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4:03 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
My hand of thumbs is shaking
I am so glad to meet you All tongue-tied and twisted My lips stuck like glue More than a lifetime to say, "How are you?" More than an ocean to cross becalmed. Less than a second to sink in silence. Yours truly, I remain disarmed. Saw you peeping from the corner. Your eyes seemed to call hello. I'm all too easily mistaken, My feet unsteady as they go. Was I a suave and confident trickster I would sweep you up and carry you down To raspberry meadows under diamond skies and just mess around. Just mess around. |
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3:35 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
A raft of penguins on a frozen sea.
Expectant faces look down on me. Shuffle uneasy. The whistler plays. Counting eleven, they begin to pray. Tenuous but clinging, the missing link Joins us, closer than we might think. Some half remembered coarse jungle drum ? A naked heart-beat, trill and hum. This world's no stage for the faint at heart. Each symphony, a sum of parts. Each overture, a sweet foreplay. Let's crash and burn some other day. Bonded in terror or suspicion deep Tentative tiptoe or giant leap Call down the angels to guide them in A raft of penguins take to the wing. |
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4:28 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
A week of moments ? a clutch of days ?
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play. Medley of quavers informs the tune. It's all too much: over all too soon. Sweet condensation on chilling wine Traveler's palm, flamboyant tree Fast photos ripped and lost consign A week of moments to faint memory. A week of moments plucked from the page Found far horizons, a sunset stage. Suitcases bulge, in silence packed A chapter closed: no looking back. The lightest touch upon my arm No fierce restraint, no call to stay. Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king With pool attendants in chess piece array. |
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3:38 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
Got a birthday card at Christmas
It made me think of Jesus Christ. It said, "I love you" in small letters. I simply had to read it twice. Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys. The smell of frost was in the air. Pole star hovered in the blackness. I looked again: it wasn't there. People have showered me with presents. While their minds were fixed on other things. Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles. Pointy trees and angel wings. I am the shadow in your Christmas. I am the corner of your smile. Perfunctory in celebration. You offer content but no style. That little baby Jesus. He got a birthday card or three. Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense. Some penny baubles for his tree. Have some time off for good behaviour. Forty days, give or take a few. Hey there, sweet baby Jesus Let's share a birthday card with you. |
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5:03 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004) | |||||
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3:15 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004) | |||||
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2:57 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004) | |||||
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5:39 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
I get lost in crowds: if I can, I remain invisible
to the hungry mouths. I stay unapproachable. I wear the landscape of the urban chameleon. Scarred by attention. And quietly addicted to innocence. At starry parties where, amongst the rich and the famous I'm stuck for words: or worse, I blether with the best of them. I see their eyes glaze and they look for the drinks tray. Something in the drift of my conversation bothers them. So, who am I? Come on: ask me, I dare you. So, who am I? Come on: question me, if you care to. And why not try to interrogate this apparition? I melt away to get lost in this quaint condition. In scary airports, in concourses over-filled, I am detached in serious observation. As a passenger, I become un-tethered when I get lost in clouds: at home with my own quiet company. Herald Tribune or USA Today. Sauvignon Blanc or oaky Chardonnay. Asleep for the movie. Awake for the dawn dancing on England and hedgerows ? embossed on a carpet of green. I descend and ? forgive me ? I mean to get lost in crowds. |
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4:46 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
Dinner table chattering classes -
tells us all we need to know. Like it. Lump it. Dig it. Dump it - on your late, late show. And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva? You're just hand-me-down news in a cookie jar. It's a long way from here to CNN in America and a red-eyed opinion too far. Dish the dirt or dish the gravy. Spill the beans to me. Sinking fast in terminal boredom ? Feigned interest flying free. And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva etc. Talking monkey, breaking news junkie, tragedies to reveal. Light and breezy, up-beat squeezy, close in to touchy-feel. Pass the Merlot, dance the three-step Cut to a better chase. Align yourself with no proposition and simpler thoughts embrace. Let's talk about me. Let's talk about you. In a world of private rooms. Hide awhile from dark stormbringers ? sad messengers of doom. Sadly, you can't be Ralitsa Vassileva, ..... And do you think you're Ralitsa Vassileva, ..... |
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3:41 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
My old black cat passed away this morning
He never knew what a hard day was. Woke up late and danced on tin roofs. If questioned "Why?" ? answered, "Just because." He never spoke much, preferring silence: eight lost lives was all he had. Occasionally sneaked some Sunday dinner. He wasn't good and he wasn't bad. My old black cat wasn't much of a looker. You could pass him by ? just a quiet shadow. Got pushed around by all the other little guys. Didn't seem to mind much ? just the way life goes. Padded about in furry slippers. Didn't make any special friends. He played it cool with wide-eyed innocence, Receiving gladly what the good Lord sends. Forgot to give his Christmas present. Black cat collar, nice and new. Thought he'd make it through to New Year. I guess this song will have to do. My old black cat???. Old black cat???? |
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3:21 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
A Morris Minor, a cafe noir ?
Banana smoothie, snails in a jar. Three dodgy sailors, a girl on skates ? A little too muscled from doing weights. A family wedding, a sushi bar ? Sand in the Seychelles, karaoke star. Lads on the razzle get lost in love. Paddington station, rain clouds above. The crumpled sheets of a long hot summer. Stored images like an acorn, drop. Squirreled away, but still remembered by the man in the photo shop. Rush hour on Praed Street: behind the glass ? a picture process, in one hour fast. Intimate portraits of topless wives ? flashed indiscretions: snap-happy lives. |
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4:19 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
I'm thinking free - like the bird
flying over, over the animals in the zoo. How do you do? What's it like to be in there? Think about it. You're locked behind wires. Safe and warm - under house arrest protection from the wild, wild storm and tempest raging here on the outside. Think about it. Pigeon I. Pigeon toed. I'm pigeon-friendly as pigeons go. Pigeon lonely. Pigeon English. What's it like to be in there? Think about it. Harsh spaces. Empty freedom. Scary concept. Wrong side of the window. Which one of us will wake imprisoned come tomorrow? Think about it. Give it due consideration. Weigh it up. Kiss me quickly. Pigeon friendly. Let me in there to be with you. Mull it over. (Think about it.) |
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3:00 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004) | |||||
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4:05 |
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from Ian Anderson - Rupi'S Dance (2004)
Find some way to square the circle.
Feet slipping, sliding on the level. Connect to reason, is there anybody there? Drum it in to me now if you dare. Triangles by Isosceles. Principles by Archimedes. Amo, amas; even amat make for one less way to skin the cat. Two short planks ? Try my luck on another day Must be thick as two short planks ? That's about all that I have to say. Two short planks ? Pop the question: I sit the test Must be thick as two short planks ? Spin me round till I come to rest. They say truth comes flooding if you let it. But what happens if I just don't get it? I'm blissful in my sweet ignorance and delight in my incompetence. Two short planks ? Try my luck on another day Must be thick as two short planks ? That's about all that I have to say. Two short planks ? Pop the question: I sit the test Must be thick as two short planks ? Spin me round till I come to rest. |
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4:21 |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
We saw the heavens break and all the world go down to sleep
and rocks on mossy banks drip acid rain from craggy steeps Saw fiery angels kiss the dawn Wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? And troubled dynasties, like legions lost, have blown away Hounds hard upon their heels call to their quarry --- wait and play Before the last faint light has gone Wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? The angry waves grow high --- cut icy teeth on northern shores Brave fires that flicker, cough --- give way to winds through broken doors And with the last line almost drawn --- wish you goodbye till further on Will you still be there further on? |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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3:53 |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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6:39 |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching Black Sunday falls one day too soon The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly My suitcases simply too full for the closing of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random --- no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them Black Sunday falls one day too soon And down at the airport are probably waiting a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas --- connections broken and Special Branch waiting conspicuously standing in holiday clothing Black Sunday falls one day too soon Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy Down to the gate with the old mood upon me Get out and chase the small immortality born in the minute of my next returning Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning Homecoming one day too soon And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving ...one day too soon |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday
with freezing rains melting and no trains running and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching Black Sunday falls one day too soon The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly My suitcases simply too full for the closing of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random --- no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them Black Sunday falls one day too soon And down at the airport are probably waiting a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas --- connections broken and Special Branch waiting conspicuously standing in holiday clothing Black Sunday falls one day too soon Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy Down to the gate with the old mood upon me Get out and chase the small immortality born in the minute of my next returning Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning Homecoming one day too soon And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving ...one day too soon |
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3:55 |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
Clear light on a slick palm
as I mis-deal the day Slip the night from a shaved pack make a marked card play Call twilight hours down from a heaven home high above the highest bidder for the good Lord's throne In the wee hours I'll meet you down by Dun Ringill --- oh, and we'll watch the old gods play by Dun Ringill We'll wait in stone circles 'til the force comes through --- lines joint in faint discord and the stormwatch brews a concert of kings as the white sea snaps at the heels of a soft prayer whispered In the wee hours I'll meet you down by Dun Ringill --- oh, and I'll take you quickly by Dun Ringill. |
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4:36 |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
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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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
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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3:37 |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
They said protect and you'll survive ---
(But our postman didn't call) 8lbs. of over-pressure wave seemed to glue him to the wall They said protect and you'll survive E.M.P. took out the radio --- (And our milk-man didn't call) Flash blinded by the pretty lights, Didn't see his bottles fall Or feel the warm black rain arrive Big friendly cloud builds in the West (And our dust-men haven't called) They left the dual carriageway at a hundred miles an hour --- A tail wind chasing them away And in deep shelters lurk below, sub-regional control Who sympathise but cannot help To mend your body or your soul Self-appointed guadians of the race with egg upon their face When steady sirens sing all-clear they pop up, Find nobody here And so I watch two new suns spin --- (Our paper man doesn't call) Burnt shadow printed on the road --- now there's nothing there at all They said protect and you'll survive |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
Meanwhile back in the year one,
When you belonged to no one, You didn't stand a chance, son, If your pants were undone. 'Cause you were bred, for humanity And sold to society One day you'll wake up, in the present day A million generations removed from expectations Of being who you really want to be. Skating away, skating away, skating away, On the thin ice of the new day So as you push off from the shore, Won't you turn your head once more And make your peace with everyone. For those who choose to stay Will live just one more day, To do the things they should've done. And as you cross the wilderness, Spinning in your emptiness If you have to, pray. Looking for a sign, that the universal minds Has written you into the passion play. Skating away, skating away, skating away On the thin ice of the new day And as you cross the circle line, Well the ice wall creaks behind You're a rabbit on the run. And the silver splinters fly In the corner of your eye, Shining in the setting sun. Well do you ever get the feeling That the story's too damn real And in the present tense. Or that everbody's on the stage And it seems like you're the only Person sitting in the audience Skating away, skating away, skating away On the thin ice of the new day Skating away, skating away, skating away |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
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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3:28 |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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3:34 |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
See black, see yellow with little notebooks drawn
See grey stripes bowling down the street Silver streaks and T-shirts so precisely torn Strange foreign chaps in white bed-sheets --- Uniforms See golden halo'd men of high renown prance to the politicians' beat Well tailored in unswerving elegance with shoes by Gucci on their feet --- Uniforms How do you know who the hell you are? Wake up each day under a different star Dressed to the nines, meet yourself going home like a clone, smartly dressed in your pressed uniform White battle dress on green pitch, proud eleven Beneath the swelling box so neat the teeming millions of the future fly --- the spinning cricket ball to cheat They're all uniform |
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5:05 |
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from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004)
When I was a young man (as all good tales begin)
I was taught to hold out my hand And for my pay I worked an honest day And took what pittance I could win Now I'm a working john and I'm a working joe And I'm doing what I know For God and the economy Big brother watches over me And the state protects and feeds me And my conscience never leaves me And I'm loyal to the unions Who protect me at all levels And as I grew, the winds of fortune blew And the bank smiled down upon me And mortgaged to the hilt I threw The breeze of caution behind me Now I'm a working john and I'm a working joe And I'm good at what I know And God and the economy Have blessed me with equality Now I'm equal to the best of you And better than the rest of you Who would criticise my success In times of national unrest Now I own my horseless carriage In it's central-heated garage And I commute eighty miles a day --- Up at seven to make it pay I direct ten limited companies With seeming consummate expertise Two ulcers and a heart disease A trembling feeling in both knees --- I'm a working john and I'm a working joe |
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3:43 |
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| from Jethro Tull - A + Slipstream (2004) | |||||
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5:43 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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2:56 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:24 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:26 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:13 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:22 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:56 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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2:49 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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3:20 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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2:51 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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4:06 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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8:09 |
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| from Ian Anderson - Divinities: Twelve Dances With God (2003) | |||||
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1:58 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
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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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
On Preston Platform
Do your soft shoe shuffle dance Brush away the cigarette ash That's falling down your pants And then you sadly wonder Does the nurse treat your old man The way she should? She made you tea Asked for your autograph-- What a laugh |
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1:37 |
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| from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
Once in Royal David's City
Stood a lonely cattle shed, Where a mother held her baby. You'd do well to remember the things he later said. When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties, You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump. You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making That Christmas spirit is not what you drink. So how can you laugh when your own mother's hungry, And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong? And if I just messed up your thoughtless pleasures, Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song. (Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?) |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
It's a wide world out there
So much wider than imagined I can't quite put my finger on the pulse Of your heart softly beating Just beneath the raw silk sheen That reflects the tints of autumn from the hills. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. Executive accommodation Bland but nonetheless appealing Waiters discretely at your beck and call Place the tall sun-down potion Lightly by your velvet elbow While you compose a message on the wall. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. With your handmade leather valise Packed and ready, ready waiting Showered and dressed down lightly for the heat Gice a clue; leave a kind word Hint as to a destination A domain where our cyber-souls might meet. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
Don't want to be a fat man
People would think that I was just good fun, man Would rather be a thin man I am so glad to go on being one, man Too much to carry around with you No chance of finding a woman, who Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too Don't want to be a fat man Have not the patience to ignore all that Hate to admit to myself I thought my problems came from being fat Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him I've seen the other side to being thin Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure the fat man would win |
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| from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002) | |||||
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| from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002) | |||||
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4:04 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down. He quietly sits under every tree --- in the folds of his velvet gown. He drinks from the empty acorn cup the dew that dawn sweetly bestows. And taps his cane upon the ground --- signals the snowdrops it's time to grow. It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green --- no place to dance, no time for song. He wears the colours of the summer soldier --- carries the green flag all the winter long. Jack, do you never sleep --- does the green still run deep in your heart? Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart? Well, I don't think so --- I saw some grass growing through the pavements today. The rowan, the oak and the holly tree are the charges left for you to groom. Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green. Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night. And we are the berries on the holly tree. Oh, the mistlethrush is coming. Jack, put out the light. |
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3:32 |
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| from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002) | |||||
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5:07 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
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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4:28 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
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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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
As I did walk by Hampstead Fair,
I came upon Mother Goose, So I turned her loose-- She was screaming. And a foreign student said to me Was it really true There are elephants, lions too, Piccadilly Circus? Walked down by the bathing pond To try and catch some sun. Saw at least a hundred school girls Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one. I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy. And a bearded lady said to me If you start your raving And your misbehaving, You'll be sorry. And the chicken fancier came to play With his long red beard, And his sister's weird-- She drives a lorry. Laughed down by the putting green, I popped 'em in their holes. Four and twenty labourers were labouring And digging up their gold. I don't believe they knew That I was Long John Silver. Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds In his jet black mac Which he won't give back-- Stole it from a snowman. As I did walk by Hampstead Fair, I came upon Mother Goose, So I turned her loose-- She was screaming. Walked down by the bathing pond To try and catch some sun. Must have been least a hundred school girls Sobbing into handkerchiefs as one. I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy. |
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0:22 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
My Sunday feeling is coming on over me.
My Sunday feeling is coming on over me, Now that the night is over. Got to clear my head so I can see. Till I get to put together, That old feeling won't let me be. Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night? Won't somebody tell me where I laid my head last night? I really don't remember, But with one more cigarette and I think I might. Till I get to put together, Well that old feeling can't get me right. Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said? Need some assistance, have you listened to what I said? Oh, I don't feel so good. Need someone to help me to my bed. Till I get to put together, That old feeling is in my head. |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
Nothing is easy.
Though time gets you worrying My friend, it's OK. Just take your life easy And stop all that hurrying, Be happy my way. When tension starts mounting And you've lost count Of the pennies you've missed, Just try hard and see why they're not worrying me, They're last on my list. Nothing's easy. Nothing is easy, you'll find That the squeeze won't turn out so bad. Your fingers may freeze, worse things happen at sea, There's good times to be had. So if you're alone and you're down to the bone, Just give us a play. You'll smile in a while and discover That I'll get you happy my way Nothing's easy. |
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4:13 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
They said protect and you'll survive ---
(But our postman didn't call) 8lbs. of over-pressure wave seemed to glue him to the wall They said protect and you'll survive E.M.P. took out the radio --- (And our milk-man didn't call) Flash blinded by the pretty lights, Didn't see his bottles fall Or feel the warm black rain arrive Big friendly cloud builds in the West (And our dust-men haven't called) They left the dual carriageway at a hundred miles an hour --- A tail wind chasing them away And in deep shelters lurk below, sub-regional control Who sympathise but cannot help To mend your body or your soul Self-appointed guadians of the race with egg upon their face When steady sirens sing all-clear they pop up, Find nobody here And so I watch two new suns spin --- (Our paper man doesn't call) Burnt shadow printed on the road --- now there's nothing there at all They said protect and you'll survive |
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5:35 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
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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2:40 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
In the morning -- gonna get my things together.
Packing up and I'm leaving this place. I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be a smile upon your face. I didn't think how much you'd hurt me. That's something that I laugh about. Bring in the good times, baby. And let the bad times out. That old sun keeps on shining, But someday it won't shine for you. In the morning I'll be leaving. I'll leave your mother too. |
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8:20 |
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
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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| from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002) | |||||
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from Jethro Tull - Living With The Past [live] (2002)
Wond'ring aloud --
How we feel today. Last night sipped the sunset -- My hands in her hair. We are our own saviours As we start both our hearts beating life Into each other. Wond'ring aloud -- Will the years treat us well. As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell Of toast as the butter runs. Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed And I shake my head. And it's only the giving That makes you what you are. |
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3:48 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
I see you better now, shaded in deeper blue.
Hardly needing to carry the find-your-way lamp Down to the river. Tonight flies a better moon. Sad water buffalo lie fast near the shallows; A splash revealing the fly-catching fishes. Dark gods silently watching. Tonight flies a better moon. I guess you've known lovers here, compliant in passion; Softly laid in the old reed bed, harshly Lit in the noon sun. Tonight flies a better moon. Now cloaked in this milky light, new as the virgin dawn, Shrouded sweetly in all kinds of mystery, You turn, smile and then are gone. Tonight flies a better moon. |
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3:08 |
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| from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000) | |||||
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3:45 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Pick up my wings and fly
Into a constable sky. Look down on the world and try To make you out on the distant ground. Lonely toy in a lost toy-town. Suspended in spiral sounds--- Sounds of circular breathing. I'm a kite on a silver thread. Daring lightning to strike me dead. Harsh echoes of things you said Banished me to a thinner space With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face. Hands cupped to my ears to place The sound of circular breathing. Matchbox cityscape below---- I watch lowry matchstick figures go. Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence. |
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3:22 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Fires on the mountain, and the dogs bark.
Crash of the ocean swelling: crickets in the dark. The temperature is rising. the village gets no sleep. It's hardly surprising, given the hot company they keep. Somebody's home in the ash-fall margins; Somebody's life in the lost and found. Breaking news from the hotel vue pointe. Sinking feeling, sink another beer down. Hey, jimmy. what you doing here? Looking up at the high cloud cover, so far and yet so near. Flying in with the chopper. lieutenant of the crown. Tell the boys from that cnn, the good cops have come to town. Angry island, no-one's listening. shamrock villa, green to grey. Down in the swamp, iguanas glistening. Toast tomorrow, if not, today. Hey, jimmy. what you doing here? You a scientist? you a newsman? or simply come to feel the fear? The temperature is rising. and we're in too deep. There really is no point in disguising the hot company we keep. |
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3:22 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Night close in on a shanty town.
Panama freighter wearing rusty brown. She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound. Head up on a lumpy sea. I'm not the only lonely planet rider In this one horse town, I'm thinking. And I won't over-rate or patronize you. I know we're as different as chalk and cheese; As black hole winters and salad days And I wouldn't like your mother much anyway. But it's not her I'm taking home with me. Don't intend to dress you in silver threads Like some trophy in sublime seclusion. Won't try to educate or civilize you. Night close in on a shanty town. Panama freighter wearing rusty brown. She sails tomorrow and she's homeward bound And you're bound to come home with me. On the panama freighter with me. |
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5:07 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
My eyes are white circles above cheekbones on fire:
Pale hand gripping my pen. Rounding up to the zero, adding infinite fractions, Letting nine become ten. Two pink doves strut the shingles Picking crumbs from the breakfast I saved For you dear. and I wish you were here On this postcard day. Focus on the fine indeterminate line Where the sky meets the sea. Desperate midweek words, banal and absurd Freely flow out of me. Well, I may be a hostage to summer But I'm a hostage, not a slave. And I'm clear that I wish you were here On this postcard day. Precious cargo of flotsam: mixed memories on an ocean tide Swim madly with spice from the orient On a mystery watery carpet ride. But with the sun going down, the wind goes around; Blows them back out of mind. My eyes are white circles staring down past the point Of my restless pen. While the ghosts of my youth all sworn to the truth Call my name again. Two brown legs don't make a summer. But two brown arms couldn't keep me away. Well, my dear, I wish you were here On this postcard day. |
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4:41 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery.
Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods Along the way. Good angels brought her back to a last nepal summer. Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her. Now she's cosied up, cosied up and comforted In the warm flush of september. Gone before winter. Wondering as to might-have-beens. Somebody's daughter in sanctuary, waiting. Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away, From time-warp victorian zoos Where staring ice cream gameboys play. Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails. More damaged goods in the market sales. Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity. Gone before winter. Purring might-have-beens. Somebody's kitten in sanctuary, waiting. Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting. |
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1:29 |
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| from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000) | |||||
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4:02 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Cool in the corner, tom cat sitting
on the edge of the yard; sand-flies flitting. Orange order on a field of green. Smothers me to smithereens. Rum and cola, ice cubes crashing. Jumping beans and brown eyes flashing. Long hair swinging, tell me how d'you feel? Well, hot and fancy, it's the habanero reel. Troubled skin? Pour oil upon it. She's fit to burn in her new Scotch Bonnet. Spice up anybody's stew. Frogs and goats and chickens too. Barefoot in the sunshine. Kicking empty beer cans down on the high tide line. Big wave nearly float your dress away. And I'm thinking that it's just another day: just another day. Feel that hot rush start its tickle. Sweat is rising, taste buds prickle with ears of bat and eye of eagle. It's just as well it's strictly legal. |
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3:54 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
In all my lives, I never knew anyone like you before.
Woke up one day, swore I heard the sound of heaven knocking on my door. And after all these years long passing, Time to reflect, no time for wasting. Walking down the jasmine corridor. Reflecting echoes of quiet laughter. In all my life, I was never better served than I was served by you. And in my way, hope you agree I tried to serve you too. Out on the headland I stepped once unsteady. You there to catch me , I breathe more freely. Hand in mine down the jasmine corridor. Through all my life, I chased flitting illusions at a faster pace. Never stopped to think: the moment was for seizing, had myself to face. You made my bed to lie in, stately. Mad cats, grandchildren, here more often lately. The final view from the jasmine corridor. |
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3:38 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Down at the church the flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart.
I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart. Painted sister stopped beside. a word upon her saintly lip. Perhaps admonishing the child inside the open slip. I don't know where she might go when she runs home at night. It's for the best: I wouldn't rest when I turned out the light. No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream---- Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine. I have touched that face a dozen times before. and I have let my pencil run. Laid down washes on a foreign shore, under a hot and foreign sun. My best sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm. Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm. I close the door. she is no more until the next appointed hour. Northeastern light push back the night: painted promises in store. No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream---- Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine. Down at the church my flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart. I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart. My golden sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm. Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm. I mean no harm. I mean |
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4:19 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
This sparkling wine is all but empty.
Too late for trains and no taxis. I know the feeling. seems all too contrived. There was no master plan but the fact is: You must stay with me and learn the secret language of birds. A tentative dawn about to be breaking On a rousseau garden with monkeys in hiding. The truth of the matter, yet to be spoken In words on which everything, everything's riding. Now stay with me and learn the secret language of birds. Circled by swallows In a world for the weary. Courted by warblers; wicked and eloquent trilling. Lie in the stillness, window cracked open. Extended moments, hours for the taking. Careless hair on the pillow, a bold brushstroke. Painted verse with a chorus in waiting. Stay with me and learn the secret language of birds. |
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3:07 |
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| from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000) | |||||
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3:14 |
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| from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000) | |||||
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2:57 |
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from Ian Anderson - The Secret Language Of Birds (2000)
Crystal fountain springing from the hill.
It irrigates your soul. you may drink your fill. Water of life, carried high. One hand upon the gallon jar. feel her fix my eye. Every good traveller's for the taking. All good money for the making. Seller's market: wet appeal. Water carrier------let's make the deal. Covered face and black pool eyes. Between us, no words spoken: no words to the wise. Here's to another time and a drink somewhere. Plush on a nain carpet; on a cafe chair. |
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9:37 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play. Walk dusty miles. And I ride that train on a first class ticket, just to be with you again. Picking up tired feet. Back from a far horizon. Cleaned up and brushed down. Dressed to look the part. Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses: To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart. Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone - Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone. But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin. Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in. |
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5:21 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Stormy-eyed on the edge of dawn:
Nose pressed against the triple glaze. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, Silent traffic streams both ways. Along the fussy freeway drivers Dream of sunday barbecues. Of a sudden, seems I can barely Face my self: no face to lose. Call the bosses. call supervisors. Won't be in today to work for you. E-mail that girl who's working nights. She can dress down for this wind and rain. Leave her new korean compact: Let some cabbie take the strain. Take a shower. take big espresso. Take to the hills, and take a view. Little black dress stretching over Hard crystal peaks: soft valleys too. Call the bosses. call for nurses. Unfit today to work for you. No wet excuses. absent without leave. I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer. Stormy-eyed on the edge of night: (december, eastern time: late afternoon.) Atlantic city tight behind. Trump casina calls pontoon. Gristle-burger, frazzled fries End this romantic interlude. Tomorrow morning's sweet awakening Could hardly prove to be as rude. Make the journey. make amends. Work some hasty overtime in lieu. No wet excuses. absent without leave. I'll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer. |
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4:54 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.
It's a sensitive passage she's sailing - Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings. She rises before me, reading me clearly. Empty nest left pressed in the pillow. She can shift, she can sway and bend like a willow. I'm swept in the riptide, caught in a fish trap. Gift-wrapped in my soft self centre. Summer sun leaves me as one who can only taste winter. She's a good, a good God-send: she can bend like a willow. With a fully armed angel to cover me quickly. I'm cool under enemy fire. If I fall, she can crawl right under the wire. When I'm caustic and cold, she might dare to be bold - ease me round to her warm way of thinking: fill me up from the cup of love that she's drinking. And I find, given time. I can bend like a willow. She bends like a willow. |
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4:59 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Hand in the snake pit - black mamba chase.
Head through the lion's cage - head on a plate. Two feet on the hot coals - last dance at the ball. Blindfold on the tightrope - whenever you call. Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me. Dark thoughts of the sleepless - hung out to dry. Slip through the bedclothes - unblinking eye. Long tongue flickering - fixed stare grip. Sweet venomous potion, held to my lip. Be my slippery slider, Black Mamba crawl over me. A tropical whisper. A sibilant kiss. Soft strike teasing. Dangerous bliss. |
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4:27 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
It's a wide world out there
So much wider than imagined I can't quite put my finger on the pulse Of your heart softly beating Just beneath the raw silk sheen That reflects the tints of autumn from the hills. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. Executive accommodation Bland but nonetheless appealing Waiters discretely at your beck and call Place the tall sun-down potion Lightly by your velvet elbow While you compose a message on the wall. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. With your handmade leather valise Packed and ready, ready waiting Showered and dressed down lightly for the heat Gice a clue; leave a kind word Hint as to a destination A domain where our cyber-souls might meet. So punch my name. And in case you wonder - I'll be yours - yours, dot com. |
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4:44 |
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| from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999) | |||||
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4:09 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Placing people in their dreamscape
with fantasies of foreign fields Lofty spires all well appointed In off-season special deals. To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call A part of me might travel with you in a freebie bucket seat for one Business First - at last, forever Hopeless thoughts of flying fun Now get me out of here I cry in air rage psycho-doom I'm only dream-arranging from the safety of my room Pick a place or stick a pin in any corner of the sphere Post me cards and tell me nicely Say you wish that I was here To far Alaska: down to Rio in the Carnival Norwegian fjords in the ever-light of Solstice call |
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3:52 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Hot mango flush.
Ladies with ice cream hair - Gyroscopic pink neon beams - Everybody's happy about something. The crowd moves like a flock of startlings: they switch direction as one. Jive on the jukebox - Jack and Joker split the night air with whoop and holler. Faint aroma - wood smoke, old fish, diesel harbour, roadside mongrel, painted man with buttons barely holding, bursting belly bulging. Doe-eyed ragamuffin mumbling - Scolded for some vague infraction. Stole a penny candy-coloured sweetheart kiss down at the market. Down at the market all the world seems to simmer: Hot mango flush. |
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4:03 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Hey little buddies:
soft and silky night walkers. Dangerous species - Tiptoe menace long grass stalkers on my bed: no butter melting in your jaws. Bonding monster - Lethal weapon wearing claws. Let's go out to hunt by numbers. Tabby, spotted, black as coal - Serval, Margy, Caracal. Moggie in the moonlight listens: whiskered sensory miracle. Felis, befriend us - Egyptian Mau - Freya's familiar. Long in the future - Cloned disciples, the castle guard. Now, let's go out and hunt by numbers. |
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1:16 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Hot Mango Flush
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0:57 |
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| from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999) | |||||
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3:53 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Kilometers from nowhere on a scented avenue -
Lined with poppy girls. I didn't stop, stop to say hello. Curious vendors - waving bric-a-brac - Looked me over - Thought it best, best that I should go. Don't wake me: I'm falling. Slow spiral into morning. Who's out there? Can't hear you. Ears covered - early warning. Alarm bells ringing. Time to make my peace with the dreary day. I waited atbles - I was tipped in roubles. Wine to water Was the best that I could do. Wild office parties split the silence. Loaves and fishes at an empty table laid for two. Down the spiral, spinning madly. Gathering momentum On a disneyesque adventure ride. I fly in colours from richer palettes. Famous artists running scared as worlds collide. |
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3:35 |
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from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999)
Rusted and ropy.
Dog-eared old copy. Vintage and classic, or just plain Jurassic: all words to describe me. Relaxed in the knowledge that happily present are all things to sustain me, nurture and claim me: roll back the mileage. You have settled beside me. To the far and the wide of me. A matter of choosing, of finding and losing on the rough ride with me. Take whisky with water, kick stones down the gutter. Think back to long days with stale breath recycled in my face. Rattling through airways - plastic on cold trays. Watching through windows, deep landscapes below await another time and space. There must come some time to walk through the night line. Hands tight: heads high. These are the dog-ear years. Don't turn back. Don't linger. For God's sake keep moving. Primitive shadows sidle beside. |
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4:43 |
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| from Jethro Tull - J-Tull Dot Com (1999) | |||||
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6:24 |
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from Jethro Tull - Roots To Branches (1995)
Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again. And my feet are tired and my brain is numb. See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come. Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head. Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead. A book of matches and a full ashtray. Cigarette left smoking its life away. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain. But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain. And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee. You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair. He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes. And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air. He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news. You want to hear some great news? Harry's still here. Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain. Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again. And my feet are tired and my brain is numb. See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. Another Harry's bar. And another Harry's bar. And another, and another Harry's bar. |
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7:56 |
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| from Jethro Tull - Roots To Branches (1995) | |||||
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5:50 |
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from Jethro Tull - Roots To Branches (1995)
Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay. Cities like this have no shame, no shame; indeed, why should they? Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing. I'm beside myself. Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him? I'm beside myself. Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry? I'm beside myself. I saw you taking money in the shadows -- in the shadows by the station there. I'll wish you up a silver train to carry you to school, bring you home again. Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on. I'm beside myself. Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms, babe in arms-looks through me. Behind forgotten charms, forgotten charms to soothe me. Between the guilt and charity -- I feel the wimp inside of me. I'm beside myself. Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing. I'm beside myself. I'm so proud of you -- Swimming up from the deep blue. Which one of me do you run to? I'm beside myself. Small child messing down, messing down. in the streets of Bombay. Cities like this have no shame, have no shame; indeed, why should they? Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing. I'm beside myself. |
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