Из альбома: Bursting Out
Really don't mind if you sit this one out
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT
I may make you feel but I can't make you think
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick
And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in
the tidal destruction
the moral melee
The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers
the newfangled way
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
your suntan does rapidly peel and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick
And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song
See there! A son is born -- and we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night
We'll
make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him
to play Monopoly and
to sing in the rain
The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword
And the youngest of the family is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside
The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need
The young men of the household have
all gone into service and
are not to be expected for a year
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword
And the oldest of the family is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run
What do you do when
the old man's gone -- do you want to be him? And
your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam
LATER
I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late
Your bread and water's going cold
Your hair is too short and neat
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me
You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone -- you meet the stares
You're unaware that your doings aren't done
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers and
your downy little sidies and
your silver-buckle shoes
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules
So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super crooks
and show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament Won't you?
Join your local government
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day
You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars
And you wonder who to call on
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual
LATER
See there! A man born -- and we pronounce him fit for peace
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease
We'll
take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest
QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave Oh, Mac
LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen
Saying -- how's your granny and
good old Ernie: he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win
The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled
in the seagull's call
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn
Light the sun
Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day! The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night -- and fully pregnant with the day,
wise men endorse the poet's sight
Do you believe in the day? Do you? Believe in the day!
Let me tell you the tales of your life of
your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red -- while the fool
toasts his god in the sky
So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus
Mark the precise nature of your fear
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with
the blood of the fools and
the thoughts of the wise and
from the pan under your bed
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along
So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus
Mark the precise nature of your fear
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near
Would you be
the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear
So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super-crooks and
show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament
Won't you? Join your local government
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual
OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick