A Jethro Tull Collection
Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.Come with me to the Winged Isle
northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
through far marches of acres wild.I'll make love to you
in narrow side streets
with shuttered windows,
crumbling chimneys.Come with me to the weary town
discos silent under tiles
that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
on concrete marches of acres wild.By red bricks pointed
with cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.Come with me to the Winged Isle
northern father's western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
through far marches of acres wild.
Locomotive Breath
In the shuffling madess
of the locomotive breath,
runs the all-time loser,
headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping --
steam breaking on his brow --
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going --
no way to slow down.He sees his children jumping off
at the stations -- one by one.
His woman and his best friend --
in bed and having fun.
He's crawling down the corridor
on his hands and knees --
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train 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.
He picks up Gideons Bible --
open at page one --
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going --
no way to slow down.
Dharma For One
[Instrumental]
Wind Up
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 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.
So 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 excomunicate 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.
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.
Warchild
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 lie in 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 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.
Budapest
I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.
I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.
The Whistler
I'll buy you six bay mares to put in your stable
six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune,
but I must be gone by the seventh day.So come on, I'm the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day
whistle along on the seventh day.All kinds of sadness I've left behind me.
Many's the day when I have done wrong.
But I'll be yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.So come on, I'm the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day
whistle along on the seventh day.Deep red are the sun-sets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle.
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.
We Used To Know
Whenever I get to feel this way,
try to find new words to say,
I think about the bad old days
we used to know.Nights of winter turn me cold --
fears of dying, getting old.
We ran the race and the race was won
by running slowly.Could be soon we'll cease to sound,
slowly upstairs, faster down.
Then to revisit stony grounds,
we used to know.Remembering mornings, shillings spent,
made no sense to leave the bed.
The bad old days they came and went
giving way to fruitful years.Saving up the birds in hand
while in the bush the others land.
Take what we can before the man
says it's time to go.Each to his own way I'll go mine.
Best of luck in what you find.
But for your own sake remember times
we used to know.
Beastie
From early days of infancy, through trembling years of youth,
long murky middle-age and final hours long in the tooth,
he's the hundred names of terror - creature you love the least.
Picture his name before you and exorcise the beast.He roved up and down through history - spectre with tales to tell.
In the darkness when the campfire's dead - to each his private hell.
If you look behind your shoulder as you feel his eyes to feast,
you can witness now the everchanging nature of the beast.Beastie!
If you wear a warmer sporran, you can keep the foe at bay.
You can pop those pills and visit some psychiatrist who'll say:
There is nothing I can do for you, everywhere's a danger zone.
I'd love to help get rid of it, but I've got one of my own.Beastie!
There's a beast upon my shoulder, (Beastie!)
and a fiend upon my back. (Beastie!)
Feel his burning breath a heaving, (Beastie!)
smoke oozing from his stack.And he moves beneath the covers, (Beastie!)
or he lies below the bed. (Beastie!)
He's the beast upon your shoulder. (Beastie!)
He's the price upon your head.He's the lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.
He's your private nightmare pricking.
He'd just love to turn the screw.
So stand as one defiant - yes, and let your voices swell.
Stare that beastie in the face and really give him hell.Beastie!
There's a beast upon my shoulder, (Beastie!)
and a fiend upon my back. (Beastie!)
Feel his burning breath a heaving, (Beastie!)
smoke oozing from his stack. (Beastie!)And he moves beneath the covers, (Beastie!)
or he lies below the bed. (Beastie!)
He's the beast upon your shoulder. (Beastie!)
He's the price upon your head.Look out! Look out!
Rare And Precious Chain
Rare and precious chain
Do I have to tell you, tell you once again?
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain
Binds me to your soul round gently pulsing veins.
Shackled tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.No gold of fools.
No hostage taking.
No engagement rules.
To leave you forsaken.Tiny beads of sweat
thin diamond glistening, glistening around your neck,
forgotten rooms, dark catacombs
they all come back to you.No crock of glittering prizes.
No sharply worded telegram.
No excuses for the word-weary.
No excuses for who I am.It's a rare and precious chain.
Around your neck I place it, place it once again.
Drawn finger tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain.
Quizz Kid
Cut along the dotted line slip in and seal the flap.
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap.
Win a fortnight in Ibiza line up for the big hand out.
You'll never know unless you try what winning's all about
be a quizz kid. Be a whizz kid.Six days later there's a rush telegram
Drop everything and telephone this number if you can.
It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life.
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you
better not bring the wife
be a quizz kid. Be a whizz kid.It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch each week.
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as they speak.
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all; publicity dissected
brain cells splattered on the walls of encyclopaedic knowledge.
May be barbaric but it's fun.
As the clock ticks away a lifetime,
hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes
aimed at your tiny skull.
May you find sweet inspiration may your memory not be dull.
May you rise to dizzy success.
May your wit be quick and strong.
May you constantly amaze us.
May your answers not be wrong.
May your head be on your shoulders.
May your tongue be in your cheek.
And most of all we pray that you may come back next week!
Be a quizz kid. Be a whizz kid.
Still Loving You Tonight
It's a lonely life I live and I live this life to go
and if I leave you with one thing it's just that I want
you to know
I'll still be loving you tonight.
I left flowers on your table, left the lock on your door.
Staked a claim in your heartlands, put grain in your store.
I'll still be loving you tonight.Got fingers on the button of that telephone dial.
Call in and move your mountains, fill your spaces while
I'm still loving you tonight.You want to know how I can leave you?
How can I move along this way?
Too much of a good thing can make you crazy
and it's a good thing that happened to me today.
I'll still be loving you tonight.
Living In The Past
Happy and I'm smiling,
walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you,
and above you there's no other.
We'll go walking out
while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in,
let's go living in the past.Once I used to join in
every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution, but they don't know
what they're fighting.
Let us close out eyes;
outside their lives go on much faster.
Oh, we won't give in,
we'll keep living in the past.