IAN ANDERSON: WALK INTO LIGHT

Fly By Night

It's hard to say I'm sorry.
May we just forget about today.
You see, I fly by night.
I fly by night.

I laid my love beside the door
and left you sleeping on the floor.
So long. I fly by night,
I fly by night.

And though you might think it's too bad of me
I have to leave you with used memories.

I have no stomach for the dawn.
I feel I should be moving on
and so I fly by night.

Now lady luck's deserted me.
The ghosts of love stand clear to see.
They also fly by night.

Strange figures in the dark.
Did Cupid strike and leave his mark?
It seems his arrows fly by night.
They fly by night.
Let's fly.
 

Made In England

Somewhere in a town in England
lay a babe with a curious smile.
He was of your father's children.
Born each side of a dry-stone mile.

He grew up through the schools and factories,
Brunel's tunnels and bridges bold.
Grey towers built high on that Kingdom
with apartments still unsold.

Somewhere in a town in England.
Could be Newcastle, Leeds or Birmingham.
And were you made in
England's green and pleasant land?

He accepts no unemployment
and is to indeterminate station bred.
Is possessed of skills and reason.
Flies the flag upon his head.

Watches the democratic process
grind it's way through the Commons cold,
filled with fiery infiltrators
who would pave the streets with England's gold.
 

Walk Into Light

Close in, move out to where you want to go.
There's a crowd out there handclapping slow.
We're all powered up, switched on, the rig is tight.
Step into joy. Walk into light.
Never mind what some people say.
They're going to love you anyway.

Shake off that nervous twitch and feel your strength.
Stand astride the width and walk the length.
Those super-troopers fired and burning bright.
Step into joy. Walk into light.
Stand tall and be yourself.
You can do it for your health.

Maybe a circus ring, a disco floor.
Do like we do. And do some more.
A crowded office or a party night.
Step into joy. Walk into light.
 

Trains

Here I am at the end of the day
with a cup of cold coffee
from the station buffet.
On trains, on trains I seem
to spend my life on trains.

See the blue suit banker in the ticket line.
Got an Evening Standard with Playboy
hidden behind.
On trains, on trains he seems
to spend his life on trains.

Time after time.
Was I just dreaming?
Did I help you aboard?
Full passenger service ---
let me help with the door.
Sit down take the weight off your feet.
There's a train full of people I'd like
you to meet.
On trains, on trains we love
to spend our lives on trains.

Join the secret world of trains.
Feel the pleasure. Touch the pain.
Drift into yesterday.

Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet sometime
on the 17.30 where
I usually find
my friends at the end of the day.
May we pay your fare, lady?
We should like you to stay
in our train. On trains ---
you'll have to spend your life
on trains.

I hear there's an office party on the 18.05.
You'll be home for Christmas if they
take you alive from the train.
Those trains, we have to spend our lives
on trains.

Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet any time
on number two platform
where I usually find
my friends at the end of the day.
On trains, trains, trains.
 

End Game

I'm slipping into grey.
And I was (in my way) good to you.
And you were good for me.
Bye bye my love.
Going to play the end game.

It's growing kind of still.
You know there always will be a dream
waiting for you when
sleep comes around.
I had to play the end game.

Bless us all. I must say
it was good, you know.
Keep me in mind for
a re-match in warm snow.

The faces at the door
couldn't have looked more lost to see
me waving as I brush
away a tear.
Gone to play the end game.
 

Black And White Television

I looked in the mirror then
saw my face in a dream.
With eyes sharp as diamonds
blessed with clear vision.
Things were not as they seemed.
Black and white television
stared back from the wall.
Is that my life?
Am I here at all?

Down in the High Road, see
motor cavalcades glide
past shopwindow dressers
desperately covering
all the parts they can hide.
Black and white television
stares at me again.
Is that their lives?
Even dummies pretend.

The truth is so hard to deny.
The answer is here.
The screen never lies.

Black and white television.
It's the right television.
Show me it's all a dream tonight.

The boys on the corner sulk
in their Suzuki haze.
In primary colours
(each year more startling)
but they still fade to grey
on black and white television.
It's sweeping the land.
Is that your life?
Do you understand?

The truth is so hard to deny.
The answer is here.
The screen never lies.

Black and white television.
Back the right television.
Black and white television.
Hard to fight television.
Show me it's all a dream tonight.
 

Toad In The Hole

I walk along the Strand
to catch the late ride home.
Shuttle through the evening gloom
knowing I forgot to phone.
The back door's open.
There's a chill blowing in.
Take your warm hands off me.
Let the night begin.
Shush your mouth.
Listen to me.
I won't say nothing -
just let me be your
toad in the hole.

Kicking through the wet leaves lying
all along the Station Road.
Past tired graffitti wailing,
raw emotion to unload.
There's coal in the fireplace
and money in the bank too.
Deep-pile carpets, stencil wallpaper.
Still got the back room to do.
Don't be late.
Got a day's work behind me.
Feel a little devastated
but my nights are assigned to you.

Toad in the hole.

No tom-cat creeping, now
could ever be so bold
to hang around our place tonight
when I come in from the cold.
There's a straight-six in the garage
and some fine wine to cool.
Labour-savers in the kitchen,
room in the garden for a pool.
Shush your mouth.
Let imagination run
here in bed-sit heaven
where all the best wishing's done
to warm toad in the hole.
 

Looking For Eden

As I drove down the road to look for Eden
saw two young girls but left them standing there.
They were too late to get home on the underground
and probably too drunk, too drunk to care.

Can anyone tell me the way to Eden?
I'll ask them there, have they a job for me.
I'm not a fussy man, I can weed and hoe.
I'll be her Adam, she can be my Eve.

And where on earth are all those songs of Eden.
The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men.
Just one old dosser lurching down Oxford Street
to spend his Christmas lying in the rain.

Don't anybody know the way to Eden.
I'm tired of living my life in free-fall.
They say it's somewhere out on the edge of town.
Perhaps it isn't really there at all.

Looking for Eden.
 

User-Friendly

Do we inhabit some micro-space
and interface through wires.
Dance on a printed circuit board
throw the software to the fires.
My memory's slim - so volatile
but I'm learning.
Plug yourself in. Stay for awhile.
Un-discerning.

And on dusty terminals
finger me lightly do.
And QWERTY is the name of love
printed on the V.D.U.
Cut yourself free. We're all alone
communicating.
Don't bother me with arithmetic
I'm waiting.

User-friendly.
That's what I am to you.

I have to break out of here.
Trapped in my hardware cell.
And come to you as you sleep tonight,
take you back into my hell.
Binary joys and digital sighs
so appealing.
I'm one of the boys and it's only
your mind that I'm stealing.
User-friendly.
That's all I am to you.
 

Different Germany

The lights are down in Germany
and Germany is closed to me
different somehow this time.

The airport's stiff, cold corridors
ring empty beats through hollow feet
that I find to be mine.

Different Germany.
History repeats somehow.
Different Germany.
Afraid to know you now.

And past my eyes with leathered gaze
stare clean-cut boys all dressed as men
in sharpened uniform.
Who turned the clock? (Moved on or back)
And what dark chill is gathering still
before the storm.

Out in the street a tableau double-glazed
with laughing girls whose fastened smiles
are clearly not meant for me.