
All fire will consume you (Fire will consume you)
Roast on the spit of love
On this arrow true

In the Paradise Steakhouse
I'll taste every finger
Baking [picking?] in the ashes
Til the flames rise anew

[Repeat first and second stanzas]

The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late,
So we're sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait.
To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains,
But we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same
For Queen and Country in the long dying day,
And it's been this way for five long years, since we signed our souls away.
We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls
Make presents to the government so they can have their social whirl
With Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.

They build schools and they build factories with the spoils of battles won.
And we remain their pretty sailor boys hold our heads up to the gun.
Of Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
To Queen and Country in the long dying day.

And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.

Through northern lights on back streets ---
I told the coachman, Just drive me on,
It's the same old destination
but a different world to sing upon.
So he threw back his head and he counted.
I jumped out about five to nine.
And I waved at the stage door-keeper ---
said, Mister, get me to the stage on time.

Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so I slipped behind a rainbow
and waited till the show had done.

I packed my ammunition.
Inside the crowd was shouting, Encore,
But I had a most funny feeling ---
it wasn't me they were shouting for.
So when the tall dark lady smiled at me
I said, Oh, baby let us go for a ride.
And we came upon two drinks or four
and popped them oh so neatly inside.

Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so we slipped behind a rainbow
and lay there until we had done.

Let me pack you deep in my suitcase.
Oh, there's sure to be room for two ---
or you can drive me to the airplane
but don't let me catch those rainbow blues.

Well I saw a bird today - flying from a bush and the wind blew it
away.
And the black-eyed mother sun scorched the butterfly at play -
velvet
veined I saw it burn.
With a wintry storm-blown sigh, a silver cloud blew right on by
And, taking in the morning, I sang - O Requiem.
Well, my lady told me, "Stay."
I looked aside and walked away along the Strand.

But I didn't say a word, as the train time-table blurred close
behind the
taxi stand.
Saw her face in the tear-drop black cab window.
Fading in the traffic; watched her go.
And taking in the morning, heard myself singing - O Requiem.
Here I go again. It's the same old story.

Well, I saw a bird today - I looked aside and walked away along the
Strand.

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.

Over the mountains, and under the sky
Riding dirty gray horses, go you and I.
Mating with chance, copulating with mirth
The sad-glad paymasters (for what it's worth).
The ice-cream castles are refrigerated;
The super-marketeers are on parade.
There's a golden handshake hanging round your neck,
As you light your cigarette on the burning deck.
And you balance your world on the tip of your nose
Like a Sealion with a ball, at the carnival.

You wear a shiny skin and a funny hat
The Almighty Animal Trainer lets it go at that.
You bark ever-so-slightly at the Trainer's gun,
With you whiskers melting in the noon-day sun.
You flip and you flop under the Big White Top
Where the long-legged ring-mistress starts and stops.
But you know, after all, the act is wearing thin
As the crowd grows uneasy and the boos begin.
But you balance your world on the tip of your nose
You're a Sealion with a ball at the carnival.

Just a trace of pride upon our fixed grins
For there is no business like the show we're in.
There is no reason, no rhyme, no right
To leave the circus 'til we've said good-night.
The same performance, in the same old way;
It's the same old story to this Passion Play.
So we'll shoot the moon, and hope to call the tune
And make no pin cushion of this big balloon.
Look how we balance the world on the tips of our noses,
Like Sealions with a ball at the carnival.

Would you like to see my lion
My friend Cecil is damp and smooth
A damp smooth sea lion
Yes, Cecil is a sealion

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

Cecil is a clever sealion
Cecil sometimes swims
And often sits

And balances multi-coloured striped balls?

Yes balances multi-coloured striped balls
Clever Cecil

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a seali-

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

Cecil the sealion is serene
He doesn't wear spectacles or a scarf

No central heating or cement?

Well the whole ocean is Cecil's home

Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion
Cecil is a sealion

(Cecil is a sea lion)

Well, the lush separation unfolds you
And the products of wealth
Push you along on the bow wave
Of their spiritless undying selves
And you press on God's waiter your last dime
As he hands you the bill
And you spin in the slipstream
Timeless, unreasoning
Paddle right out of the mess
And you paddle right out of the mess

Hoorah!

War Child, dance the days and nights away
Sweet child, how do you do today?
When your back's to the wall,
And your luck is your all,
Then side with whoever you may.
Seek that which within lies waiting to begin
The fight of your life that is everyday.
Dance with the War Child, the War Child
Hoorah!

War Child, dance the days and nights away
Sweet child, how do you do today?
In the heart of your heart, there's the tiniest part
Of an urge to live to the death
With a sword on your hip and a cry on your lips
To strike life in the inner child's breast.
Dance with the War Child, the War Child
Hoorah!

War Child, dance the days and nights away
Sweet child, how do you do today?

Thick As A Brick

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 not 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
It says here that 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?
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 are 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 voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your 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.

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
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.

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.
And you place your final burden
On your hard-pressed next of kin:
Send the chamber-pot back down the line
To be filled up again.

And the hard-headed miracle worker
Who bathes his hands in blood,
Will welcome you to the final nod
And cover you with mud.
And he'll say, "You really should make the deal,"
As he offers round the hat.
"You'd better lick two fingers clean
He'll thank you all for that."
As you slip on the greasy platform,
And you land upon your back,
You make a wish and you wipe your nose upon the railway track.
While the high-strung locomotive,
With furnace burning bright,
Lumbers on
You wave goodbye
And the sparks fade into night.

And as you join the Good Ship Earth,
And you mingle with the dust
You'd better leave your underpants
With someone you can trust.
And when the Old Man with the telescope
Cuts the final strand
You'd better lick two fingers clean,
Before you shake his hand.

Take her to the cinema
And leave you in a Wimpy bar
You tell me that we've gone too far
Come running up to me
Make the scene at cousin Jack's
Leave him to put the bottles back
Mends his glasses that I cracked
Well that one's up to me, hey

Oh, it's up to me
It's up to me

I buy a silver cloud to ride
Pack the tennis club inside
Trouser cuffs hung far too wide
Well, it was up to me
Tyres down on your bicycle
Your nose feels like an icicle
The yellow fingered smoky girl
Is looking up to me, yeah

Whoa, you know it's up to me, yeah

Well I'm a common working man
With a half of bitter, bread and jam
And if it pleases me I'll put one on you, man
When the cuppa fades away

Whoa, it's up to me
Whoa, I said, it's up to me, yeah

The rainy season comes to pass
The day-glo pirate sinks at last
And if I laughed a bit too fast
Well, it was up to me
Take you to the cinema
And leave you in a Wimpy bar
You tell me that we've gone too far
Come running up to me, hey

Whoa, you know it's up to me, yeah
I said it's up to me, yeah

I'll take you down to that bright city mile,
There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile
That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain
When you join my explosion and play with my games

WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

No unconditional surrender: no armistice day
Each night I'll die in my contentment and lie by your grave
While you bring me water and I give you wine
Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine.

WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors.
Let me live in your country - let me sleep by your shores

WarChild dance the days, and the nights away

I'll take you down to that bright city mile
There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile
That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain
When you join my explosion and play with my games,
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away

No unconditional surrender, no armistice day
Each night I'll die in my contentment and the lie, hide in your grave
While you bring me water and I'll give you wine
Let me dance in your tea cup and you shall swim in mine

Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away

Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors
Let me live in your country, let me sleep by your shores

Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Warchild, dance the days

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So I left there in the morning
With their God tucked underneath my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

And I asked this God a question
And by way of firm reply
He said, “I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays”

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers

I don't believe you
You had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son?
When that was just an accident of birth
I'd rather look around me, compose a better song
'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool
I left there in the morning
With their God under my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
Have all the bishops harmonize these lines

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And they taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

I don't believe you
You had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So I left there in the morning
With their God tucked underneath my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

And I asked this God a question
And by way of firm reply
He said, “I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays”

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers

I don't believe you
You had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son?
When that was just an accident of birth
I'd rather look around me, compose a better song
'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool
I left there in the morning
With their God under my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
Have all the bishops harmonize these lines

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And they taught me how not to play the game
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

I don't believe you
You had the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays

Wond'ring aloud --
How we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
My hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
As we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other.

Wond'ring aloud --
Will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
And I shake my head.
And it's only the giving
That makes you what you are.