- Thick as a Brick
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.
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 the play
as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way.
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 the 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 headand say it's a shame
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
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 headand 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,
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 a trade teach him
to play Monopoly and how 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.
put him to a trade teach him
to play Monopoly and how 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
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
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 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 a plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen
while the soldier lifts his sword.
And the oldest in 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?
have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master
thoughts moving ever faster
has formed a plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen
while the soldier lifts his sword.
And the oldest in 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.
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 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!
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 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 you 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 good you are
and you take your place in a wiser world of bigger
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 good you are
and you take your place in a wiser world of bigger
motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.
So!
And you wonder who to call on.
So!
Where the hell was Biggles
when you need him last Saturday?
And where are all the sportsmen
who always pull you through?
They're all resting down at Cornwall
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.
LATER.
See there! A man is born
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
of the Boy Scout Manual.
LATER.
See there! A man is 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'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 toward the average
rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
We walked through the maternity ward
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.
LATERIn the clear white circle of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.
LATERIn the clear white circle 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 jocks-straps pinching,
they slouch to attention,
With their jocks-straps pinching,
they slouch to attention,
while queuing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying how's your grannie 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
Saying how's your grannie 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?
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?
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
Let me tell you the tales of your life
of the cut and the thrust 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 to pick up your dead as the sins
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 to pick up your dead as the sins
of the fathers 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
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 judgment draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear.
So! Come on ye childhood heros!
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 are 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! Come on ye childhood heros!
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 are 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 field
and you make all your animal deal
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick
IAN ANDERSON: Thick as a Brick 2
20p and there you are
Scary in the tunnel night
White knuckle fingers on the safety bar Which way to blue skies? Phantoms pop from cupboard doors Mocking, manic laughter shrieks Dark promises of blood and gore
Interventions at every turn Opportunities thrown wide and far Journeys I might never take TomTom thinks he knows just where we are Ripples from a pebble thrown make tsunami on a foreign shore I would slip right off this high-rise hell But the elevator stops at every floor
Twelve, going on sixteen Such a rush to grow old and wise Endless possibilities Follow, soaring where the eagle flies Which way to blue skies? Mummy said don't go out alone I hear bad name-calling, derisory So, choose direction, and turn the stone
MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS
We all must wonder, now and then, if things had turned out - well - just plain different.
Chance path taken, page unturned or brief encounter, blossomed, splintered.
Might you have been the man of courage, brave upon life's battlefield,
Captain Commerce, high-flown banker, hedonistic, down-at-heel?
A Puritan of moral fibre, voice raised in praise magnificent?
Or rested in assured repose, knowing your lot in quiet content?
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly
Soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees
Upper sixth loan shark, numbers flowing
from the pen that never forgets,
recording ledgers, each-way safe bets.
Fauntleroys and first form fags, allowances all overspent.
Pater's guilty generosity safely deposited against rainy day.
There's money in those goddamn hills.
Interest in sugar-coated bitter pills.
Margins made from Tompkins Minor
Float aspirations, nothing finer
Fast-tracked futures, hard-nut traders.
Feeding frenzy, pigs a-troughing.
Fuelled by forecasts, and hot share options.
Big fat bonus in the offing.
Draconian calls for regulation
are drowned in latte with Starbucks muffin.
Mortgage melt-down: non est mea culpa.
Threatened exit, stage left, laughing
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Banker bets, cheque's in the post: not worth the ink it's written in.
That was today's speaker, the humble Reverend Gerald. Tune in to the National Godspend Channel next week.
Praise be to Him and Hallelujah!!, remember to keep those pledges coming in and...give 'til it hurts.
IAN ANDERSON: Thick as a Brick 2
FROM A PEBBLE THROWN
Take me on the ghost train20p and there you are
Scary in the tunnel night
White knuckle fingers on the safety bar Which way to blue skies? Phantoms pop from cupboard doors Mocking, manic laughter shrieks Dark promises of blood and gore
Interventions at every turn Opportunities thrown wide and far Journeys I might never take TomTom thinks he knows just where we are Ripples from a pebble thrown make tsunami on a foreign shore I would slip right off this high-rise hell But the elevator stops at every floor
Twelve, going on sixteen Such a rush to grow old and wise Endless possibilities Follow, soaring where the eagle flies Which way to blue skies? Mummy said don't go out alone I hear bad name-calling, derisory So, choose direction, and turn the stone
PEBBLES INSTRUMENTAL
Thick as a
brick
Thick as a
brick
Thick as a
brick
Thick as a
brick
Thick as a
brick
Thick as a brick
MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS
We all must wonder, now and then, if things had turned out - well - just plain different.
Chance path taken, page unturned or brief encounter, blossomed, splintered.
Might you have been the man of courage, brave upon life's battlefield,
Captain Commerce, high-flown banker, hedonistic, down-at-heel?
A Puritan of moral fibre, voice raised in praise magnificent?
Or rested in assured repose, knowing your lot in quiet content?
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly
Soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees
UPPER SIXTH LOAN SHARK
Where did it come from, where's it going?Upper sixth loan shark, numbers flowing
from the pen that never forgets,
recording ledgers, each-way safe bets.
Fauntleroys and first form fags, allowances all overspent.
Pater's guilty generosity safely deposited against rainy day.
There's money in those goddamn hills.
Interest in sugar-coated bitter pills.
Margins made from Tompkins Minor
Float aspirations, nothing finer
BANKER BETS, BANKER WINS
Education, micro-managed.
MBA: a doddle mastered.
City-bound, Canary Wharf.
A cushy number, fluky bastard.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Hedge funds, wraps and equities.
Lackeys, aides in fierce attendance.
Trusts and gilts, reserve currencies.
Liquid gold in safe ascendance.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Treat myself to quality time,
test a porsche and snort a line,
eat Hermione for lunch.
Set that glum PA a-jumping,
book front-row tickets for something after we munch.
MBA: a doddle mastered.
City-bound, Canary Wharf.
A cushy number, fluky bastard.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Hedge funds, wraps and equities.
Lackeys, aides in fierce attendance.
Trusts and gilts, reserve currencies.
Liquid gold in safe ascendance.
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Treat myself to quality time,
test a porsche and snort a line,
eat Hermione for lunch.
Set that glum PA a-jumping,
book front-row tickets for something after we munch.
Treat myself to quality time,
test a porsche and snort a line,
eat Hermione for lunch.
Set that glum PA a-jumping,
book front-row tickets for something after we munch.
test a porsche and snort a line,
eat Hermione for lunch.
Set that glum PA a-jumping,
book front-row tickets for something after we munch.
Fast-tracked futures, hard-nut traders.
Feeding frenzy, pigs a-troughing.
Fuelled by forecasts, and hot share options.
Big fat bonus in the offing.
Draconian calls for regulation
are drowned in latte with Starbucks muffin.
Mortgage melt-down: non est mea culpa.
Threatened exit, stage left, laughing
Banker bets and banker wins, never missed yet, for all his sins.
Banker bets, cheque's in the post: not worth the ink it's written in.
SWING IT FAR
I was no good on the rugger field.
Pushing and kicking, brutish boys bothered me.
Sensitive and caring seemed the lighter, brighter way to be.
Mr Jennings, good housemaster, seemed instinctively to understand.
Touched me with his gentle presence.
Under bedclothes, underhand, underhand.
Overnight, he did a runner, threatened with harsh expose.
I fell to pieces, dropped out of classes into life's endless melee.
Endless melee.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
Under the bed.
Camden Market in the winter,
a cold stone's throw from Kentish Town.
Got a minute? Just the ticket!
Meet the boys and mess around.
And mess around.
Independence far from suburbia.
Doss down and dirty, tucked up tight.
How's your father? Not too chipper?
Serves the bugger flippin' right.
Flippin' right.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
On the streets a rude survival, hot like-minded overtures.
Sad departure, sweet arrival. If you don't like it, right up yours!
There comes a point when deep conviction bears down hard on who you are.
Pointless to don cloak of denial,
get the lead out and swing it far, swing it far.
swing it far, swing it far, swing it far, swing it...
Pushing and kicking, brutish boys bothered me.
Sensitive and caring seemed the lighter, brighter way to be.
Mr Jennings, good housemaster, seemed instinctively to understand.
Touched me with his gentle presence.
Under bedclothes, underhand, underhand.
Overnight, he did a runner, threatened with harsh expose.
I fell to pieces, dropped out of classes into life's endless melee.
Endless melee.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
Under the bed.
Camden Market in the winter,
a cold stone's throw from Kentish Town.
Got a minute? Just the ticket!
Meet the boys and mess around.
And mess around.
Independence far from suburbia.
Doss down and dirty, tucked up tight.
How's your father? Not too chipper?
Serves the bugger flippin' right.
Flippin' right.
Parents listened, didn't get it. Poof and Jesse, Daddy said.
Mummy tried but fussed and fretted, skeletons best left under bed.
On the streets a rude survival, hot like-minded overtures.
Sad departure, sweet arrival. If you don't like it, right up yours!
There comes a point when deep conviction bears down hard on who you are.
Pointless to don cloak of denial,
get the lead out and swing it far, swing it far.
swing it far, swing it far, swing it far, swing it...
ADRIFT AND DUMFOUNDED
He stands at the crossroads of New
St. and Old Town
Gerald something from good-home-on-sea
Thinking back to the child that he once was
All bread and butter and jam for his tea.
Men came and went in his moments of madness
Muttered apologies, late for a meeting
Too much intensity too much feigned sadness
Crestfallen, hangdog, glances too fleeting.
He was your golden boy, he's adrift and dumfounded
with nowhere to go, no appointments to keep
He's our little man, he's adrift and dumfounded
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
Broken societies, selfish, uncaring
Addled brains clutching at chemicals soothing
Desperate measures, desperately tearing
at last vestige of dignity, his for the losing.
He was your golden boy, he's adrift and dumfounded
with nowhere to go, no appointments to keep
He's our little man, he's adrift and dumfounded
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
Gerald something from good-home-on-sea
Thinking back to the child that he once was
All bread and butter and jam for his tea.
Men came and went in his moments of madness
Muttered apologies, late for a meeting
Too much intensity too much feigned sadness
Crestfallen, hangdog, glances too fleeting.
He was your golden boy, he's adrift and dumfounded
with nowhere to go, no appointments to keep
He's our little man, he's adrift and dumfounded
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
Broken societies, selfish, uncaring
Addled brains clutching at chemicals soothing
Desperate measures, desperately tearing
at last vestige of dignity, his for the losing.
He was your golden boy, he's adrift and dumfounded
with nowhere to go, no appointments to keep
He's our little man, he's adrift and dumfounded
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
He's our little man, he's adrift
and dumfounded
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
Head on hard pillow, waiting for sleep.
OLD SCHOOL SONG
From playing fields to killing
fields: just one small step of madness.
Officer training, uniform, boys
together shower together.
Rank and file can be just fine but
that's not what we're here for.
So, sign upon the dotted line, be
commissioned, Hell for leather.
How we sang that old school song,
from Pirates of Penzance.
Foemen bearing steel, we slapped
our chests and raised our voices.
No mad poets we, or painters twee
but young men with a yearning
to flex our might for all that's
right when face with moral choices.
Wrapped in the old school song, we
fly our colours high.
Bravo! The old school song! Harsh
reality, by and by.
Dad delivered us from the Hun and
we reflect his selfless deed
on this desert plain of conflict
where special forces, choppers need.
Fly-boy coming to collect you, lift
you up and then protect you.
Be this gung or be this ho, may
glorious battle resurrect you.
Wrapped in the old school song, we
fly our colours high.
Bravo! The old school song! Harsh
reality, by and by.
WOOTTON BASSETT TOWN
Hourglass sands run through my
veins like blood draining from a salty wound
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life
I lie in sweat, cry others' tears and write a letter to my Mum,
my wife, my God unheard, unseen, who never thinks to intervene.
Oh, what pain and oh, what lie has called to us, from heaven on high?
This cruel and harsh sweet punishment for follies acted, leaves us spent
Long road to Baghdad, then Persian hordes?
Where will we stop to sheath our swords?
IEDs lie patient, sleeping, wake when soldier boots come creeping.
Hourglass sands run through my veins like blood draining from a salty wound
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life
Down this dusty scorched wind-blast track, eyes facing forward, ne'er look back
As rain comes down on Wootton Bassett Town, black hearses crawl and church bells sound
Bikers, burghers line the kerbs; a politician, a Highness Royal.
Chance shoppers, tradesmen, stiffly stand and shed their tears for the military man
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life
I lie in sweat, cry others' tears and write a letter to my Mum,
my wife, my God unheard, unseen, who never thinks to intervene.
Oh, what pain and oh, what lie has called to us, from heaven on high?
This cruel and harsh sweet punishment for follies acted, leaves us spent
Long road to Baghdad, then Persian hordes?
Where will we stop to sheath our swords?
IEDs lie patient, sleeping, wake when soldier boots come creeping.
Hourglass sands run through my veins like blood draining from a salty wound
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life
Down this dusty scorched wind-blast track, eyes facing forward, ne'er look back
As rain comes down on Wootton Bassett Town, black hearses crawl and church bells sound
Bikers, burghers line the kerbs; a politician, a Highness Royal.
Chance shoppers, tradesmen, stiffly stand and shed their tears for the military man
POWER AND SPIRIT
Touch down after muddy rugby in
the softer evensong
Steal through open doors to heaven in angelic sing-along
Tinsel echoes in the rafters still the air in stained glass light
Our voices chaste, un-broken, pure, take manly message to the fight.
I sense the power and I sense the spirit move
in stately corridors of oak and stone, vaulted above
Beyond the nave, beside dark transepts, candles flicker in the quire
First the glow deep in the belly, tight grip of faith to fan the fire.
In the chapel, I am wondrous in the eyes of lesser boys
Raptures touch me, lift me, shape me, brotherhood, an ode to joy
Stiff white ruffs on cassock'd ranks with hand on heart and hand on sword
Elevated, born to service, to service of the Lord.
I sense the path. I sense the glory road
Position, influence, my head above the earthly clod below
Follow me to serve dark Master, He whose number might be His name.
Branded, burning, power unholy, just have to love Him all the same...
Steal through open doors to heaven in angelic sing-along
Tinsel echoes in the rafters still the air in stained glass light
Our voices chaste, un-broken, pure, take manly message to the fight.
I sense the power and I sense the spirit move
in stately corridors of oak and stone, vaulted above
Beyond the nave, beside dark transepts, candles flicker in the quire
First the glow deep in the belly, tight grip of faith to fan the fire.
In the chapel, I am wondrous in the eyes of lesser boys
Raptures touch me, lift me, shape me, brotherhood, an ode to joy
Stiff white ruffs on cassock'd ranks with hand on heart and hand on sword
Elevated, born to service, to service of the Lord.
I sense the path. I sense the glory road
Position, influence, my head above the earthly clod below
Follow me to serve dark Master, He whose number might be His name.
Branded, burning, power unholy, just have to love Him all the same...
GIVE TILL IT HURTS
Let us pray: Dear Beloved Father:
We know it's tough to make ends meet through troubled times
as economic woes grow, bad to worse.
But call out to our family of treasured followers
to make a pledge today, give 'til it hurts.
Our coffers almost empty, but our flock stands faithful by
as we set out to shave the needy and bereft.
Together we can fleece our willing congregation
and I can live on any small change that's left.
So, give 'til it hurts, give 'til it hurts, make a pledge and give 'til it hurts.
We know it's tough to make ends meet through troubled times
as economic woes grow, bad to worse.
But call out to our family of treasured followers
to make a pledge today, give 'til it hurts.
Our coffers almost empty, but our flock stands faithful by
as we set out to shave the needy and bereft.
Together we can fleece our willing congregation
and I can live on any small change that's left.
So, give 'til it hurts, give 'til it hurts, make a pledge and give 'til it hurts.
That was today's speaker, the humble Reverend Gerald. Tune in to the National Godspend Channel next week.
Praise be to Him and Hallelujah!!, remember to keep those pledges coming in and...give 'til it hurts.
COSY CORNER
Gerald Bostock, fresh from school
with few O-levels, sets his sights
No grand, fanciful fantasies but level headed middle ground
The retail trade, the corner shop, at humble service of plain town-folk
Open at nine and closed by six: enough to work, play, work around
Regulars drop by to chat in idle gossip, repetition
Same old words, another day while, all the time, life slips away
But slips so slowly, stretches moments into hours and hours to years
With characters by Harold Pinter, dark silences, slow Passion Play.
Then home to fire up model trains and shunt and shuffle wagons, locomotive breath upon his brow
Smooth clockwork running motors hum while barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner
So, praise life's routine cozy habits
And don't forget to call your Mum.
No grand, fanciful fantasies but level headed middle ground
The retail trade, the corner shop, at humble service of plain town-folk
Open at nine and closed by six: enough to work, play, work around
Regulars drop by to chat in idle gossip, repetition
Same old words, another day while, all the time, life slips away
But slips so slowly, stretches moments into hours and hours to years
With characters by Harold Pinter, dark silences, slow Passion Play.
Then home to fire up model trains and shunt and shuffle wagons, locomotive breath upon his brow
Smooth clockwork running motors hum while barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner
So, praise life's routine cozy habits
And don't forget to call your Mum.
SHUNT AND SHUFFLE
Same old words, another day while
all the time life slips away
But slips so slowly, stretches moments into slow-burn Passion Play
while barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner.
Then home to fire up model trains and shunt and shuffle carriages
Sweet loco breath upon his brow
Banish thoughts of clockwork marriages
While barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner.
But slips so slowly, stretches moments into slow-burn Passion Play
while barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner.
Then home to fire up model trains and shunt and shuffle carriages
Sweet loco breath upon his brow
Banish thoughts of clockwork marriages
While barren Madge prepares hot dinner
Fray Bentos pie: always a winner.
A CHANGE OF HORSES
Last lights wink out on this pale and
sultry night
Stars signal long past two AM
I feel the lateness in the hour
and I'm fifty long years from home.
A new dawn glimmers, time for a change of horses
It's time to chart new courses
and head for safer houses
No more empty towers of this unholy Babylon
Some four hundred thousand hours have come and gone.
I smell, in the air, a new meadow morning
Fresh-flowering grasses stirring
and no pressure free-falling
Thin mists to bring and light airs to call.
And we treasure all, all that we left behind us
No pointed cold and dark regrets
No nameless blame to lay
Resolute, the optimist, I ride fresh horse and spur it on
Four hundred thousand hours have come and gone.
Stars signal long past two AM
I feel the lateness in the hour
and I'm fifty long years from home.
A new dawn glimmers, time for a change of horses
It's time to chart new courses
and head for safer houses
No more empty towers of this unholy Babylon
Some four hundred thousand hours have come and gone.
I smell, in the air, a new meadow morning
Fresh-flowering grasses stirring
and no pressure free-falling
Thin mists to bring and light airs to call.
And we treasure all, all that we left behind us
No pointed cold and dark regrets
No nameless blame to lay
Resolute, the optimist, I ride fresh horse and spur it on
Four hundred thousand hours have come and gone.
CONFESSIONAL
I made my millions, stashed the pile in
Swiss bank havens, lost the lot
when Inland Revenue got wise. So, I did my time, my time for what?
On the streets, a pretty pickle. I met a man who lifted me
Took me home for slap and tickle, in civil partnership, pledged to me.
Enough of twisted overkill, Hellfire, damnation, voices shrill
I was rumbled, de-frocked and tumbled from grace and favour, caught hand in till.
Invalided out of theatre, civilian rehabilitation
My time now given to help my brothers find cold feet, lost building nations.
Sold the shop, flicked off the power switch. In silent siding, Mallard must stay
Carriages and sleek coal tender packed in boxes, sold on eBay, sold on eBay.
when Inland Revenue got wise. So, I did my time, my time for what?
On the streets, a pretty pickle. I met a man who lifted me
Took me home for slap and tickle, in civil partnership, pledged to me.
Enough of twisted overkill, Hellfire, damnation, voices shrill
I was rumbled, de-frocked and tumbled from grace and favour, caught hand in till.
Invalided out of theatre, civilian rehabilitation
My time now given to help my brothers find cold feet, lost building nations.
Sold the shop, flicked off the power switch. In silent siding, Mallard must stay
Carriages and sleek coal tender packed in boxes, sold on eBay, sold on eBay.
KISMET
IN SUBURBIA
Fresh start, another day, another life,
a quiet cafe. Starbuck euphoria
Count my blessings, crossword ready. Soon, pipe and slippers in the study by the telly
I seek forgiveness, I beg your pardons at number 9 Mulberry Gardens.
Fresh start, another day, another life so far away from hell-raised aria
Now I lay me down to live in acquiescence, mine to give to all who listen
Deaf to dark un-heavenly host at 25 Mulberry Close.
Fresh start, another day, another life so far away from white heat Arabia
Comrades' pictures on the mantle, lit by flower-scented candle, ghostly, flicker
Last man standing, bowed but alive at 33 Mulberry Drive.
Fresh start, another day, another life not so far away in slow-burn suburbia
All routine and repetition, stamp-collecting, first editions, steam train-spotting
Numb, the senses and numb, the brain, at 54 Mulberry Lane.
Fresh start, another day, my cared-for partner just slipped away from sweet utopia
Bequeathed comforts, ceramic hob, electric blanket, your uncle's Bob: a pretty picture
Treasured moments, past and present, at 17 Mulberry Crescent.
Count my blessings, crossword ready. Soon, pipe and slippers in the study by the telly
I seek forgiveness, I beg your pardons at number 9 Mulberry Gardens.
Fresh start, another day, another life so far away from hell-raised aria
Now I lay me down to live in acquiescence, mine to give to all who listen
Deaf to dark un-heavenly host at 25 Mulberry Close.
Fresh start, another day, another life so far away from white heat Arabia
Comrades' pictures on the mantle, lit by flower-scented candle, ghostly, flicker
Last man standing, bowed but alive at 33 Mulberry Drive.
Fresh start, another day, another life not so far away in slow-burn suburbia
All routine and repetition, stamp-collecting, first editions, steam train-spotting
Numb, the senses and numb, the brain, at 54 Mulberry Lane.
Fresh start, another day, my cared-for partner just slipped away from sweet utopia
Bequeathed comforts, ceramic hob, electric blanket, your uncle's Bob: a pretty picture
Treasured moments, past and present, at 17 Mulberry Crescent.
WHAT-IFS,
MAYBES AND MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS
We all must wonder, now and then,
if things had turned out - well - just plain different
Chance path taken, page unturned or brief encounter, blossomed, splintered
Might I have been the man of courage, brave upon life's battlefield,
Captain Commerce, high-flown banker, hedonistic, down-at-heel?
A Puritan of moral fibre, voice raised in praise magnificent?
Or rested in assured repose, knowing my lot in quiet content.
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly, soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees.
Suppose bold woman, quite unsuited, brave in adventure, sojourns wicked
Velvet touch and lips soft-centred, tossing hair, teeth bared in laughing
Imagine idyll Summers never-ending, Winter nights beside fire roaring
Touched by madness, filled with fondness, kissed by love, love without name.
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly, soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees.
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... two
if things had turned out - well - just plain different
Chance path taken, page unturned or brief encounter, blossomed, splintered
Might I have been the man of courage, brave upon life's battlefield,
Captain Commerce, high-flown banker, hedonistic, down-at-heel?
A Puritan of moral fibre, voice raised in praise magnificent?
Or rested in assured repose, knowing my lot in quiet content.
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly, soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees.
Suppose bold woman, quite unsuited, brave in adventure, sojourns wicked
Velvet touch and lips soft-centred, tossing hair, teeth bared in laughing
Imagine idyll Summers never-ending, Winter nights beside fire roaring
Touched by madness, filled with fondness, kissed by love, love without name.
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens fly, soft petals on a breeze
What-ifs, Maybes and Might-have-beens
Why-nots, Perhaps and Wait-and-sees.
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... two
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