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| “Do you still see me even here?” (The silver cord lies on the ground.) “And so I’m dead”, the young man said over the hill (not a wish away). My friends (as one) all stand aligned although their taxis came too late. There was a rush along the Fulham Road. There was a hush in the Passion Play.Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath ripe with rich attainments all imagined sad misdeeds in disarray the sore thumb screams aloud, echoing out of the Passion Play. All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key: Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance. There was a rush along the Fulham Road into the Ever-passion Play. And who comes here to wish me well? A sweetly-scented angel fell. She laid her head upon my disbelief and bathed me with her ever-smile. And with a howl across the sand I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound NO-ONE (but someone to be found). All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom. Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing room. The cameras were all around. We’ve got you taped; you’re in the play. Here’s your I.D. (Ideal for identifying one and all.) Invest your life in the memory bank; ours the interest and we thank you. The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the passion play. Take the prize for instant pleasure, captain of the cricket team public speaking in all weathers, a knighthood from a queen. All of your best friends’ telephones never cooled from the heat of your hand. from your hand….. There’s a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that also-ran. also ran….. Climb in your old umbrella. Does it have a nasty tear in the dome? in the dome….. But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves you alone, you alone….. you alone….. you alone….. you alone….. Lover of the black and white it’s your first night. The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight. Tell me how the baby’s made, how the lady’s laid, why the old dog howls in sadness. And your little sister’s immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulders of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision. (The examining body examined her body.) Actor of the low-high Q, let’s hear your view. Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won’t do. Tell me: how the baby’s graded, how the lady’s faded, why the old dogs howl with madness. All of this and some of that’s the only way to skin the cat. And now you’ve lost a skin or two, you’re for us and we for you. The dressing room is right behind, We’ve got you taped, you’re in the play. How does it feel to be in the play? How does it feel to play the play? How does it feel to be the play? Man of passion rise again, we won’t cross you out: for we do love you like a son, of that there’s no doubt. Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer? Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction of telling you how absolutely awful you really are? There was a rush along the Fulham Road. There was a hush in the Passion Play. The Story Of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles.Owl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching. Sitting on a fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close by. Now this may not seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper to no one in particular, “The hare has lost his spectacles,” well, he began to wonder. Presently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and there, lying on the grass was hare. In the stream that flowed by the grass a newt. And sitting astride a twig of a bush a bee. Ostensibly motionless, the hare was trembling with excitement, for without his spectacles he appeared completely helpless. Where were his spectacles? Could someone have stolen them? Had he mislaid them? What was he to do? Bee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer began: “You probably ate them thinking they were a carrot.” “No!” interrupted Owl, who was wise. “I have good eye-sight, insight, and foresight. How could an intelligent hare make such a silly mistake?” But all this time, Owl had been sitting on the fence, scowling! A Kangaroo were hopping mad at this sort of talk. She thought herself far superior in intelligence to the others. She was their leader, their guru. She had the answer: “Hare, you must go in search of the optician.” But then she realized that Hare was completely helpless without his spectacles. And so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, “I can’t send Hare in search of anything!” “You can guru, you can!” shouted Newt. “You can send him with Owl.” But Owl had gone to sleep. Newt knew too much to be stopped by so small a problem “You can take him in your pouch.” But alas, Hare was much too big to fit into Kangaroo’s pouch. All this time, it had been quite plain to hare that the others knew nothing about spectacles. As for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn’t care. The lost spectacles were his own affair. And after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair. A-pair. THE END We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door, eat in the corner, talk to the floor, cheating the spiders who come to say “Please”, (politely). They bend at the knees. Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs. Old gentlemen talk of when they were young of ladies lost, of erring sons. Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends) pure as the truth, tied at both ends. Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs. Scented cathedral spire pointed down. We pray for souls in Kentish Town. A delicate hush the gods, floating by wishing us well, pie in the sky. God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right, right to be wrong. Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs. Jack rabbit mister spawn a new breed of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed). Show me a good man and I’ll show you the door. The last hymn is sung and the devil cries “More.”Well, I’m all for leaving and that being done, I’ve put in a request to take up my turn in that forsaken paradise that calls itself “Hell” where no-one has nothing and nothing is- well -meaning fool, pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling. Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do. Colours I’ve none dark or light, red, white or blue. Cold is my touch (freezing). Summoned by name – I am the overseer over you. Given this command to watch o’er our miserable sphere. Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain. Occasional corn from my oversight grew. Fell with mine angels from a far better place, offering services for the saving of face. Now you’re here, you may as well admire all whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation. Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights seen in the sky (flashing). I just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye. Passionate play join round the maypole in dance (primitive rite) (wrongly). Summoned by name I am the overseer over you. Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he’s an awful fellow! What a mistake! I didn’t take a feather from his pillow. Here’s the everlasting rub: neither am I good or bad. I’d give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had. I’m only breathing. There’s life on my ceiling. The flies there are sleeping quietly. Twist my right arm in the dark. I would give two or three for one of those days that never made impressions on the old score. I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree. Everyone’s saved we’re in the grave. See you there for afternoon tea. Time for awaking the tea lady’s making a brew-up and baking new bread. Pick me up at half past none there’s not a moment to lose. There is the train on which I came. On the platform are my old shoes. Station master rings his bell. Whistles blow and flags wave. A little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should). I thank everybody for making me welcome. I’d stay but my wings have just dropped off. Hail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE. There am I waiting along the sand. Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea. Magus Perde, take your hand from off the chain. Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to BE. Here am I (voyager into life). Tough are the soles that tread the knife’s edge. Break the circle,stretch the line, call upon the devil. Bring the gods, the gods’ own fire. In the conflict revel. The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born, renew the pledge of life’s long song rise to the reveille horn. Animals queueing at the gate that stands upon the shore breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door. Man – son of man – buy the flame of ever-life (yours to breathe and breath the pain of living): living BE! Here am I! Roll the stone away from the dark into ever-day. There was a rush along the Fulham Road into the Ever-passion Play. (A Passion Play edit by Jethro Tull) |
| Nights in white satin Never reaching the end Letters I’ve written Never meaning to send Beauty I’d always missed With these eyes before Just what the truth is I can’t say anymore ‘Cause I love you Yes, I love you Oh, how I love you Gazing at people Some hand in hand Just what I’m going through They can’t understand Some try to tell me Thoughts they cannot defend Just what you want to be You will be in the end And I love you Yes, I love you Oh, how I love you Oh, how I love you Nights in white satin Never reaching the end Letters I’ve written Never meaning to send Beauty I’ve always missed With these eyes before Just what the truth is I can’t say anymore ‘Cause I love you Yes, I love you Oh, how I love you Oh, how I love you, yeah, oh ‘Cause I love you Yes, I love you Oh, how I love you Oh, how I love you, yeah, oh (Moody Blues – Nights in White Satin) |
| You’ve been sleeping in a field but you look real rested You set out to outrage but you can’t get arrested You say your image is new, but it looks well tested You’re lost without a crowd yet you go your own way You say your summer has gone Now the Winter is crawlin’ in They say that even in your day Somehow you never could quite fit in Though it’s cold outside I know the Summer’s gonna come again Because you know what they say Every dog has his day You’re a misfit, afraid of yourself, so you run away and hide You’ve been a misfit all your life Why don’t you join the crowd And come inside You wander round this town like you’ve lost your way You had your chance in your day Yet you threw it all away But you know what they say Every dog has his day Look at all the losers and the mad eyed gazers Look at all the looneys and the sad eyed failures They’re giving up living ’cause they just don’t care So take a good look around The misfits are everywhere La la la la la la You’re a misfit Afraid of yourself so you run away and hide You’ve been a misfit all your life But why don’t you join the crowd and come inside You wander round this town Like you’ve lost your way You had your chance in your day Yet you threw it all away Now you’re lost in the crowd Yet, still go your own way This is your chance, this is your time So don’t throw it away You can have your day Yes it’s true what they say Every dog has his day (The Kinks – Misfits) |
| 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 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 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? 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 ar 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. (Jethro Tull – Thick as a brick) |
| Accepting all I’ve done and said I want to stand and stare again ‘Til there’s nothing left out, oh whoa whoa It remains there in your eyes Whatever comes and goes I will hear your silent call And I will touch this tender wall ‘Til I know I’m home again, oh (In your eyes) In your eyes (In your eyes) In your eyes (In your eyes) In your eyes [Verse 1] Love, I get so lost sometimes Days pass, and this emptiness fills my heart When I want to run away, I drive off in my car But whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are [Pre-Chorus] And all my instincts, they return And the grand facade so soon will burn Without a noise, without my pride I reach out from the inside [Chorus] In your eyes, the light, the heat (In your eyes) I am complete (In your eyes) The resolution (In your eyes) Of all the fruitless searches (In your eyes) (In your eyes) I see the light and the heat (In your eyes) (In your eyes) I wanna be that complete (In your eyes) I wanna touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes In your eyes In your eyes In your eyes [Verse 2: Peter Gabriel] Love, I don’t like to see so much pain So much wasted, and this moment keeps slipping away I get so tired, working so hard for our survival I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive [Pre-Chorus: Peter Gabriel] And all my instincts, they return And the grand facade so soon will burn Without a noise, without my pride I reach out from the inside [Chorus: Peter Gabriel] In your eyes, the light, the heat (In your eyes) I am complete (In your eyes) I see the doorway (In your eyes) To a thousand churches (In your eyes) The resolution (In your eyes) Of all the fruitless searches (In your eyes) Oh, I see the light and the heat (In your eyes) Oh, I wanna be that complete (In your eyes) I want to touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes In your eyes In your eyes In your eyes In your eyes Sa bet chi lamp, chi tangaay, sa bet maangi ci biir Sa bet chi lamp, chi tangaay, sa bet maangi ci biir Sa bet chi lamp, chi tangaay, sa bet maangi ci biir Accepting all I’ve done and said I want to stand and stare again ‘Til there’s nothing left out, oh whoa whoa It remains there in your eyes Whatever comes and goes Oh, it’s in your eyes (Peter Gabriel – In Your Eyes) |
| I stood in this unsheltered place ‘Til I could see the face behind the face All that had gone before had left no trace Down by the railway siding In our secret world, we were colliding All the places we were hiding love What was it we were thinking of? So I watch you wash your hair Underwater, unaware And the plane flies through the air Did you think you didn’t have to choose it That I alone could win or lose it In all the places we were hiding love What was it we were thinking of? In this house of make believe Divided in two, like Adam and Eve You put out and I receive Down by the railway siding In our secret world, we were colliding In all the places we were hiding love What was it we were thinking of? Oh the wheel is turning spinning round and round And the house is crumbling but the stairways stand With no guilt and no shame, no sorrow or blame Whatever it is, we are all the same Making it up in our secret world (x3) Shaking it up Breaking it up Making it up in our secret world Seeing things that were not there On a wing on a prayer In this state of disrepair Shh, listen (Peter Gabriel – Secret World) |
| 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 The endless whining sounds You’ll be praying till next Thursday To all the gods that you can count (Jethro Tull – My God) |
| The curtain rises on the scene, With someone chanting to be free. The play unfolds before my eyes, Descends the actor who is me. The sleeping hours take us far, From traffic, telephones, and fear. Put out your problems with a cat, Escape until a bell you hear. Our reasons are the same, But there’s no one we can blame, For there’s no where we need go, And the only truth we know, comes so easily. The sound I have heard in your hello, Oh darling, you’re almost part of me.Oh darling, you’re all I’ll ever see. It’s such a rainy afternoon, No point in going anywhere. The sounds just drift across my room, I wish this feeling I could share. It’s such a rainy afternoon, She sits and gazes from her window. Her mind tries to recall his face, A feeling deep inside her grows. Justin Hayward – The Actor |
| Watching and waiting For a friend to play with Why have I been alone so long Mole he is burrowing his way to the sunlight He knows there’s some there so strong ‘Cause here there’s lot of room for doing The thing you’ve always been denied Look and gather all you want to There’s no one here to stop you trying Soon you will see me ‘Cause I’ll be all around you But where I come from I can’t tell But don’t be alarmed by my fields and my forests They’re here for only you to share ‘Cause here there’s lot of room for doing The things you’ve always been denied So look and gather all you want to There’s no one here to stop you trying Watching and waiting For someone to understand me I hope it won’t be very long Justin Hayward – Watching and Waiting |