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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
There was something in the conversation,
ancient languages were breaking through; I was falling for infatuation ? how about you? You say it's nothing special, that's just the way it is... you hit me where I live. Though I drink the cup it leaves me thirsting ? what on earth am I supposed to do? When I try to speak I find my bursting heart full of you. You say it's only natural, you say forget and forgive... you hit me where I live. I was once the man who felt no passion; I was nothing till I fell for you. You're a duelist in your own fashion, eyes that run me through. You say that it's a mixed blessing, but I should take the gift you give... you hit me where I live. |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
There was something in the conversation,
ancient languages were breaking through; I was falling for infatuation ? how about you? You say it's nothing special, that's just the way it is... you hit me where I live. Though I drink the cup it leaves me thirsting ? what on earth am I supposed to do? When I try to speak I find my bursting heart full of you. You say it's only natural, you say forget and forgive... you hit me where I live. I was once the man who felt no passion; I was nothing till I fell for you. You're a duelist in your own fashion, eyes that run me through. You say that it's a mixed blessing, but I should take the gift you give... you hit me where I live. |
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from Peter Hammill - Skin (2007)
There was something in the conversation,
ancient languages were breaking through; I was falling for infatuation ? how about you? You say it's nothing special, that's just the way it is... you hit me where I live. Though I drink the cup it leaves me thirsting ? what on earth am I supposed to do? When I try to speak I find my bursting heart full of you. You say it's only natural, you say forget and forgive... you hit me where I live. I was once the man who felt no passion; I was nothing till I fell for you. You're a duelist in your own fashion, eyes that run me through. You say that it's a mixed blessing, but I should take the gift you give... you hit me where I live. |
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5:19 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
Willie, what can I say to you to hold true in
Your changing life? You've come into a cruel World : little girls can lose their way in the Growing night -- I hope you'll be alright. Willie, try to stay a child sometime, for as long As you feel you can learn. Babies all turn to People, and people can really be strange : they Change and, changing, bring pain. Try to treat your parents well because they care, And what more can you do? When you find your lovers, be good to them as You hope they'll be to you Be honest, Be true. Willie, you are the future; all our lives, in the end, Are in your hands. Life's hard now you know, It gets harder, and hope is but a single strand; We pass it on and hope you'll understand.... We know that we do it wrong, we're not so strong And not so sure at all; groping in our blindness, We may seem big now but, really, we're so small And alone and searching for a home in the night. Meanwhile you're still a baby; you'll be a lady Soon enough and then you will feel the burn. So hold my words : people all turn to children, Spiteful children, and they're really so cruel... cruel fools! Just follow your own rules - Don't think that I'm silly, Willie, If I say I hope that there is hope for you. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007)
Willie, what can I say to you to hold true in
Your changing life? You've come into a cruel World : little girls can lose their way in the Growing night -- I hope you'll be alright. Willie, try to stay a child sometime, for as long As you feel you can learn. Babies all turn to People, and people can really be strange : they Change and, changing, bring pain. Try to treat your parents well because they care, And what more can you do? When you find your lovers, be good to them as You hope they'll be to you Be honest, Be true. Willie, you are the future; all our lives, in the end, Are in your hands. Life's hard now you know, It gets harder, and hope is but a single strand; We pass it on and hope you'll understand.... We know that we do it wrong, we're not so strong And not so sure at all; groping in our blindness, We may seem big now but, really, we're so small And alone and searching for a home in the night. Meanwhile you're still a baby; you'll be a lady Soon enough and then you will feel the burn. So hold my words : people all turn to children, Spiteful children, and they're really so cruel... cruel fools! Just follow your own rules - Don't think that I'm silly, Willie, If I say I hope that there is hope for you. |
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from Peter Hammill - Chameleon In The Shadow Of The Night (2007)
What's it worth to be safe?
What's the way to be sane? I can throw myself at the garden on my hands, prune the lawn and mow the roses, but I never understand how to go to be free; in the end I only want to be me. Winter days here are mine; still, no bites...what's my line? I could hurl myself to the bonfire with all verve, clear the path and weed the dead leaves, but I really just don't have the nerve to be part of that scene... is this just some kind of strange dream? Think I'll walk to the steeple, where the people are so inquisitive. I could make it to the corner store and buy a hoard of derivatives now. Which way now...climb or coast? Will my eggs ever poach? I could throw myself in the frying pan for my name; hit the road or smile hermetically, but it's really never quite the same: every time a subtle twist. I think I'll grab my plot and simply exist. Or would that be a subtle slash at my wrists? |
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from Peter Hammill - Sitting Targets (2007)
A pretty pass in the rear-view mirror,
it's coming on the overtake... I've got to stop panicking, got to stay cool, got to learn to live with my mistakes. Overdue debt to the taxman, I tried to have and eat my cake. I think I must have been crazy in retrospect; all the lines run together but they just don't seem to connect. I think I must have been crazy to do all the things I did... try to keep the pot on a gentle simmer, but something blows off the lid. I want to update my memory, I want to rewrite my past... Ooh, now I found out: no chance. I think I must have been crazy (Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy, yeah) to do the stuff I did. I think I must have been crazy, crazy, crazy. (Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy, yeah) to do the stuff I did. I think I must have been crazy, crazy, crazy... I think I must have been crazy but that's the price we pay ? every lucky throw of the dice will come back to us one of these days. I want to update my memory, I want to rewrite my past, I don't like what it's telling me, it all floods back so fast; I guess I was my own worst enemy, now I've come to a pretty pass. A pretty pass, a pretty pass, there's nothing pretty in the past. I think I must have been crazy (Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy, yeah) to do the stuff I did. I think I must have been crazy, crazy, crazy... Crazy to do what I did. |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
Here's the modern political man, for sure he's nobody's fool,
believes in media coverage as a promotional tool. Trust in him because he's got the right face; just in case you harbour doubt here is a slogan to tout. He's such a principled man, all heart, ruled by his brain: You've seen the TV commercials, you've seen the poster campaign, you've seen the ads in the papers, there's nothing else to explain. Just some words to maximise the market, just a message that will reach the target, promises that turn to dust. He is a man you can trust. This is a man of the people in politics now. Politics now, it's just like selling soap powder, no money down ? you lucky punters ? full guarantee, five year's trial free! He is a man you can trust. By dint of market research he knows which truths he should tell; he's got the mark of conviction, it serves the agency well; yes, he's on course for election in politics now. Trust the propagandists' manifesto, trust the politician with the promo, trust the ads to buy your vote. Vote for brand x, it's just like selling soap powder, whatever next? You lucky punters, full guarantee... Whatever next? Show trials by decree... The show trials are free, the show trials come free, vote for brand x. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Love Songs (2003)
I have a vision of you, locked inside my head;
it creeps upon my mind, and warms me in my bed... A vision shimering, shifting moving in false firelight; a vision of a vision, protecting me from fear at night, as the seasons roll on, and my love stays strong. I don't know where you end, and where it is that I begin. You simply open my mind, and the memories flood on in. I remember waking up, with you arms around me; I remember losing myself and finding that you'd found me, as the seasons roll on, and my love stays strong. Be my child, be my lover, swallow me up in your fire-glow. Take my tongue, take my torment, take my hand and don't let go. Let me live in your life, for you make it all seem to matter; Let me die in your arms, so the vision may never shatter... The seasons roll on; my love stays strong. |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
I have a vision of you, locked inside my head;
it creeps upon my mind, and warms me in my bed... A vision shimering, shifting moving in false firelight; a vision of a vision, protecting me from fear at night, as the seasons roll on, and my love stays strong. I don't know where you end, and where it is that I begin. You simply open my mind, and the memories flood on in. I remember waking up, with you arms around me; I remember losing myself and finding that you'd found me, as the seasons roll on, and my love stays strong. Be my child, be my lover, swallow me up in your fire-glow. Take my tongue, take my torment, take my hand and don't let go. Let me live in your life, for you make it all seem to matter; Let me die in your arms, so the vision may never shatter... The seasons roll on; my love stays strong. |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
Looking out forward over the prow of our long ship,
pulling our oars and listening to the foam; helmets and sheepskins salt-damp in the sea-mist: We're going home. Aslak of Langadale, Einar Thorgeirsson, Olaf the White and Sigurd the Powerful... Looking for constellations above the horizon, West wind cutting sharper than our blades; smiling forever into an endless sunrise, we're flying on the waves. Thorfin Karlsefny, Aud the Deep-Minded, Snorri Thorbrandsson, Thorstein the Black.... Out of dark Vinland, with grey waves racing before us - We want no rest. Back to the homeland, Iceland, sleeping in winter - back from the West. Five years we roam; now we're going home ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By PETER HAMMILL Lyrics © WINDSWEPT HOLDINGS LLC, CARLIN AMERICA INC, R & M MUSIC PRODUCTIONS INC |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
No thanks for the memory, no thanks at all,
no way we can wipe the slate or contrive escape from the names we're called. No thanks for the memory, here it comes again, this life running on the spot, though we hide a lot with our cover names. We can no more change the past than shed our skins. But we keep on thinking that we might go someplace where not a soul knows what has gone before, with such headfuls of self-accusation that we don't even know our own names anymore. No thanks for the memory, no thanks. Call them by a different name and turn about ? we can no more change our spots than wash them out. No thanks for the memory, locked in the frame. No way we can change the pattern of things that happened under cover names. And we keep on skirting round the true confession, with fresh identities and best-laid plans; And we keep on working to outreach the shadow, but the shadow will outrun the man. With such headfuls of self-accusation, that no pseudonyms can hide our shame, lost in a jungle of our own creation, lost in a labyrinth of cover names... We can no more change the past than live again. We can no more shed our skins than know our real names. Nobody knows our real name, nobody knows their real name, we hide under cover names... No thanks for the memory. |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
spoken by Hugh Banton: "Oh, why didn't you say, more Stevie Wonder?"
"Sod the music," said the man in the suit, "I understand profit and without that, it's no use. Why don't you go away and write commercial songs; come back in three years, that shouldn't be too long…" He's a joker and an acrobat, a record exec. in a Mayfair flat with Altec speakers wall to wall, a Radford and a Revox and through it all he plays strictly nowhere Muzak. "Hey, listen, baby, this band's got a lot of soul… if we can beat that out of them I see a disc of gold! Give them an image, maybe glitter, maybe sex, maybe outrage, maybe elegance ? how about as nervous wrecks?" Signs up the product at two percent, justified by vinyl shortage and the increased rent on the yacht he has to hire to make his pitch at Midem and all the press receptions for his business friends who spill their Taittinger upon the floor while the band sip English lager just outside the door. Treble, alto, bass clefs on the page, crotchets, quavers, minims all the rage but you'll never find a pound note in the score ? it's there when it's strictly merchandise, through all the propagated lies about what the whole thing's for. He'll make you a star, he'll make you so famous that all you desire is to be left nameless, drained of all you felt you had to offer at the start. He knows what eats your heart. That's too bad. Not without blame, either, are the gentlemen of the press: you can talk about the state of music, they will write about your dress. Play them the new album, they will say it's great (or not) ? when the articles come out, they're all about how many dogs you've got. God to keep the human interest high, and the hacks are only too willing to comply, pander to the ego, build up frail men as gods ? but somewhere in the process, the prime purpose is forgotten. Now I bet you thought that was a hard line to sing but I've done it anyway, it's my thing! Groupies offer their bodies, the hangers-on their coke; it's all very jolly ? what a joke! Fellini creatures cluster round the dressing-room, the heavenly bodies all got to have their moons. In the cult of the superman the music plays a supporting role and far more important is the shape of his nose, the size of his codpiece and the cut of his clothes… soul and feeling always take second place to the bump and grind of a Fender bass. Frankly, most musicians bore me ? but not as much as those who chase the glory to bask in reflected light, making the man much more important than his arpeggios and mordants, when it's the other way that's right. On the values by which this world makes its heroes then the best violinist ever was Nero, because he had the most Press and his fire gimmick was simply the best. We got the live thing too, the Human Zoo: Ten thousand arms are raised, just like the Hitler Youth ? might think you were at Nuremberg, if it weren't for all the groovers. Ten thousand peace signs mark the entry of the sax. Ten thousand peace signs, but they're different from the back. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006)
He could have been so great, he could have had it all,
he had it on a plate, but he threw it at the wall. And he can't know why, but he still said "yes" to the easy lie and the poisoned vest... the trappings of success. They offered him the deal (Here's the contract) just like an autograph (sign on the line) no need to think or feel (advances are abstract) or do anything but laugh (the future defined.) He's in possession, yes he's possessed; they had no fear, he was so impressed by the trappings of success. You'll see him down the clubs or at the premiere (it's just another movie, it's just another act) strumming in a pub, everywhere that's anywhere (he's a man of the people, just as long as the people don't talk back) on the Rio shore or the Rome express with a Chinese whore or a Greek princess ? these are the trappings of success. But he's got no home and he's got no friends and the human mass repel him. Now he's on his own and can't comprehend did he sell out or was he celled in? (He's a prisoner in a gilded cage. He's a prisoner... he's all the rage.) He's waiting for his plane and his first-class seat; they've blown out his brains with sticky kiddies' sweets; oh, the limo, the coke, the celebrity guest-list, the toady jokes and the gutter press... the trappings of success, these are the trappings of success. And there's no way out of this one. The trappings of success, The trappings of success, the trap of fame; (in) the trap... big game. |
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from Peter Hammill - And Close As This (2007)
So many years ago, I thought you were the one ?
who knows when people change, surrender into strangeness, adrift upon their lives, encompassed by the past? Who knows which one becomes the last goodbye? Don't try to tell me nothing dies. Don't try to tell me nothing's changed, don't try to tell me nothing's new, too many of my yesterdays belong to you. I shelved my broken heart, I put you from my mind, I got up from my knees, I picked up all my pieces, but seeing you again puts shakes into my soul. Just when I think I'm finally over you, don't come and show me that's not true. Tell me about it, talk to me ? I hear it coming, I feel it coming, the way you want this thing to be. You're only trading on our memories don't go and say you still love me. You're trading on my memories, you're trading in a rosy past; you know I'm lost on stormy seas... but I still stand before the mast, beneath the stars and under sail towards horizons out of true... Behind the dance of seven veils I still see you... Tell me about it, have your way; I see it coming, I hear it coming, I know what you're about to say. You've had too many of my yesterdays, and I don't want to fall again. Don't try to tell me nothing's changed, don't try to tell me nothing's new, too many of my yesterdays are lost in you. |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
Time to burn, we could talk all the problems through...
Are the promises still unbroken, do the spoken words still ring true? Oh, and where are you? Time to burn, wakes and weddings, celestial choirs, and while one hand shakes on the bargain see the other stoke the suttee pyre; so we're all on fire, burning for tomorrow. So much time wish- and hoping, soon the future will come with a bridal wreath for the wedding in the hands of the prodigal son. So much left undone, here we are with time to burn. So much time wishful thinking, all the whitest of lies with the prodigal caught at the border and the order of service awry. No time for goodbyes, will we ever start to learn? Time to burn, wakes and weddings become confused, all the faces over-familiar in the whirlwind of deja-vu... Oh, but where are you? Time to burn, all our lifelines are gathered round with a speech from the back of a postcard all the memories free in one bound. Free, and gone to ground, free, and gone forever. Free, and gone to ground, so I will remember so much lost and found. Here we are with time to burn. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Peel Sessions (2004)
Time to burn, we could talk all the problems through...
Are the promises still unbroken, do the spoken words still ring true? Oh, and where are you? Time to burn, wakes and weddings, celestial choirs, and while one hand shakes on the bargain see the other stoke the suttee pyre; so we're all on fire, burning for tomorrow. So much time wish- and hoping, soon the future will come with a bridal wreath for the wedding in the hands of the prodigal son. So much left undone, here we are with time to burn. So much time wishful thinking, all the whitest of lies with the prodigal caught at the border and the order of service awry. No time for goodbyes, will we ever start to learn? Time to burn, wakes and weddings become confused, all the faces over-familiar in the whirlwind of deja-vu... Oh, but where are you? Time to burn, all our lifelines are gathered round with a speech from the back of a postcard all the memories free in one bound. Free, and gone to ground, free, and gone forever. Free, and gone to ground, so I will remember so much lost and found. Here we are with time to burn. |
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from Peter Hammill - Over (2006)
Thinking back, it seems that I
can lie beside you as I never truly did, in afterglow - no afterwords at all. Only writing love songs when it's gone and dead; only paying words out in strings of half-forgotten sentiments... I mean... I meant... I never really quite could say the way it was. The first time that we met I said 'I bet that she's the one', but I was talking to myself then, as always. As time went by our steps entwined, unwritten lines drew taut and I tried to find a way to make it all safe.... Into the play - what a production! - into the days and ever more suction: you hold me close, but hold me farther away from yourself - I make me a martyr, for pain and love go hand in hand.... And hand in hand go you and my friend, you are his and I am yours and just cannot evade you; my days a dream, my nights unseemly, stolen moments all I live for, but theft is no way to persuade you to come with me, leave him behind you; my hurtful eyes try to remind you it's all I can do to keep from screaming 'I love you, I love you!' - I wish I was dreaming, but the steps we take all leave footprints.... Sooner or later the whole thing will be blown: you will leave him or I'll be left here, alone. Either way someone loses someone but I won't mind that, I just would quite like to know who we love the most - well, I guess that's ourselves. The days are strange, at night we're strangers, lie in bed and lie inside our heads, we come no closer than as dancers. Your eyes are change, your presence danger, won't look me in the face and yet you kiss and make up the answer to all the questions that fly unanswered, unreasoned - death in the sky, death in the season. If you leave me now, it might nearly kill me.... Remember me? Remember we three? It all seemed so important at the time, we came so close to wrecking all our lives, and now it's all just song lines. Time heals, time heals - oh, but I still bear the weals. Thinking back, it seems that I can lie beside you as I never truly did, in afterglow - no afterwords at all. Only writing love songs when it's gone and dead, only paying words out: streams of half-forgotten sentiments... I mean... I meant... I never really quite could say the way it was. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Peel Sessions (2004)
Time for a change:
I felt bad, things looked strange. Home, home on the range... yes, it's time for a change. "Well, young man, when you grow up what do you want to be?" "Please, sir, if that's alright I'd really rather like to learn how to be me." Switch on the light, getting late, almost night. A shilling puts you right, you can switch off the night. The world was looking stretched and tight, it's an overblown balloon. I've got the feeling something big has got to happen soon. Oh, time for a change, out of reach, out of range. Go and tell Doctor Strange that it's time for a change. Time for a change, time for a change. |
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from Peter Hammill - Over (2006)
The stars in the heavens still shine
up above me: how lovely they'd seem if you were with me but you're gone through the looking-glass and I am left to pass these nights alone. I'm lost, I'm dumb, I'm blind, I am drunk with sadness, sunk by madness, the wave overwhelms me, the mirror repels me, the echo of your laugh drifts through the looking-glass and I am alone. No friendship, no comfort, no future, no home, the past lingers with me: you're all the love I've ever known and without you I'm nothing but empty and silent, reflecting on all that I've lost. I let you slip away so soon. Can you hear me? This is my song: I am dying; you are gone. These words are not enough to save my soul, they just mock me from the mirror. I'm cold and I'm yearning, I've told you I'm burning, my eyes can't stand the light... like a stray dog in the night I'll shuffle off alone. We all make our futures but I have lost mine; I'm hoping for a miracle but finding no sign.... The stars in their constellations, each one just sadly flickers and falls... without you they mean nothing at all. |
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from Peter Hammill - Over (2006)
The stars in the heavens still shine
up above me: how lovely they'd seem if you were with me but you're gone through the looking-glass and I am left to pass these nights alone. I'm lost, I'm dumb, I'm blind, I am drunk with sadness, sunk by madness, the wave overwhelms me, the mirror repels me, the echo of your laugh drifts through the looking-glass and I am alone. No friendship, no comfort, no future, no home, the past lingers with me: you're all the love I've ever known and without you I'm nothing but empty and silent, reflecting on all that I've lost. I let you slip away so soon. Can you hear me? This is my song: I am dying; you are gone. These words are not enough to save my soul, they just mock me from the mirror. I'm cold and I'm yearning, I've told you I'm burning, my eyes can't stand the light... like a stray dog in the night I'll shuffle off alone. We all make our futures but I have lost mine; I'm hoping for a miracle but finding no sign.... The stars in their constellations, each one just sadly flickers and falls... without you they mean nothing at all. |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
Away from the past, this chance is the last,
we are changing completely, we are moving the feast, we are motion. I've seen you become the bride of the sun, you surrender so sweetly, sacrificing yourself to devotion. This book is ended and I put it down, this book is ended and I put it down, I'm saved, I'm saving for the future. This book is ended and I put it down, find I'm befriended in a foreign town, I'm saved, I'm sailing for the future. But only yesterday night I stood in the pouring rain, shouting at the thunder: I said "Lord, I'm starting to understand the hidden mystery." Lord, the compass falls in my hand, I can sail to the far horizon... Could you conceive a mirror where you could never see yourself? Away from the past, the iconoclasts, we are changing completely, we are breaking the mould, we are rapture. I've seen you astride the wind and the tide, my dark angel, you greet me with a samurai sword, close the chapter... This book is ended and I put it down, find I'm befriended in a foreign town, I'm here, but I'm nearer to the future. But only yesterday night I stood in the pouring rain, shouting at the thunder: I said "Lord, I'm starting to understand the hidden mystery." Lord, the compass falls in my hand, I can sail to the far horizon... This book is ended and I put down, find I'm befriended in a foreign town, this book is ended and I put it down. |
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from Peter Hammill - A Black Box (2003)
Such distance to the tips of the fingers,
The ganglion loom jerks inside; The body grows steadily stranger But the spirit won't be denied. That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball, The limbs pump in overdrive; The body grows seemingly weaker But the s Pirit won't be denied. Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead As the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes; The body becomes a constant traitor But the spirit won't be denied. And they call that living a normal live, But normality's not standardized. Though the body gets ever more root-bound The spirit won't be denied Yes, the spirit survives. ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By HAMMILL, PETER <i>Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing</i> |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
Such distance to the tips of the fingers,
The ganglion loom jerks inside; The body grows steadily stranger But the spirit won't be denied. That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball, The limbs pump in overdrive; The body grows seemingly weaker But the s Pirit won't be denied. Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead As the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes; The body becomes a constant traitor But the spirit won't be denied. And they call that living a normal live, But normality's not standardized. Though the body gets ever more root-bound The spirit won't be denied Yes, the spirit survives. ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By HAMMILL, PETER <i>Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing</i> |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Such distance to the tips of the fingers,
The ganglion loom jerks inside; The body grows steadily stranger But the spirit won't be denied. That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball, The limbs pump in overdrive; The body grows seemingly weaker But the s Pirit won't be denied. Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead As the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes; The body becomes a constant traitor But the spirit won't be denied. And they call that living a normal live, But normality's not standardized. Though the body gets ever more root-bound The spirit won't be denied Yes, the spirit survives. ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By HAMMILL, PETER <i>Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing</i> |
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from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006)
See the old man acting like a fool,
yeah, he's running from the ambulance. When he was a youngster he broke all the rules ? now he says that was just accident. Always had the feeling he was going to die young, so now he feels repentant; but the judge was progressive and the jury was hung, he got a suspended sentence. So he ran from his future, he ran from his past, yes, he ran from the desert of the hour-glass but the sea of time is a rising flood and he's swamped by the wave. His arms go limp by his side, he only came for the ride, he thought he'd hold back the tide, Canute. One eye on the main chance and one eye on the clock, oh, when did his brain go? And when does a veteran get to be a crock... no gold at the end of this rainbow! He always boxed clever with his shadowy hopes but now he's in trouble with his back on the ropes and the hands of time are bunched into fists: yeah, he's out for the Count. The sword has sunk in the lake and now he's watching dawn break and now he waits for the stake, Dracul. This boy's a fool, this fool's a man, all men are ruled by the Second Hand. |
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| from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988) | |||||
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| from Peter Hammill - The Peel Sessions (2004) | |||||
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| from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006) | |||||
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| from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006) | |||||
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| from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007) | |||||
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| from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007) | |||||
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3:32 |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
It was the first day of July;
no wind breathed in the sky when a pin-striped suit saw that the Institute of Mental Health was burning. He stood upon the corner where the sun was warmer... looking across the street, he moved the shackles on his feet as the Institute was burning. Flames were roaring, singing like a thunderstorm; smoke was pouring straight up to the sky; windows smashing, Gothic doors and lintels fall; timbers crashing and we both know why. Nobody else came by to stare; you see, they didn't really care. Can't call the fire brigade - none of them had been paid and so the Institute was burning. Throughout the city, people say it isn't pretty, everyone agrees, and everyone feels glad; doctored brains celebrate and everyone waves their chains... It's a pity they're all mad. The Institute of Mental Health spontaneously killed itself. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust: my chains began to rust as the Institute was burning, burning, burning. (Chris Judge Smith) |
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from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006)
Here we are, static in the latter half
of the twentieth century but it might as well be the Middle Ages, there'll have to be some changes but how they'll come about foxes me. I want the future now, I want to hold it in my hands; all men equal and unbowed, I want the Promised Land. But that doesn't seem to get any closer, and Moses has had his day... the tablets of law are an advertising poster, civilisation here to stay and this is progress? You must be joking! Me, I'm looking for any kind of hope. I want the future now, I want to see it on the screen, I want to break the bounds that make our lives so mean. Oh, blind, blinded, blinding hatred of race, sex, religion, colour, country and creed, these scream from the pages of everything I read. You just bring me oppression and torture, apartheid, corruption and plague; you just bring me the rape of the planet and joke world rights at the Hague. Oh, someday the Millennium! But how far is someday away? I want the future now I'm young, and it's my right. I want a reason to be proud. I want to see the light. I want the future now, I want to see it on the screen, I want to break the bounds: make life worth more than dreams. Yeah, wake up the planet! |
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| from Peter Hammill - The Peel Sessions (2004) | |||||
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from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006)
Everything out of order
everything too well produced from the conjuror's hat ? let's turn on the juice to grind the cutting plane, the blade that gives an edge, to scale the mountain; to fail upon the mountain ledge. Half-way up is half-way peaking, the stroboscope locks the lathe; I look around for a switch in phase... the disco boom stands firm, the eight-track's in, the rage licks the present, quickly flips the future page. Check the deck: no marked cards, no sequentialled straight or flush... the dice won't still the blood-line rush. Run the star-flood night, the cut-throat blade is stropped; race your shadow... race in case your shadow stops. Everything so out of order no bias on the playback head; papers for the border ? all the tape is read, the future burns my tongue, the noise-gates all are shut, breathe the vacuum, believe there's reason in the cut. Incipient white noise, the stylus barely tracks, the air controllers feed the stereo sonic smack. |
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from Peter Hammill - In Camera (1997)
They say we are endowed with Free Will -
at least that justifies our need for indecision. But between our insticts and the lust to kill we bow our heads in submission. They say that no man is an island but then they say our castles are our homes; it's felt the choice is ours, between peace and violence... oh, yes, we choose, alone? While the comet spreads its tail across the sky it nowhere near defines the course it flies, nor does it find its own direction. Though the path of the comet be sure, its constitution is not so its meaning is possibly more than the tracing of a tail in one brief shot at glory. Love and peace and individuality, so order and society are man-made? War and hate and dark depravity, or are we slaves? Channeling aggressive energies, the Death Wish and the Will to survive, into finding and preserving enemies, is that the only way we know that we're alive? In the slaughterhouse all corpses smell the same, whether queens or pawns or innocents at the game; in the cemetery a uniform cloaks the graves except for outward pomp and circumstance. There is a time set in the calendar when all reason seems barely enough to sustain all the shooting stars: times are rough. I'm waiting for something to happen here, it feels as though it's long overdue... maybe a restatement of yesteryear or something entirely new. And the knowledge that we gain in part always leads us closer to the very start, and to the founding questions: How can I tell that the road signed to hell doesn't lead up to heaven? What can I say when, in some obscure way, I am my own direction? |
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3:40 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Love Songs (2003)
In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness
And when everyone winds me up I just can't wind down And the April rain soaks my jokes to a pulp The sun makes my eyes burn And it must be my turn To fly with the birds this time Saturday's nation is rife with anticipation Of the ticket that buys you out of the real world But I don't mind the rain 'Cause I was born on an aeroplane Balloon ride over landslides It's April, I'm 18 And flying with the birds in a dream Make an electric connection as lightning strikes Angels' wings not once but twice Point blank refusal, the earth moves I turn her head Plant life gone wild over British monuments Something is burning Somebody's learning To fly with the birds tonight Solomon flies tonight Cape to coast, wings in full flight He's flying home with the birds tonight In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness And I just can't wind down |
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3:38 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness
And when everyone winds me up I just can't wind down And the April rain soaks my jokes to a pulp The sun makes my eyes burn And it must be my turn To fly with the birds this time Saturday's nation is rife with anticipation Of the ticket that buys you out of the real world But I don't mind the rain 'Cause I was born on an aeroplane Balloon ride over landslides It's April, I'm 18 And flying with the birds in a dream Make an electric connection as lightning strikes Angels' wings not once but twice Point blank refusal, the earth moves I turn her head Plant life gone wild over British monuments Something is burning Somebody's learning To fly with the birds tonight Solomon flies tonight Cape to coast, wings in full flight He's flying home with the birds tonight In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness And I just can't wind down |
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3:35 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness
And when everyone winds me up I just can't wind down And the April rain soaks my jokes to a pulp The sun makes my eyes burn And it must be my turn To fly with the birds this time Saturday's nation is rife with anticipation Of the ticket that buys you out of the real world But I don't mind the rain 'Cause I was born on an aeroplane Balloon ride over landslides It's April, I'm 18 And flying with the birds in a dream Make an electric connection as lightning strikes Angels' wings not once but twice Point blank refusal, the earth moves I turn her head Plant life gone wild over British monuments Something is burning Somebody's learning To fly with the birds tonight Solomon flies tonight Cape to coast, wings in full flight He's flying home with the birds tonight In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness And I just can't wind down |
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3:18 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness
And when everyone winds me up I just can't wind down And the April rain soaks my jokes to a pulp The sun makes my eyes burn And it must be my turn To fly with the birds this time Saturday's nation is rife with anticipation Of the ticket that buys you out of the real world But I don't mind the rain 'Cause I was born on an aeroplane Balloon ride over landslides It's April, I'm 18 And flying with the birds in a dream Make an electric connection as lightning strikes Angels' wings not once but twice Point blank refusal, the earth moves I turn her head Plant life gone wild over British monuments Something is burning Somebody's learning To fly with the birds tonight Solomon flies tonight Cape to coast, wings in full flight He's flying home with the birds tonight In a moment of weakness I embodied the sickness And I just can't wind down |
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from Peter Hammill - In Camera (1997)
When I was a child they made me read
Word-daggers of quiver and squirm Now in the stumbling dark I see I am A worm silently fruiting your garden My sister my child night casts ominous Meanings on the purity of my soul I feel devilish leanings I'm beginning To lose control and the vortex sucks Me in steeped in sin I die but am Reborn I want to see the cosmos slip planets And moons collide feel gravity lose Its grip it's all inside all the dead Husks are shattered my life-blood my World ripped apart in the laughter of Space it's all chaff blown out and lost Now I am making the pace although I Don't know what tape I'll cross maybe Catastrophe when I cross the line I Know that I will find myself or maybe You I am a man from the country of destruction I am a man a woman and a god I am my own weapon of kamikaze And will one day cut through the Hidden knot Feed me honey and watch me rise to the Bait lying on the knife if you let me I Can hypnotize your life it's all really So simple my lover my twin hand in hand Sprinting down the highway running over The edge on and on into our doomsday There is no saving ledge nor outgrown Shrub is this the way out in a blaze of Glory some day I'll find the answer Some day I'll end the story |
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4:20 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
When I was a child they made me read
Word-daggers of quiver and squirm Now in the stumbling dark I see I am A worm silently fruiting your garden My sister my child night casts ominous Meanings on the purity of my soul I feel devilish leanings I'm beginning To lose control and the vortex sucks Me in steeped in sin I die but am Reborn I want to see the cosmos slip planets And moons collide feel gravity lose Its grip it's all inside all the dead Husks are shattered my life-blood my World ripped apart in the laughter of Space it's all chaff blown out and lost Now I am making the pace although I Don't know what tape I'll cross maybe Catastrophe when I cross the line I Know that I will find myself or maybe You I am a man from the country of destruction I am a man a woman and a god I am my own weapon of kamikaze And will one day cut through the Hidden knot Feed me honey and watch me rise to the Bait lying on the knife if you let me I Can hypnotize your life it's all really So simple my lover my twin hand in hand Sprinting down the highway running over The edge on and on into our doomsday There is no saving ledge nor outgrown Shrub is this the way out in a blaze of Glory some day I'll find the answer Some day I'll end the story |
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3:58 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Oh, suddenly things begin to come clear in my mind
as I look into the land laid bare by your eyes; E-S/M attractions are working behind my thought, I can't help my feelings, the way that my emotions are over-wrought. Refrain: Good morn ing, sunshine! You're all around my head, Good morning, sunshine! I'm ready to be led. Good morning, sunshine! You know how sad it makes me to see you unhappy so smile, spread sunshine all around.... How sweet it would be to be chained by your side; how sweet if you would strip my worried mind. Your blonde/brown hair hangs down on you, how I wish that it hung on me, there's something in your allure, that makes me know I'll never again be free. Refrain I'd like to run on the clouds of my liberty, but for you I'd get hooked and float six inches mud-free. The sight of your smile just makes me want to jump and clap; the fact that you may be owed to someone else can't entirely tight your trap. |
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3:54 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
Oh, suddenly things begin to come clear in my mind
as I look into the land laid bare by your eyes; E-S/M attractions are working behind my thought, I can't help my feelings, the way that my emotions are over-wrought. Refrain: Good morn ing, sunshine! You're all around my head, Good morning, sunshine! I'm ready to be led. Good morning, sunshine! You know how sad it makes me to see you unhappy so smile, spread sunshine all around.... How sweet it would be to be chained by your side; how sweet if you would strip my worried mind. Your blonde/brown hair hangs down on you, how I wish that it hung on me, there's something in your allure, that makes me know I'll never again be free. Refrain I'd like to run on the clouds of my liberty, but for you I'd get hooked and float six inches mud-free. The sight of your smile just makes me want to jump and clap; the fact that you may be owed to someone else can't entirely tight your trap. |
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3:50 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
Oh, suddenly things begin to come clear in my mind
as I look into the land laid bare by your eyes; E-S/M attractions are working behind my thought, I can't help my feelings, the way that my emotions are over-wrought. Refrain: Good morn ing, sunshine! You're all around my head, Good morning, sunshine! I'm ready to be led. Good morning, sunshine! You know how sad it makes me to see you unhappy so smile, spread sunshine all around.... How sweet it would be to be chained by your side; how sweet if you would strip my worried mind. Your blonde/brown hair hangs down on you, how I wish that it hung on me, there's something in your allure, that makes me know I'll never again be free. Refrain I'd like to run on the clouds of my liberty, but for you I'd get hooked and float six inches mud-free. The sight of your smile just makes me want to jump and clap; the fact that you may be owed to someone else can't entirely tight your trap. |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
To the city beat on a treacherous curve,
up upon the high wire you're observed ? you live as you live, you'll get what you deserve: High life, dig those highlights, Sun City nightlife: you'll be like a moth consumed by a flame. It's a rich man's world, kick those beggars and fools; conspicuous consumption the only rule, but the law of retribution will be terribly cruel. Oh, but you mustn't stop to think about your place upon the planet; if you did, you might steal yourself away and it doesn't really matter if the show goes up tomorrow. After all, this petty place is day to day. Highlights of the highlife, dancing at midnight, dancing all moral existence away. Nightlife, highlights, highlife, twilight... Oh, you mustn't ever think about your place upon the planet, don't look further than the bottom of a drink, don't ever think about the way you'll feel tomorrow, don't stop dancing or the boat will sink... all in all it's gone before you blink. Highlights of the high life, Sun City nightlife, you'll be like a moth consumed by flame... Twilight of the high life, chimes at midnight... you're still dancing all moral existence away. (A motor-bike in Afrika, he's riding the white line oblivious of snakes stretched out across the way like trip-wire... He's dancing. Biko, Biko Biko, Biko...) |
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2:46 |
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2:14 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
Summer song in the autumn, for you didn't catch
the colour of the falling leaves. So many words have been spoken which you didn't understand and so couldn't believe. And the song that you're humming is yesterday's tune - Someone who you love is leaving you. You walking in sunshine by the sea with gull crying overhead; but now the skies are cloudy, and the love you had is dead. And the water recedes from the farthest dunes - Someone who you loved is leaving you. You remember the happiness you had as you laughed along in the sun but now your eyes are coming dull, there's a numbness on your tongue.... You look out at the water which is calling you over the wind, then you throw aside your handbag and slowly walk right in. And tomorrow you'll be in yesterday's news: someone who you loved has left you ------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By PETER HAMMILL Lyrics © WINDSWEPT HOLDINGS LLC, CARLIN AMERICA INC, R & M MUSIC PRODUCTIONS INC |
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4:53 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
Stranger still in another town,
How normal to sit out the dance, Eating the good meal by myself, Toasting the empty glass; And they're already setting out The next place, Already forgetting about the last. No, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No danger in a normal life, Better steady down the adrenalin pump. Excess refraction in the mirror Only leads to the quantum jump Oh, but it leaves me in limbo; How strange, what a stranger I become. No, no, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, I know how to behave In the restaurant now, I don't tear at the meat with my hands; If I've become a man of the world somehow That's not necessarily to say I'm a worldly man. Keep on shuffling the menu And the order never comes on time. No, there's only diffraction patterns, No reading between the lines; Only the rate of emission, And reason allows no rime. Nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, nothing could be less strange... Entropy... ... A stranger, a worldly man. |
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4:54 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Stranger still in another town,
How normal to sit out the dance, Eating the good meal by myself, Toasting the empty glass; And they're already setting out The next place, Already forgetting about the last. No, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No danger in a normal life, Better steady down the adrenalin pump. Excess refraction in the mirror Only leads to the quantum jump Oh, but it leaves me in limbo; How strange, what a stranger I become. No, no, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, I know how to behave In the restaurant now, I don't tear at the meat with my hands; If I've become a man of the world somehow That's not necessarily to say I'm a worldly man. Keep on shuffling the menu And the order never comes on time. No, there's only diffraction patterns, No reading between the lines; Only the rate of emission, And reason allows no rime. Nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, nothing could be less strange... Entropy... ... A stranger, a worldly man. |
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from Peter Hammill - Sitting Targets (2007)
Stranger still in another town,
How normal to sit out the dance, Eating the good meal by myself, Toasting the empty glass; And they're already setting out The next place, Already forgetting about the last. No, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No danger in a normal life, Better steady down the adrenalin pump. Excess refraction in the mirror Only leads to the quantum jump Oh, but it leaves me in limbo; How strange, what a stranger I become. No, no, nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, I know how to behave In the restaurant now, I don't tear at the meat with my hands; If I've become a man of the world somehow That's not necessarily to say I'm a worldly man. Keep on shuffling the menu And the order never comes on time. No, there's only diffraction patterns, No reading between the lines; Only the rate of emission, And reason allows no rime. Nothing could be less strange In entropy No change, no change, no change. No, nothing could be less strange... Entropy... ... A stranger, a worldly man. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Future Now (2006)
Oh, brighter than a thousand suns,
the march towards the stars on the wheel, on the car, off the plane, off the planet and on in the search. Yes, we pray in the dark in the Sciences' church. Upon the tree of knowledge the fruit is bitter-sweet; to the man in the street all its myriad benefits Science confers but we're still in the dark, much as we always were. Run your mind down the Sciences; none of them lay claim to show more than a part but still we shout out what we know... the silence is enough to break the mortal heart. So bow down in adoration to the wonder that is man; we have learned all we can, we explore every frontier that straddles our way but we're still in the dark, though we now call it day. No, there is no answer, there is no eternal proof, there is no timeless truth; though we learn to encompass yet more with the eye we are still in the dark when it comes to the why. We are still in the dark, bedded down and so we still lie. |
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4:54 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
Silently I rest in the tall green grassand look steadily upwards.Birds sing ceaselessly around me,and the blue of the sky surrounds me strangely.Out here, life is at its essence,and watches the world with innocent eyes;far from grime, far from rushing people it seems that I have found a tiny peace.On the blue backdrop of the unknownwater droplets trace their paths;on the sky, mortals hang on metal -but who is to know how long either will last?The lovely white clouds glideacross the sky and into my dreams...I feel as though I had died some time ago:now I'll wander with the clouds through eternal space.
------------- Lyrics Powered by LyricFind Written By PETER HAMMILL Lyrics © WINDSWEPT HOLDINGS LLC, CARLIN AMERICA INC, R & M MUSIC PRODUCTIONS INC |
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from Peter Hammill - In A Foreion Town (1988)
The jokes are everywhere,
the secret deal's complete ? Money talks, some good advice, the politicians run like clockwork mice, all fits the masterplan. A database on the telephone and cable sunshine floods your home ? so, times are good? Fat cats get fatter day by day, those who sit it out will make their way, so things can't be that bad. Ooh, a smile has set upon this land, ooh, a selfish grin of ignorance; Ooh, you simply have to play the game. The joke's on us: this is more and more ridiculous. Everything's great, objectivity taboo; self-satisfaction pumping up minor achievements to cover up all the failures and mistakes and if you don't smile along you're a public enemy, you don't belong... The black lists are in the mail. There isn't any room for doubt, we'll all be equal when we share it out but outsiders will get nothing. Ooh, a smile has set upon this land, ooh, a rictus grin of ignorance; Ooh, you simply have to play the game. The joke's on us: this is more and more ridiculous. |
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from Peter Hammill - Chameleon In The Shadow Of The Night (2007)
I saw your picture in the Evening Standard,
you were wearing your battle dress. I really must confess that I shed a silent smile for you-- it had really blown my mind. I wonder, are you still so kind? Are you still so pure? There are other rhymes around here somewhere, but I'm not too sure how they fit.... Jenny, penny for your thoughts, I wonder how you're thinking now; I hesitate to visualise; our worlds are much too different, that's a sign of the times. Time was when I read your cards and wrote the numbers in the dust; I can't remember what they were but, anyhow, I missed the cusp. So, so long, and so, goodbye. Do you think I'd recognise you by your hair or by your mind now? We start out together but the paths all divide; when there are no more crossroads I open my eyes and find I'm walking on alone through the snowy cold.... I wonder if I'll make it through the night? I'm an author and an actor too; you're a model in the zoo... I'm just thinking on which side of the bars I'm looking through. If I prophesied an avalanche would you wait and call my bluff? If I gave you just a little song would that be enough to save your life or is the knife already turning in my hand? |
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4:43 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
Sleep now:
another day in your young lives is done, go to sleep now. Tomorrow brave new worlds will surely come, and trouble deep; you're such a wonder, such a mystery to me. Somewhere your future friends are lying as you are and your lovers right now are only crying babes in arms oh, the world turns under our feet, our lives are passing by in our sleep. So soon you'll be gone to that wide world ? the tunes of adulthood calling little girls. Remember, whatever else in life you find to doubt, do remember, although you hear him mostly in a shout, your father loves you as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now. So soon you'll be gone to that wide world. One tune of childhood I sing my little girls... Sleep now, one day I'll tell you how my life has been. Oh, so strange to think your eyes will fall on things that mine have never seen, these eyes that gently flicker in some lost childhood dream. Sleep now, safe and warm in the haven of your bed, go to sleep now... Although you won't remember what I've said, your father loves you as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now, as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now. |
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from Peter Hammill - And Close As This (2007)
Sleep now:
another day in your young lives is done, go to sleep now. Tomorrow brave new worlds will surely come, and trouble deep; you're such a wonder, such a mystery to me. Somewhere your future friends are lying as you are and your lovers right now are only crying babes in arms oh, the world turns under our feet, our lives are passing by in our sleep. So soon you'll be gone to that wide world ? the tunes of adulthood calling little girls. Remember, whatever else in life you find to doubt, do remember, although you hear him mostly in a shout, your father loves you as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now. So soon you'll be gone to that wide world. One tune of childhood I sing my little girls... Sleep now, one day I'll tell you how my life has been. Oh, so strange to think your eyes will fall on things that mine have never seen, these eyes that gently flicker in some lost childhood dream. Sleep now, safe and warm in the haven of your bed, go to sleep now... Although you won't remember what I've said, your father loves you as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now, as though he never knew the meaning of the words until just now. |
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4:10 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
There's a shiver down the spine of the body map...
how come everything gets so physical? With your finger on the pulse and your head in the clouds everything's so tactile in your private world, in your little world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Hit that button, no time to lose ? everything's so immediate. You'd have it all right now if you got to choose in your private world, such a tiny world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Is something out to get you under the skin? Full of the promise of paradise? Paradise now? Everything gets so physical, everything's so immediate in your private world, such a tiny world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Does something get to you under the skin? |
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from Peter Hammill - Skin (2007)
There's a shiver down the spine of the body map...
how come everything gets so physical? With your finger on the pulse and your head in the clouds everything's so tactile in your private world, in your little world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Hit that button, no time to lose ? everything's so immediate. You'd have it all right now if you got to choose in your private world, such a tiny world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Is something out to get you under the skin? Full of the promise of paradise? Paradise now? Everything gets so physical, everything's so immediate in your private world, such a tiny world. Under the skin you search for paradise, under the skin some kind of parasite remains concealed. Under the skin a true identity, a memory will soon be revealed, under the skin. Does something get to you under the skin? |
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5:20 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
We can talk about it in the car;
We can talk about it with the drive. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead, (Don't forget what we said about) Staying alive. If we'd been stuck just a few hours more I'd have cracked up, I'd say. No you never can tell when it's coming; It's so hard getting out of the way; To be sitting targets is surely No better than running away... Sitting targets in the car I'll be thinking about it; Not so far, no so far to drive. Ooh, this time we made our getaway, We'd been stalling for too long. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead While I try to forget what's been going wrong (What's been going on...) You'd better check up on the CB, See what Tail - End Charlie say - "Oh you never can tell how it's going, No you never can see how it's been, But to stay sitting targets is surely No better than living a dream." Sitting targets in the car I've been thinking it over, It's not so far, not so far to drive. In the car... We can talk about it in the car, Surely we can talk about it some other time. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead - I don't seem to be able to use mine And I'm losing control of my body And I'm running scared... Oh, we're left with a black-and-white movie, A positional state of affairs, An obsessional interest in moving Just to prove that we're there, Sitting targets in the car. I'll be thinking about it, not so far to drive Sitting targets in the car, I've been thinking it over, it's Not so far, not so far, Not too far to drive. |
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5:20 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
We can talk about it in the car;
We can talk about it with the drive. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead, (Don't forget what we said about) Staying alive. If we'd been stuck just a few hours more I'd have cracked up, I'd say. No you never can tell when it's coming; It's so hard getting out of the way; To be sitting targets is surely No better than running away... Sitting targets in the car I'll be thinking about it; Not so far, no so far to drive. Ooh, this time we made our getaway, We'd been stalling for too long. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead While I try to forget what's been going wrong (What's been going on...) You'd better check up on the CB, See what Tail - End Charlie say - "Oh you never can tell how it's going, No you never can see how it's been, But to stay sitting targets is surely No better than living a dream." Sitting targets in the car I've been thinking it over, It's not so far, not so far to drive. In the car... We can talk about it in the car, Surely we can talk about it some other time. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead - I don't seem to be able to use mine And I'm losing control of my body And I'm running scared... Oh, we're left with a black-and-white movie, A positional state of affairs, An obsessional interest in moving Just to prove that we're there, Sitting targets in the car. I'll be thinking about it, not so far to drive Sitting targets in the car, I've been thinking it over, it's Not so far, not so far, Not too far to drive. |
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from Peter Hammill - Sitting Targets (2007)
We can talk about it in the car;
We can talk about it with the drive. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead, (Don't forget what we said about) Staying alive. If we'd been stuck just a few hours more I'd have cracked up, I'd say. No you never can tell when it's coming; It's so hard getting out of the way; To be sitting targets is surely No better than running away... Sitting targets in the car I'll be thinking about it; Not so far, no so far to drive. Ooh, this time we made our getaway, We'd been stalling for too long. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead While I try to forget what's been going wrong (What's been going on...) You'd better check up on the CB, See what Tail - End Charlie say - "Oh you never can tell how it's going, No you never can see how it's been, But to stay sitting targets is surely No better than living a dream." Sitting targets in the car I've been thinking it over, It's not so far, not so far to drive. In the car... We can talk about it in the car, Surely we can talk about it some other time. Keep your eyes on the road up ahead - I don't seem to be able to use mine And I'm losing control of my body And I'm running scared... Oh, we're left with a black-and-white movie, A positional state of affairs, An obsessional interest in moving Just to prove that we're there, Sitting targets in the car. I'll be thinking about it, not so far to drive Sitting targets in the car, I've been thinking it over, it's Not so far, not so far, Not too far to drive. |
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from Peter Hammill - And Close As This (2007)
You lay your plans, I take them as they come,
I understand: we dance to different drums. It's not in any schoolbook, you're here to teach a lesson to us all... we play by different rule-books. What you say, what you do, they're such different things, which is true? Now the telephone rings, Mephistopheles calling... Forty pieces for each lie you've told I hope your linings as they all unfold are silver. Once we were friends in our idealist days, still, let's pretend, it's funny in a way that now our friendship's token you like to say I owe you everything ? some debts remain unspoken. Double talk, double standards, you speak with two tongues, truth's abandoned, all life has become one-way traffic to lucre. You take your meetings on the cloth of gold, just down the river from the lives you've sold for silver. The silver crossed your palm, oh, can you see the future? I hope you'll know when you sold your soul. Argente, argent. All the things you've done will carry their own taint and a day will come when you chorus the complaint that your friends don't do you fairly; the back you turned, the shoulders that you shrugged now fit the blame quite squarely. What you want, what you need, your emotional greed all-consuming but no hearts will bleed and the coffers are empty. Yes, in the end you'd give it all away, but on the sockets of your eyes they lay the silver. |
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3:45 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Wrong drink to order.
Suspicion grows, Wrong situation... Oh, no-one knows where you've gone to In the pagan night And the neon reflections Spread cadmium white. You came here looking for something But this wasn't it, quite. Hey, take a Polaroid, exit, And well you might. Sign the picture, get out of the frame; Sign the picture, and throw it away. Sign the picture, sign the picture, Throw the picture away. Now she turns her attention And her camera on you: This could be all of the moments That you'll ever live through, Oh, but your heart beats the rhythm Of primeval tattoo... I hear you make your excuses As you usually do. Sign the picture, get out of the frame; Sign the picture, and throw it away; Sign the picture, sign the picture, Throw the picture away... Although it's going to come back. You've got a certain knack Of making of such things Auspicious signs. |
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from Peter Hammill - Sitting Targets (2007)
Wrong drink to order.
Suspicion grows, Wrong situation... Oh, no-one knows where you've gone to In the pagan night And the neon reflections Spread cadmium white. You came here looking for something But this wasn't it, quite. Hey, take a Polaroid, exit, And well you might. Sign the picture, get out of the frame; Sign the picture, and throw it away. Sign the picture, sign the picture, Throw the picture away. Now she turns her attention And her camera on you: This could be all of the moments That you'll ever live through, Oh, but your heart beats the rhythm Of primeval tattoo... I hear you make your excuses As you usually do. Sign the picture, get out of the frame; Sign the picture, and throw it away; Sign the picture, sign the picture, Throw the picture away... Although it's going to come back. You've got a certain knack Of making of such things Auspicious signs. |
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4:14 |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
You can see in the 1st light that's graced as dawn
That there's nothing in my heart but pain As I stand, facing sea, knowing that you're gone All the elements rage to explain That I should really be on my way, But there is something Which ensures I must stay Beneath the roar of the seething surf, Beneath the caterwaul of scattered call wind Thoughts and gestures unspoken, unheard And now the dance of rapture begins As the waves rush along across the beach Like you, like your love Forever out of reach Look at the sky, but it's empty now; Look at the sea, it holds nothing but despair I raise my eyes, but my head stays bower... I look to my side, but you're not there And I can't get you out of my mind, No, no, no, no, I just can't get you from my mind |
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4:14 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
You can see in the 1st light that's graced as dawn
That there's nothing in my heart but pain As I stand, facing sea, knowing that you're gone All the elements rage to explain That I should really be on my way, But there is something Which ensures I must stay Beneath the roar of the seething surf, Beneath the caterwaul of scattered call wind Thoughts and gestures unspoken, unheard And now the dance of rapture begins As the waves rush along across the beach Like you, like your love Forever out of reach Look at the sky, but it's empty now; Look at the sea, it holds nothing but despair I raise my eyes, but my head stays bower... I look to my side, but you're not there And I can't get you out of my mind, No, no, no, no, I just can't get you from my mind |
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4:15 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
Turn a card, turn a page,
the action sure to start, second-stage reaction to illogical thoughts on random lines ? in a Borges dream we move toward the writing of lives. Leave it out, leave it in, no edits ? with a shout, with a grin I said it was a certainty that I'd arrive in an Escher sketch we walk around the drawing of lines. The character uncertainty as he contemplates his lot and tries to move with urgency though he's rooted to the spot. On the brink, on the edge, but lately what I think, what I said escapes me in a flash, a tiger burning bright ? does the visionary trance obscure the burgeoning night? And she said "What are you doing?" And he said "What do you think?" Oh, no, what on earth are we doing? The characters procrastinate on the threshold of the door; there's something here that fascinates, though the meaning's still unsure and the plot so thick. Is it some kind of history? Sketch the thumbnail to the quick. Oh, even though it's full of contradiction, though it's flawed in the design this is no fiction, it's a lifeline. Here we are, there we went, full circle, shooting stars, heaven-sent, turned turtle on the beach our shells are left behind life a library, like a memory of our ghost-written lives. |
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4:15 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Turn a card, turn a page,
the action sure to start, second-stage reaction to illogical thoughts on random lines ? in a Borges dream we move toward the writing of lives. Leave it out, leave it in, no edits ? with a shout, with a grin I said it was a certainty that I'd arrive in an Escher sketch we walk around the drawing of lines. The character uncertainty as he contemplates his lot and tries to move with urgency though he's rooted to the spot. On the brink, on the edge, but lately what I think, what I said escapes me in a flash, a tiger burning bright ? does the visionary trance obscure the burgeoning night? And she said "What are you doing?" And he said "What do you think?" Oh, no, what on earth are we doing? The characters procrastinate on the threshold of the door; there's something here that fascinates, though the meaning's still unsure and the plot so thick. Is it some kind of history? Sketch the thumbnail to the quick. Oh, even though it's full of contradiction, though it's flawed in the design this is no fiction, it's a lifeline. Here we are, there we went, full circle, shooting stars, heaven-sent, turned turtle on the beach our shells are left behind life a library, like a memory of our ghost-written lives. |
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from Peter Hammill - Skin (2007)
Turn a card, turn a page,
the action sure to start, second-stage reaction to illogical thoughts on random lines ? in a Borges dream we move toward the writing of lives. Leave it out, leave it in, no edits ? with a shout, with a grin I said it was a certainty that I'd arrive in an Escher sketch we walk around the drawing of lines. The character uncertainty as he contemplates his lot and tries to move with urgency though he's rooted to the spot. On the brink, on the edge, but lately what I think, what I said escapes me in a flash, a tiger burning bright ? does the visionary trance obscure the burgeoning night? And she said "What are you doing?" And he said "What do you think?" Oh, no, what on earth are we doing? The characters procrastinate on the threshold of the door; there's something here that fascinates, though the meaning's still unsure and the plot so thick. Is it some kind of history? Sketch the thumbnail to the quick. Oh, even though it's full of contradiction, though it's flawed in the design this is no fiction, it's a lifeline. Here we are, there we went, full circle, shooting stars, heaven-sent, turned turtle on the beach our shells are left behind life a library, like a memory of our ghost-written lives. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007)
I lay down beside you:
I am a unicorn, you a virginal maid, and I come in laughing play but, maybe, to be saved. Peer through the backcloth: I am a character in the play. The words I slur are pre-ordained, we know them anyway. Don't change your mind, don't be a fickle friend; don't change your mind, don't pretend to something false. Open the toy-box : You are Pandora, I am the World. If you cross the stream, you never can return; If you stay, you'll surely burn. Don't change your mind, don't come all orchid eyes; don't change your mind, don't disguise the fear you feel, it's real, and you must guard your castle well, for I am the lone wolf and the boar at bay. Grant me your Pax, you know we only live today, and on, and on, and into "So long" It takes so long to drown, it takes so very long to choke on the taste you'd spurned. If you cross the stream you never can return, If you stay you'll surely burn. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007)
I lay down beside you:
I am a unicorn, you a virginal maid, and I come in laughing play but, maybe, to be saved. Peer through the backcloth: I am a character in the play. The words I slur are pre-ordained, we know them anyway. Don't change your mind, don't be a fickle friend; don't change your mind, don't pretend to something false. Open the toy-box : You are Pandora, I am the World. If you cross the stream, you never can return; If you stay, you'll surely burn. Don't change your mind, don't come all orchid eyes; don't change your mind, don't disguise the fear you feel, it's real, and you must guard your castle well, for I am the lone wolf and the boar at bay. Grant me your Pax, you know we only live today, and on, and on, and into "So long" It takes so long to drown, it takes so very long to choke on the taste you'd spurned. If you cross the stream you never can return, If you stay you'll surely burn. |
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from Peter Hammill - Chameleon In The Shadow Of The Night (2007)
Watch for the silent moments, only waiting to be saved.
Wait for the Liemaker; he comes again And sinks his barbs through honesty; Roll him over with all possible speed! Don't let him touch you with the candle of his need Or let him be, hysterically ravaging your grave. You are emotion picture, re-run at single frame. You are the instant playback, no chance to change; Smile and smile, living diary! Roll you over before it's too late: Before you're exposed to the monochrome phase... Which can relate only fear and hate through the haze. I am the automated arrow, homing on the heat of pain; I am the Peacebringer... It is so strange, I feed on grief and grieve through joy. So roll me over and turn aside; Don't let me look into the mirror of your eyes For fear that I May steel the life You gradly gave. |
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from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007)
Once, all the stars in the sky were bright,
now they're red and fading and all the colours we wore, the shades that we bore have moved. And the gold turns to red with no time for changes. Red Shift, all moving away from we. Once, constellations were holy, now darkness pervades all the older ones and in the brunt of implosion, all yesterday's golden now reddened suns and hope is a word with no space for blame in. Red Shift, displaced now in time and relativity, Red Shift, all moving away from we. So here I am, though I might well be with me, I'm falling down deep to the rim of the wheel. Is it sham? Does the world have a meaning? The more that we know , the greater confusion grows: stars are like atoms, and atoms are patterns and probably in the end maybe its all been a dream .... Time locked in negative matter, all theories shatter beneath the weight. Happy is the man who believes that the world is a dream and all reason, fate. And time moves on with no time, the eye moves on with no rhyme, and I'm a song in the depth of the galaxies. Red Shift is taking away my sanity, Red Shift, all moving away from we .... |
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from Peter Hammill - The Silent Corner And The Empty Stage (2007)
Once, all the stars in the sky were bright,
now they're red and fading and all the colours we wore, the shades that we bore have moved. And the gold turns to red with no time for changes. Red Shift, all moving away from we. Once, constellations were holy, now darkness pervades all the older ones and in the brunt of implosion, all yesterday's golden now reddened suns and hope is a word with no space for blame in. Red Shift, displaced now in time and relativity, Red Shift, all moving away from we. So here I am, though I might well be with me, I'm falling down deep to the rim of the wheel. Is it sham? Does the world have a meaning? The more that we know , the greater confusion grows: stars are like atoms, and atoms are patterns and probably in the end maybe its all been a dream .... Time locked in negative matter, all theories shatter beneath the weight. Happy is the man who believes that the world is a dream and all reason, fate. And time moves on with no time, the eye moves on with no rhyme, and I'm a song in the depth of the galaxies. Red Shift is taking away my sanity, Red Shift, all moving away from we .... |
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3:55 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
If you catch me running along by the sea, with bare feet in
the sand, then you'll know I am dreaming my life out in a way you won't understand. I'm slipping right out of your mind, this I know, and I accept the fact lazily, for I must go into the next field, where grass is green and I'll find peace. Let me sleep! Let me dream! Let me be! Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired. Don't push me: I was taught self-expression when I was a child, and so I know the best way to go is slow. Sometimes, when skies are cloud-grey, and trouble's hanging heavy on your mind, I advise you: curl up, slid away and dream your life out, as I am. Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired. Don't push me: I was taught self-expression when I was a child, and so I see the best way to be's asleep. Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired |
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4:33 |
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from Peter Hammill - Fool's Mate (2005)
If you catch me running along by the sea, with bare feet in
the sand, then you'll know I am dreaming my life out in a way you won't understand. I'm slipping right out of your mind, this I know, and I accept the fact lazily, for I must go into the next field, where grass is green and I'll find peace. Let me sleep! Let me dream! Let me be! Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired. Don't push me: I was taught self-expression when I was a child, and so I know the best way to go is slow. Sometimes, when skies are cloud-grey, and trouble's hanging heavy on your mind, I advise you: curl up, slid away and dream your life out, as I am. Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired. Don't push me: I was taught self-expression when I was a child, and so I see the best way to be's asleep. Reawakening isn't easy when you're tired |
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4:46 |
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| from Peter Hammill - Chameleon In The Shadow Of The Night (2007) | |||||
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3:39 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.2 (2003)
Won't hear a sound at Porton Down,
The clear liquids keep their silence, Buried underground at Porton Down The fast form of the final violence. Quite right to be worried about the proliferation Of nuclear bombs and power stations, But there's a deterrent that's going to Unearth us yet... Hurry on round about Porton Down, A quick glimpse of the future warfare Hidden under ground at Porton Down; Far too frightening to utter what you saw there. They got bacteria to drop us where we stand, They got diseases still unknown to man, They got the virus and a microgram's enough To do in a continent. The ultimate madness, Just one shattered test-tube to wipe out the world. It begins with the mustard gas, It proceeds to Hiroshima. The culture moves on - Now it's bacterial, truly insane. Porton Down waits to fever the brain. Won't hear a sound at Porton Down, The clear liquids keep their silence Buried underground at Porton Down, The fast form of the final violence. Hurry on round about Porton Down A quick glimpse of the future warfare, Hidden underground at Porton Down, Far too frightening to say what you saw there. No sound at Porton Down, From Porton Down, After Porton Down. |
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3:39 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
Won't hear a sound at Porton Down,
The clear liquids keep their silence, Buried underground at Porton Down The fast form of the final violence. Quite right to be worried about the proliferation Of nuclear bombs and power stations, But there's a deterrent that's going to Unearth us yet... Hurry on round about Porton Down, A quick glimpse of the future warfare Hidden under ground at Porton Down; Far too frightening to utter what you saw there. They got bacteria to drop us where we stand, They got diseases still unknown to man, They got the virus and a microgram's enough To do in a continent. The ultimate madness, Just one shattered test-tube to wipe out the world. It begins with the mustard gas, It proceeds to Hiroshima. The culture moves on - Now it's bacterial, truly insane. Porton Down waits to fever the brain. Won't hear a sound at Porton Down, The clear liquids keep their silence Buried underground at Porton Down, The fast form of the final violence. Hurry on round about Porton Down A quick glimpse of the future warfare, Hidden underground at Porton Down, Far too frightening to say what you saw there. No sound at Porton Down, From Porton Down, After Porton Down. |
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4:21 |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
The golden dream, the seat of all decorum,
a satellite to match the light of Rome; its silver children chatter in the Forum, the bath-house, and the brothels, and their homes about the latest fashions for their clothes. Across the Tyrrhenian Sea comes drifting a song that none of them have ever known. The golden dream that holds back all the hours for the ladies in their Dionysian rites, blonde heads all garlanded with flowers, wine and love and laughter through the night in constant masque and pageant, constant flight. The ground below them whispers in a murmur of passion which is hotter yet than white. The golden dream, the city of all cities, its towers piercing into azure sky, whose hand is dealt, regardless of all pity, condemned to martyrdom, but not to die. Two lovers look up from their hidden bower. The wine has stood too long and it turns sour. I see the tall and bending of your streets but now they echo only leather tourist feet and waking, ashen, grey-blue blinding death your sudden winding-sheet. |
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5:05 |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
Your father has just left your mother,
Gone off to live with his latest lover: She sits there, just staring. So you get back to your own flat Because the atmosphere in there Is so bad you can't bear it. And the people you were going to America with Just left on the dawn plane Without you, Without you. The people in the downstairs flat Are no longer there now because they left The gas tap on, they're all dead. So you've no-one left to talk to, You just lie there in melancholy, Half-naked on your unmade bed. And the people you were going to Africa with Just left on the Southern Star Without you, Without you. Yes, the haze that's been forming round your window-panes Is now protracted and poisoned And you cannot feel a portion of the world outside. Can you imagine the way you'd feel If all these things had happened to you And the doctor says you're dying? That is the way that I feel now On finding that your love belongs To someone else and not I. My chance of heaven has just blown away Upon a passing cloud and there is nothing that I can do Without you. The people you were going to Have left, gone far away And you're lonely. |
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from Peter Hammill - Skin (2007)
It's not that complicated,
no more than a clench of fist ? she want to paint her heart out, she want to tell it as she sees it is. Authority condemns her, they say to paint's a waste without a base, some bedrock of idea. Painting by numbers doesn't add up, Painting by numbers doesn't add up, it's passionless bed-rest, work-body that's headless, a head that's without heart ? painting by numbers doesn't add up to art. Her constant vows mean nothing, not content alone that sells ? The Market Theory beckons, no-one remembers what the story tells; no-one remembers passion, we just recite the line that art is fine and fashion costly. Painting by numbers doesn't add up; safety in numbers, put your hands up in mute surrender... they'll break her or bend her for the heart on her sleeve. Painting by numbers all the modern world believes. And the whole thing falls apart when the movement's more important than the art; when we're more concerned with what's been thought than said this is the moment when the culture's dead. It's not that complicated, it's simple as can be: she want to paint her heart out, they want a programme for the BBC where academic critics can talk of art that's fine like holy wine ? the Blessed Intellectuals! Painting by numbers, safety in numbers... The poets from Venus assume that they've seen us ? they're quick to depart. Painting by numbers doesn't add up to art. |
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from Peter Hammill - Out Of Water (2002)
This one's authentic,
son of a gun, a soundtrack from China in the universal tongue... The world is our oyster to plunder at will, though the palate is jaded by all but the thrill of fish out of water, life in the raw... without understanding of what life's worth fighting for. Out of universal language some stuff never translates ? the reports come in clusters but for words it's too late... six o'clock entertainment, tears of anguish and rage... in the zoos of the media the spirit of moment is caged. There's only one language the whole world comprehends, there's only one message as the darkness descends... Do you still have a question or do you retract? There's a whole world of difference between the observer and the act. They're playing World Music in Tiananmen Square, they're playing World Music in Tiananmen Square, the whistle of bullets in the air. |
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| from Peter Hammill - And Close As This (2007) | |||||
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3:08 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Love Songs (2003)
That token drag on your cigarette,
That well-known face in the fire, It could be someone you can't forget, Someone you've learnt to admire. And it's strange How the feeling goes; All change - Down the river Ophelia goes. You're treading water, the price is steep, You say you'll cope with it all; You've made some promises you can't keep, You throw yourself against the wall, You throw yourself against the wall. And it's strange... You heard a noise in the firegrate, You look to see who goes there - It's just the stranger, he's come too late And even he's unprepared To find the cupboard so bare And it's strange... Down the river Ophelia goes. |
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3:10 |
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from Peter Hammill - The Calm After The Storm Vol.1 (2003)
That token drag on your cigarette,
That well-known face in the fire, It could be someone you can't forget, Someone you've learnt to admire. And it's strange How the feeling goes; All change - Down the river Ophelia goes. You're treading water, the price is steep, You say you'll cope with it all; You've made some promises you can't keep, You throw yourself against the wall, You throw yourself against the wall. And it's strange... You heard a noise in the firegrate, You look to see who goes there - It's just the stranger, he's come too late And even he's unprepared To find the cupboard so bare And it's strange... Down the river Ophelia goes. |
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3:10 |
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from Peter Hammill - After The Show (2003)
That token drag on your cigarette,
That well-known face in the fire, It could be someone you can't forget, Someone you've learnt to admire. And it's strange How the feeling goes; All change - Down the river Ophelia goes. You're treading water, the price is steep, You say you'll cope with it all; You've made some promises you can't keep, You throw yourself against the wall, You throw yourself against the wall. And it's strange... You heard a noise in the firegrate, You look to see who goes there - It's just the stranger, he's come too late And even he's unprepared To find the cupboard so bare And it's strange... Down the river Ophelia goes. |
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from Peter Hammill - Sitting Targets (2007)
That token drag on your cigarette,
That well-known face in the fire, It could be someone you can't forget, Someone you've learnt to admire. And it's strange How the feeling goes; All change - Down the river Ophelia goes. You're treading water, the price is steep, You say you'll cope with it all; You've made some promises you can't keep, You throw yourself against the wall, You throw yourself against the wall. And it's strange... You heard a noise in the firegrate, You look to see who goes there - It's just the stranger, he's come too late And even he's unprepared To find the cupboard so bare And it's strange... Down the river Ophelia goes. |
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from Peter Hammill - Nadir's Big Chance (2003)
I was sitting in the dance-hall,
but my mind was far away so when the usherette walked over I didn't know quite what to say. I tried to look cool but I knew that I blew it somehow. Her fishnet tights took me quite by surprise... I had to open my eyes. I told her I was dancing but she didn't seem to hear; she asked if I wanted to learn judo, then she threw me out on my ear before I'd even had time to take a bow. I landed on the street, all dishevelled my disguise but I really opened her eyes. So if you're leaning over the balcony or hanging around the floor these are the last of the days of the Locarnos-- there really are no more. And the usherette smiles, but she's not telling all she knows.... But there's time in the end for us all to get wise if we only open our eyes. |
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