Brain-storming habit-forming battle-warning weary Winsome actor spewing spineless chilling lines --- The critics falling over to tell themselves he's boring And really not an awful lot of fun. Well who the hell can he be when he's never had V.D., And he doesn't even sit on toilet seats? Court-jesting, never-resting He must be very cunning To assume an air of dignity And bless us all with his oratory prowess, His lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air. And every night his act's the same And so it must be all a game of chess he's playing "But you're wrong, Steve: you see, it's only solitaire."
What would you like for Christmas --- a new polarity? You're binary, and desperate to deal in high figures that lick us with their hotter flame --- lick each and everyone the same. And March, the mad scientist, rings a new change in ever-dancing colours.
He rings it here and he rings it... but no one stops to see the change of fate and the fate of change that slips into his pocket --- so he locks it all away from view and shares not what he thought you knew. And April is summer-bound, And February's blue. And no one stops to see the colours.
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
And ride with us young bonny lass --- with the angels of the night. Crack wind clatter --- flesh rein bite on an out-size unicorn. Rough-shod winging sky blue flight on a cold wind to Valhalla. And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry above the cold wind to Valhalla. Break fast with the gods. Night angels serve with ice-bound majesty. Frozen flaking fish raw nerve --- in a cup of silver liquid fire. Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve and light the old Valhalla. Come join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens cry above the cold wind to Valhalla. The heroes rest upon the sighs of Thor's trusty hand maidens. Midnight lonely whisper cries, We're getting a bit short on heroes lately. Sword snap fright white pale goodbyes in the desolation of Valhalla. And join with us please --- Valkyrie maidens ride empty-handed on the cold wind to Valhalla.
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool.
So I left there in the morning With their God tucked underneath my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
And I asked this God a question And by way of firm reply He said, “I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays”
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son? When that was just an accident of birth I'd rather look around me, compose a better song 'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me As you lick the boots of death born out of fear
When I was young and they packed me off to school And taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool I left there in the morning With their God under my arm Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school Have all the bishops harmonize these lines
When I was young and they packed me off to school And they taught me how not to play the game I didn't mind if they groomed me for success Or if they said that I was just a fool
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares) Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school And have all the bishops harmonize these lines
I don't believe you You had the whole damn thing all wrong He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays
I'll take you down to that bright city mile, There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain When you join my explosion and play with my games
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
No unconditional surrender: no armistice day Each night I'll die in my contentment and lie by your grave While you bring me water and I give you wine Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine.
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors. Let me live in your country - let me sleep by your shores
The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late, So we're sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait. To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains, But we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same For Queen and Country in the long dying day, And it's been this way for five long years, since we signed our souls away. We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls Make presents to the government so they can have their social whirl With Queen and Country in the long dying day. And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
They build schools and they build factories with the spoils of battles won. And we remain their pretty sailor boys hold our heads up to the gun. Of Queen and Country in the long dying day. And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away. To Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years since we signed our souls away.
Ladies of leisure, With their eyes on the back roads. All looking for strangers, To whom they extend welcomes With a smile and a glimpse of Pink knees and elbows; Of satin and velvet Good ladies, good fortune. Ladies.
They sing of their heroes: Of solitary soldiers Invested in good health And manner most charming. Whose favors are numbered (none the less well intended) By hours in a minute; By those ladies who bless them. Ladies.
In and out of the front door, Ran twelve back-door angels. Their hair was a golden-brown They didn't see me wink my eye. 'Tis said they put we men to sleep With just a whisper, And touch the heads of dying dogs And make them linger. They carry their candles high And they light the dark hours. And sweep all the country clean With pressed and scented wild-flowers.
They grow all their roses red, And paint our skies blue Drop one penny in every second bowl Make half the beggars lose, Why do the faithful have such a will To believe in something?
And call it the name they choose, Having chosen nothing.
Think I'll sit down and invent some fool Some Grand Court Jester. And next time the die is cast, He'll throw a six or two. In and out of the back-door ran One front-door angel, Her hair was a golden-brown She smiled and I think she winked her eye.
Over the mountains, and under the sky Riding dirty gray horses, go you and I. Mating with chance, copulating with mirth The sad-glad paymasters (for what it's worth). The ice-cream castles are refrigerated; The super-marketeers are on parade. There's a golden handshake hanging round your neck, As you light your cigarette on the burning deck. And you balance your world on the tip of your nose Like a Sealion with a ball, at the carnival.
You wear a shiny skin and a funny hat The Almighty Animal Trainer lets it go at that. You bark ever-so-slightly at the Trainer's gun, With you whiskers melting in the noon-day sun. You flip and you flop under the Big White Top Where the long-legged ring-mistress starts and stops. But you know, after all, the act is wearing thin As the crowd grows uneasy and the boos begin. But you balance your world on the tip of your nose You're a Sealion with a ball at the carnival.
Just a trace of pride upon our fixed grins For there is no business like the show we're in. There is no reason, no rhyme, no right To leave the circus 'til we've said good-night. The same performance, in the same old way; It's the same old story to this Passion Play. So we'll shoot the moon, and hope to call the tune And make no pin cushion of this big balloon. Look how we balance the world on the tips of our noses, Like Sealions with a ball at the carnival.
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
War Child, dance the days and nights away Sweet child, how do you do today? When your back's to the wall, And your luck is your all, Then side with whoever you may. Seek that which within lies waiting to begin The fight of your life that is everyday. Dance with the War Child, the War Child Hoorah!
War Child, dance the days and nights away Sweet child, how do you do today? In the heart of your heart, there's the tiniest part Of an urge to live to the death With a sword on your hip and a cry on your lips To strike life in the inner child's breast. Dance with the War Child, the War Child Hoorah!
War Child, dance the days and nights away Sweet child, how do you do today?
I'll see you at the Weighing-In, When your life's sum-total's made And you set your wealth in Godly deeds Against the sins you've laid. And you place your final burden On your hard-pressed next of kin: Send the chamber-pot back down the line To be filled up again.
And the hard-headed miracle worker Who bathes his hands in blood, Will welcome you to the final nod And cover you with mud. And he'll say, "You really should make the deal," As he offers round the hat. "You'd better lick two fingers clean He'll thank you all for that." As you slip on the greasy platform, And you land upon your back, You make a wish and you wipe your nose upon the railway track. While the high-strung locomotive, With furnace burning bright, Lumbers on You wave goodbye And the sparks fade into night.
And as you join the Good Ship Earth, And you mingle with the dust You'd better leave your underpants With someone you can trust. And when the Old Man with the telescope Cuts the final strand You'd better lick two fingers clean, Before you shake his hand.
I'll take you down to that bright city mile There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain When you join my explosion and play with my games, Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
No unconditional surrender, no armistice day Each night I'll die in my contentment and the lie, hide in your grave While you bring me water and I'll give you wine Let me dance in your tea cup and you shall swim in mine
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away
Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors Let me live in your country, let me sleep by your shores
Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away Warchild, dance the days and dance the nights away Warchild, dance the days
