THE VERY BEST OF
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 our eyes;
outside their lives go on much faster.
Oh, we won't give in,
we'll keep living in the past.
Aqualung
Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.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 rode
salvation à la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't 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 on to your beard is
screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea-diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.
Sweet Dream
You'll hear me calling in your sweet dream,
can't hear your daddy's warning cry.
You're going back to be all the things you want to be,
while in sweet dreams you softly sigh.You hear my voice is calling
to be mine again,
live the rest of your life in a day.
Get out and get what you can
while your mummy's at home a-sleeping.
No time to understand
'cause they lost what they thought they were keeping.No one can see us in your sweet dream.
don't hear you leave to start the car.
All wrapped up tightly in the coat you borrowed from me,
your place of resting is not far.You'll hear my voice is calling
to be mine again,
live the rest of your life in a day.
Get out and get what you can
While your mummy's at home a-sleeping.
No time to understand,
'cause they lost what they thought they were keeping.
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.
Bungle In The Jungle
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.Let's bungle in the jungle
well, that's all right by me.
I'm a tiger when I want love,
but 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.Let's bungle in the jungle
well, that's all right by me.
I'm a tiger when I want love,
but 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.Let's bungle in the jungle
well, that's all right by me.
I'm a tiger when I want love,
but I'm a snake if we disagree.
The Witch's Promise
Lend me your ear while I call you a fool.
You were kissed by a witch one night in the wood,
and later insisted your feelings were true.
The witch's promise was coming,
believing he listened while laughing you flew.Leaves falling red, yellow, brown, all are the same,
and the love you have found lay outside in the rain.
Washed clean by the water but nursing its pain.
The witch's promise was coming, and you're looking
elsewhere for your own selfish gain.Keep looking, keep looking for somewhere to be,
well, you're wasting your time, they're not stupid like he is.
Meanwhile leaves are still falling, you're too blind to see.You won't find it easy now, it's only fair.
He was willing to give to you, you didn't care.
You're waiting for more but you've already had your share.
The witch's promise is turning, so don't you wait up
for him, he's going to be late.
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.
Steel Monkey
As the moon slips up, and the sun sets down,
I'm a highrise jockey, and I'm heaven-bound.
Do the workboot shuffle, loose brains from brawn.
I'm a monkey puzzle and the lid is on.Can you guess my name? Can you guess my trade?
I'm going to catch you anyway.
You might be right. I'll give you guesses three.
Feel me climbing up your knee.
Guess what I am. I'm a steel monkey.Now some men hustle and some just think.
And some go running before you blink.
Some look up and some look down
from three hundred feet above the ground.Can you guess my name? And can you guess my trade?
Well, I won't rest before the world is made.
Arm in arm the angels fly.
Keep me from falling out the sky.
Steel monkey. Steel monkey. Steel monkey.I work in the thunder and I work in the rain.
I work at my drinking, and I feel no pain.
I work on women, if they want me to.
You can have me climb all over you.Now, have you guessed my name?
And have you guessed my trade?
I'm cheap at the money I get paid.
In the sulphur city, where men are men,
we bolt those beams then climb again.
Steel monkey.
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.
Bourée
[Instrumental]
Too Old to Rock 'N' Roll: Too Young to Die
The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end drank his ale too light.
Death's head belt buckle yesterday's dreams
the transport cafe prophet of doom.
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
in his post-war-babe gloom.Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die.
So the old Rocker gets out his bike
to make a ton before he takes his leave.
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner
just like it used to be.
And as he flies tears in his eyes
his wind-whipped words echo the final take
and he hits the trunk road doing around 120
with no room left to brake.And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.
No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.
Life Is A Long Song
When you're falling awake and you take stock of the new day,
and you hear your voice croak as you choke on what you need to say,
well, don't you fret, don't you fear,
I will give you good cheer.Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.If you wait then your plate I will fill.
As the verses unfold and your soul suffers the long day,
and the twelve o'clock gloom spins the room,
you struggle on your way.
Well, don't you sigh, don't you cry,
lick the dust from your eye.Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.We will meet in the sweet light of dawn.
As the Baker Street train spills your pain all over your new dress,
and the symphony sounds underground put you under duress,
well don't you squeal as the heel grinds you under the wheel.Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.But the tune ends too soon for us all.
Songs From The Wood
Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.
A New Day Yesterday
My first and last time with you
and we had some fun.
wenT walking through the trees, yeah!
And then I kissed you once.
Oh I want to see you soon
but I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday
but it's an old day now.Spent a long time looking
for a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
to turn out this way.
Oh I had to leave today
just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday
But it's an old day now.
Heavy Horses
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust,
An October's day, towards evening,
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough,Salt on a deep chest seasoning.
Last of the line at an honest day's toil,
Turning the deep sod under,
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone,
Flies at the nostrils plunder.The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron Vie
with the Shire on his feathers floating.
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.Heavy Horses, move the land under me.
Behind the plough gliding slipping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do:
The tractor's on its way.Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
to keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
behind the young trees growing.
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and your eighteen hands at the shoulder.
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
they'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing.
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep plough, sharing.Heavy Horses, move the land under me.
Behind the plough gliding slipping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do:
The tractor's on its way.Oh Heavy Horses, move the land under me.
Behind the plough gliding slipping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do:
The tractor's on its way.Oh Heavy Horses, move the land under me.
Behind the plough gliding slipping and sliding free.
Now you're .....
Broadsword
I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black
cloud that hides the sun.Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Get up to the roundhouse on the cliff-top standing.
Take women and children and bed them down.Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold as a talisman.
Bless with a hard heart those who surround me.
Bless the women and children who firm our hands.
Put our backs to the north wind. Hold fast by the river.
Sweet memories to drive us on for the motherland.
Roots To Branches
Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
A Song For Jeffrey
Gonna lose my way tomorrow,
gonna give away my car.
I'd take you along with me,
but you would not go so far.
Don't see what I do not want to see,
you don't hear what I don't say.
Won't be what I don't want to be,
I continue in my way.Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin',
Don't see, see, see where I'm goin' to,
I don't want to.Everyday I see the mornin' come on in the same old way.
I tell myself tomorrow brings me things I would not dream today.
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...
Cheerio
Along the coast road, by the headland
the early lights of winter glow.
I'll pour a cup to you my darling.
Raise it up - say Cheerio.