| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 3:20 | 
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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'd 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. Oh, we won't give in, let's go living in the past. Oh, no, no, we won't give in, let's go living in the past. |
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| 2. |
| 6:35 |
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Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent Snot running down his nose Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes Hey, Aqualung Drying in the cold sun Watching as the frilly panties run Hey, Aqualung Feeling like a dead duck Spitting out pieces of his broken luck Whoa, Aqualung 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 road Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea Aqualung, my friend Don't you 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 onto your beard was Screaming agony? Hey! And you snatch your rattling last breaths With deep-sea diver sounds And the flowers bloom like Madness in the spring 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 Ohh Feeling alone The army's up the road Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea Aqualung, my friend Don't you start away uneasy You poor old sod, you see, it's only me Ohh Dee dee dee dee dee... Aqualung, my friend Don't you start away uneasy You poor old sod, you see, it's only me Sitting on a park bench Eyeing little girls with bad intent Snot running down his nose Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes Hey, Aqualung Drying in the cold sun Watching as the frilly panties run Hey, Aqualung Feeling like a dead duck Spitting out pieces of his broken luck Hey, Aqualung Whoa, Aqualung |
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| 3. |
| 4:03 |
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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 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 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 |
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| 4. |
| 3:29 |
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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 sunsets in mystical places, Black are the nights on the summerday sands, We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle, Hold the first grain of love in our hands. 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, 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. |
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| 5. |
| 3:36 |
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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 Well, let's bungle in the jungle Well, that's all right by me, yes Well, I'm a tiger when I want love And 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 Well, let's bungle in the jungle Well, that's all right by me, yes I'm a tiger when I want love 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 Well, let's bungle in the jungle Well, that's all right by me, yes I'm a tiger when I want love And I'm a snake when we disagree Yes, let's bungle in the jungle Well, that's all right by me, yes Well, I'm a tiger when I want love I'm a snake when we disagree Well, let's bungle in the jungle Well, that's all right by me, yes I'm a tiger when I want love |
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| 6. |
| 3:50 | 
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| 7. |
| 4:25 |
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In the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath Runs the all time loser Headlong to his death Oh, he feels the pistons screaming Steam breaking on his brow Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down He sees his children jumpin’ off At stations one by one His woman and his best friend In bed and having fun So he's crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees Old Charlie stole the handle And the train it 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 Oh, he picks up Gideon's Bible Open at page one I think God, he stole the handle And the train it won't stop going No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down No way to slow down |
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| 8. |
| 3:36 |
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As the moon slips up, the sun slips down,
I'm a highrise jockey, and I'm heaven bound. Do the woorkboot 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. (x3) 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 a 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 beamsthen climb again. Steel monkey |
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| 9. |
| 3:00 |
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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. 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 not 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 It says here that 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? 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 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 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. |
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| 10. |
| 3:45 |
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| 11. |
| 3:55 |
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| 12. |
| 3:17 |
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| 13. |
| 4:52 |
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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. |
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| 14. |
| 4:08 |
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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. |
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| 15. |
| 3:20 |
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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. Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill Up into the cold wind facing In stiff battle harness, chained to the world Against the low sun racing Bring me a wheel of oaken wood A rein of polished leather A Heavy Horse and a tumbling sky Brewing heavy weather. Bring a song for the evening Clean brass to flash the dawn across these acres glistening like dew on a carpet lawn In these dark towns folk lie sleeping as the heavy horses thunder by to wake the dying city with the living horseman's cry At once the old hands quicken --- bring pick and wisp and curry comb --- thrill to the sound of all the heavy horses coming home. |
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| 16. |
| 5:00 |
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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 I see a dark sail on the horizon set under a black cloud that hides the sun so bring me my broadsword and clear understanding bring me my cross of gold as a talisman so bring me my broadsword and a cross of gold as a talisman (Broadsword) |
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| 17. |
| 5:11 |
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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. Roots to branches Roots to branches Roots to branches 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. Roots to branches Roots to branches Roots to branches Roots to branches Roots to branches Roots to branches |
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| 18. |
| 3:18 |
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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. 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. |
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| 19. |
| 3:50 |
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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 observed the spaces In 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, The minstrel in the gallery Looked down on the rabbit-run. And threw away his looking-glass - Saw his face in everyone. He titillated men-of-action Belly warming, hands still rubbing On the parts they never mention. (salaried and collar-scrubbing.) 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 on the rabbit-run. And threw away his looking-glass - And saw his face in everyone. The minstrel in the gallery Looked down upon the smiling faces. He met the gazes... The minstrel in the gallery |
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| 20. |
| 1:10 |
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along the costroad, by the headland
the early lights of winter glow i'll pour a cup to you my darling raise it up - say cheerio |
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