20 YEARS OF JETHRO TULL
I. The Radio Archives And Rare Tracks
I said they call it Stormy Monday
But I said [...]
I said they call it Stormy Monday
[...]
Wednesday's full of sorrow,
I said that Thursday's oh-so, it's oh-so-sad. It's oh-so-sad.
I said lord, lord, why don't you have mercy,
You gotta have mercy on me.
I been trying to find my woman,
Won't you bring her home to me?
I said they call it stormy Monday.
[Instrumental]
Through long December nights we talk in words of rain or snow
while you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
To warm their bones at Christmas time?
Say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this ---
there's some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts.
No children's laughter round the fire, no family left to know.
So lend a warm and a helping hand ---
say Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
As holly pricks and ivy clings,
your fate is none too clear.
The Lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all that's left to show
is to share your joy at Christmas time
with Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow.
Blew my smoke on a sunny day
when the first black powder came my way.
Hot lead ball from a muzzle cold ---
to win fair lady and take your gold.
I know it hardly seems the time ---
(I am your gun)
to talk of blue steel so sublime.
I can understand your point of view.
To tell the truth I'd scare me too.
Match, wheel and flintlock, they all caught your eye.
Pearl-handled ladies' models, scaled down to size.
I am the peacemaker, so the theory goes.
But I don't choose the company I keep ---
and it shows.
I am your gun.
Love me, I'm your gun.
Maxim and Browning, they helped me along.
Stoner, Kalashnikov --- thrilled to my song.
Now one of me exists, for each one of you,
So how can you blame me for the things that I do?
Now I take second place to the motor car
in the score of killing kept thus far.
And just remember, if you don't mind ---
it's not the gun that kills
but the man behind.
I am your gun.
I am your neighbor. I seem most respectable,
But underneath I'm an iniquitous toad.
So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you ---
down at the end of your road.
And I live down the end of your road.
I'm working on ways to remove you from paradise ---
from your striped lawn and your new swimming pool.
I place broken bottles in your geraniums ---
sabotage your gardening tools.
And I live down the end of your road.
By day I am a real estate gentleman.
I deal in fine properties --- cheap at the price.
After dark, I plan my most devious practices
which you might think are not very nice.
Designing a system to reverse your plumbing ---
welling up, as you sit on your private throne.
will come up all kinds of vile and despicable nasties
you would rather not have in your home.
And I live down the end of your road.
Dispensed loathsome creatures in your drawing room,
Sent doggy poo-poos in your morning mail.
Rat's heads and lark's wings should set your tums turning
and your houses will soon be for sale.
And I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
(Words and music by David Palmer)
Grey the mist --- cold the dawn;
cruel the sea and stern the shore.
Brave the man who sets his course
For Albion.
Sweet the rose --- sharp the thorn;
meek the soil and proud the corn.
Blessed the lamb that would be born
within this green and pleasant land.
Hi-O-Ran-I-O
Hi-O-Ran-I-O
Brown furrow shine
beneath the rain washed blue.
Bright crystal streams
from eagle mountains born.
Fortune has smiled on those who wake anew,
within this fortress nature built
to stay the hand of war.
With the wind from the east
came the first of those who tread
upon this stone, this stone of kings;
this realm, this new Jerusalem.
Hi-O-Ran-I-O
Hi-O-Ran-I-O
I once met a girl with the life in her hands
and we lay together on the summerday sands.
I gave her my raincoat and told her, ``Lady, be good!''
And we made truth together, where no one else would.
I smiled through her fingers and ran the dust through her hands ---
the hour-glass of reason on the summerday sands.
We sat as the sea caught fire.
Waited as the flames grew higher
in her eyes.
We watched the eagle born ---
wings clipped, tail feathers shorn
but we saw him rise ---
over summerday sands.
Came the ten o'clock curfew.
She said, ``I must start my car.
I'm staying with someone I met last night in a bar.''
I called from my wave top ---
``At least tell me your name!''
She smiled from her wheelspin
and said, ``It's all the same.''
I thought for a minute, jumped back on dry land ---
left one set of footprints on the summerday sands.
I once met a girl with the life in her hands
and we lied together on the summerday sands.
Too many drivers in too many cars.
Too many lost souls drinking in too many bars.
Too many heroes stepping on too many toes.
Too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.
Too many lives each cat can lose ---
we've got too many too.
Too many too.
Too much sunshine. Too many drops of rain.
Too many equal and average children who will all grow up the same.
Too many fireside politicians holding too many views.
Too many questions --- but there are answers too few.
Too many lives each cat can lose ---
we've got too many too.
If I were a liar --- yes, and you were a cheat ---
there would be too many places where we all could meet.
Too many temples where we could worship the beast.
Where he who thinks he had the most in fact has the least.
Too many lives each cat can lose --
I've got too many too.
I've got too many too.
What would you like for Christmas ---
a new polarity?
You're binary, and desperate to deal
in high figures
that lick us with their hotter flame ---
lick each and everyone the same.
And March, the mad scientist,
rings a new change
in ever-dancing colours.
He rings it here and he rings it...
but no one stops to see
the change of fate and the fate of change
that slips into his pocket ---
so he locks it all away from view
and shares not what he thought you knew.
And April is summer-bound,
And February's blue.
And no one stops to see the colours.
[Instrumental]
Fish and chips, sandpaper lips and a rainy pavement.
Soho lights, another night --- thinking of you.
Black cat, sat on a wall, winks at me darkly.
Suggesting ways and means that I might win a smile ---
as you leave the place where you work until 12.30
and the policemen nods as you pass along his beat.
Sweaty feet, troubled brow -- we're all in the same game, lady.
Life's no bowl of cherries --- it's a black and white strip cartoon.
I've been warned that you and your friends are crazy
as from your hearts you bare your parts to the gentlemen,
who, while they drool, trying to keep cool,
spill their Scotch and water.
But I'm not that way, I must say --- I'd much prefer to see
you in your texturised rubber rainwear around 12.30.
Come and play shades of grey in my black and white strip cartoon.
Strip cartoon is all I'm after.
Strip cartoon is all I crave ---
so come to my place around 12.30
`cos I'm a leading politician
at a dangerous age.
[Instrumental]
I work in dark factories --- a cog in the big wheel
driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters --- oh, they pay me plenty ---
crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from
bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said Cock Robin from the wall.
It's an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
to drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Listen all you young folk --- your lives on a timetable
clocking on twenty-one --- fly while you're able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
I remember when we had a lot of things to do ---
impressed by all the words we read
and the heroes that we knew.
Climb on your your dream --- a dream of our own making
to find a place that we could later lose
to whatever time would bring.
We were seventeen and the cakeman was affecting you ---
moving you to greater things (in a lesser way)
you had to prove.
The clock struck summertime. You were going round in circles now.
Wishing you were seventeen. At twenty-one, it was a long time gone.
And now here you are. You're locked in your own excuse.
The circle's getting smaller every day.
You're busy planning the next fifty years.
So stay the way you are and keep your head down to the same old ground.
Just paint your picture boy until you find
a closed circle's better than an open line.
Yes stay the way you are. I got a circle that's the same as yours.
It may be bigger, but I've more to lose.
Who is the luckier man --- me or you?
[Instrumental]
Flying --- made of sticks and paper ---
aeroplane.
Dying --- is the wind but climbing ---
my aeroplane.
Blowing, and going somewhere high ---
in the evening tumbling down ---
but it's surely been up there.
Crying --- want to live my life as
my aeroplane
Sighing in the sun's eye, but softly ---
my aeroplane.
Lonely, but only till it comes down
where there's people running round.
But it's surely been up there.
Flying --- my aeroplane.
Woke up this morning to look at things in their funny way.
Why can't they be like they used to be only yesterday.
Ooh --- bring back my sunshine day.
I look at things that once were mine with such despair.
Why do the things I say only fall on empty air?
Ooh --- bring back my sunshine day.
My mind cries: Bring back my sunshine day.
I say the things I used to say, but they don't seem right.
Why does this world seem like the darkest endless night?
Ooh --- bring back my sunshine day.
Bring back my sunshine day.
II. Flawed Gems And The Other Side Of Tull
I'll see you at the weighing in
when your life's sum-total's made.
And you set your wealth in godly deeds
against the sins you've laid.
So place your final burden
on your hard-pressed next of kin:
Send the chamber pot back down the line
to be filled up again.
Take your mind off your election
and try to get it straight.
And don't pretend perfection ---
you'll be crucified too late.
And he'll say you really should make the deal
as he offers round the hat.
Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, I thank you all for that.
And as you join the good ship earth
and you mingle with the dust
be sure to leave your underpants
with someone you can trust.
And the hard-headed social worker who bathes his hands in blood
will welcome you with arms held high
and cover you with mud.
And he'll say you really should make the deal
as he offers round the hat.
Well, you'd better lick your fingers clean, I thank you all for that.
a) Scenario
In long years of ancient time, stood alone a friend of mine.
Reflected by the ever-burning sigh of a god who happened by.
And in the dawn, there came the song of some sweet lady singing in his ear.
Your god has gone, and from now on, you'll have to learn to hate
the things you fear.
We want to know, are we inside the womb
of passion plays, and by righteousness consumed?
Or just in lush contentment of our souls?
And so began the age of man.
They left his body in the sand.
Their glasses raised to a god on high
who smiled upon them from the sky.
So take the stage. Spin down the ages. Loose the passion.
Spill the rage upon your son who holds the gun up to your head ---
the play's begun.
b) Audition
Then God, the director, smells a rat.
Pulls another rabbit from His hat.
Sniffs the air and He says, ``Well, that's that --- I'm going.''
The actors milling helplessly --- the script is blowing out to sea.
But what the hell, we didn't even pass an audition.
The lines you'll have to improvise. The words are written in
the eyes of politicians who despise their fathers.
And so the play necessitates that all you boys participate
in fierce competition to eliminate each other.
And groupies, on their way to war,
get to write the next film score.
But the rock and roll star knows his glory is really nothing.
Men of religion, on the make,
pledge an oath they undertake to
make you white for God's own sake, and none other.
While ladies get their bedding done
to win themselves a bouncing son ---
but bad girls do it for the fun of just being.
And me, I'm here to sing along,
and I'm not concerned with the righting wrongs,
just asking questions that belong without an answer.
The God is laughing up his sleeve
as He pours himself another cup of tea,
and He waves goodbye to you and me,
at least for now.
c) No Rehearsal
Did you learn your lines today? Well, there is no rehearsal.
The tickets have all been sold for tomorrow's matinee.
There's a telegram from the writer,
but there is no rehearsal.
The electrician has been told to make the spotlights brighter.
There's one seat in the circle --- five hundred million in the stalls.
Simply everyone will be there, but the safety curtain falls when
the bomb that's in the dressing room
blows the windows from their frames.
And the prompter in his corner is sorry that he came.
Did you learn your lines today? Well there is no rehearsal.
The interval will last until the ice-cream lady melts away.
The twelve piece orchestra are here, but there is no rehearsal.
The first violinist's hands are chilled --- he's gone deaf in both ears.
Well, the scenery is colourful, but the paint is so damn thin.
You see the wall behind is crumbling,
and the stage door is bricked-in.
But the audience keep arriving
`till they're standing in the wings.
And we take the final curtain call, and the ceiling crashes in.
Have you ever stood in the April wood
and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly
as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet
and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck ---
it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and
the red cloud hanging high ---
come --- a Beltane.
Have you ever loved a lover of the old elastic truth?
And doted on the daughter in the ministry of youth?
Thrust your head between the breasts of the fertile innocent.
And taken up the cause of love, for the sake of argument.
Or while the kisses drop like a fall of shot
from soft lips in the rain ---
come --- a Beltane.
Happy old new year to you and yours.
The sun's up for one more day, to be sure.
Play it out gladly, for your card's marked again.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned
in far-off wild country.
And felt the chill on your window sill
as the green man comes around.
With his walking cane of sweet hazel --- brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites.
Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come --- a Beltane.
Walking on air, shoulder and head above you.
Down in the street, black canyons walking through.
Hooded sad eyes, fixed on your shuffle shoes.
Life is a clue in your crossword.
Typewriter turk. Telephone terror takes time to wind down.
Push-button finger shakes.
City of dreams. Back to your quiet nightmare.
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
Working to rule in your own time.
Drag yourself home to your star sign page.
Staying awake on cold yesterday's steak and warm beer.
Ladder of string --- climbing to sweet success.
Homework aside. Your brain on the train to test.
Pick up the news (you left on the seat beside you).
Your life is a clue in the crossword.
They left me, leaving my house on fire, me running round ---
got out through the window.
While clinging to the skirts of fate
was not my idea of fun
I'll jump to it gladly.
The town was filled with smoke and hate.
Came to my senses just too late
to realize that all I ever owned
was borrowed. I thanked them for having shown
me that nothing ever really belongs to anyone.
They burned my books and they broke my car,
and gave the dog to a man who used him for breeding.
They felled my trees and they tramped flowers and threw
the kitten into my new pool.
The same things done to other men had made them run away from the city.
This being the case, I joined them there and breathing air spent
the night with these new friends.
Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains
remind me of Jack-A-Lynn.
Lush hotels and pretty girls
won't cheer the misty mood I'm in.
Silly, sad --- I've never had to write this before ---
oh, Jack-A-Lynn.
Funny how long nights allow
thoughts of Jack-A-Lynn.
When phantoms tread around my bed
to offer restless dreams they bring.
And it's just the time and place to find
a sad song to play
for Jack-A-Lynn.
Magpies that shriek, old boots that leak
call me to Jack-A-Lynn.
Coal-black cats in policeman's hats
nosing where the mice have been.
And the long miaow's beginning now
and I'm far, far from home ---
and Jack-A-Lynn.
Out on the fast and free way,
humming along through a build-up ad-man's dream.
Steaking past in a cloud of spray
goes the high-performance motor queen.
And she looks round at me
reflecting neon in her motoreyes.
And now the chase is on.
I know who'll be the loser --- me.
See the end curve coming, then we're
back on the street through the late theater crowds.
And the stop lights go and we're cruising side by side
still humming loud.
And she looks round again ---
her motoreyes going to tell me when.
Put her right foot to the floor.
Shows me she's no slow woman.
She takes her cafe noir, smokes small cigars
showing just a touch of thigh (sigh!).
And sips her whisky straight, and she stays up late
to kiss the morning bye-bye.
Now we're out of town, going to shake her down
if I can stay along.
Got my blue light on, put her in the net
with my siren song.
Pulls over to the side ---
her motoreyes are staring wide.
She flashes her I.D.
and makes a bigger fool of me.
[Instrumental]
I have to call you up. Think I've seen a vision of rhythm in gold.
No cat could ever move that way. No puss would dare to be so bold.
Must tell the boys to follow you.
Catch you where you go to ground.
A lady of means, I can see. Rhythm in gold is getting to me.
What's your name, and where can I find you?
Are you just a rich man's friend,
or was it always in the family?
You seem to throw the challenge down,
by the way you didn't even look at me.
Put the boys on you. Immobilize your nine-eleven.
There's nothing I could do for you that would really matter much anyway.
You belong to everyone. Rhythm in gold's the number that you play.
Put the boys on you. Sabotage your nine-eleven.
Everybody's jumping on the circus train.
Some jump high, some jump off again.
And the razzmatazz is rolling, women folk unveiled.
All truths to light, all crosses nailed.
Aiming high where the eagle circles ---
where he keeps his tail feathers clean.
And wonders ``Am I still a free bird?
Or just a part of the machine.''
They hitch their coverd wagons and they roll out west.
Politics in the pockets of their Sunday best.
Shaking hands, kissing babies, for all that they're worth.
Oh, they promise you gold, promise heaven on earth.
Still, that old bald eagle circles ---
it's not the first time that he's seen
his reflection in the eyes of innocence.
He's become just another
part of the machine.
I wish I had an eagle like you ---
to look up to.
He could be my wings to fly in a big bird sky
up above the whole machine.
Smart guys aren't running --- they're home and dry.
Up in the mountains where the eagle flies.
They wouldn't take that job
offered on a plate.
They got to fly with the eagle, and he won't wait.
Looking down on the smoke and the factories
till the truth creeps up unseen.
They see themselves in the faces of their children
and realize they too are
part of the machine.
I wish I had an eagle like you ---
to wake up to.
He could be my wings to fly
in a big bird sky, hey ---
let's be part of the machine.
Part of the machine.
When we're working nights, the village round
the old church becomes scary town.
All curtained windows and bolted doors
but never a eye to see
as us fairy folks sweep from the hill
Never caught us and never will.
Pulling roses and daffodils ---
mayhem in the high degree.
The blacksmith chased us all to ground.
They searched all night --- we were never found.
The tinker boys and the sheriff's men
shaking the tallest tree.
And we sat and watched the women hide.
Laughed so much we split our sides.
Scattered horses that they would ride ---
mayhem in the high degree.
We crossed through fields of midnight green
often heard but seldom seen.
Tore along hedges,stripping leaves ---
no-one could quite agree
whether we came from north or south.
We stole the screams from out their mouths
and go where no man would allow
mayhem in the high degree.
Like scaly carp and feathered swan
to nature's world we do belong.
We ride the thin winds of the night
and set dark spirits free.
We terrify the mare and foal.
The fox stood still and far too bold.
So we strung him up, brush neatly folded ---
mayhem, maybe.
Good morning, gentlemen. Why the uneasy frowns?
Too much everything and I can't recall. Did I let you down?
Nobody will answer me. Makes me feel that I want to die.
My mind is inclined to lie.
Oh, no --- think I did it last night again.
Oh, no --- been out on the overhang again.
My hotel room was a battleground.
How did I find my way?
My wallet's gone and my jacket's torn.
My memory's a hazy grey.
Do I seem to remember now, two creatures about eight feet tall?
No safety net to break my fall.
Oh, no --- must have done it last night again.
Oh, no --- crawled out on the overhang again.
Been out on the overhang.
Watching demons and spirits glide.
Heading out to the nearest star.
Better lead me back to the bar.
Oh, no --- might do it tonight again.
Oh, no --- crawled out on the overhang again.
Been out on the overhang.
Crawling out on the overhang.
Out of the overhang.
There was a warm wind with the high tide
on the south of the hill.
When a young girl went a-walking
and I followed with a will.
``Good day to you, my fine young lady
with your lips so sweetly full.
May I help you comb your long hair ---
sweep it from that brow so cool?''
Up, ride with the kelpie.
I'll steal your soul to the deep.
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else.
Well I'm a man when I'm feeling
the urge to step ashore.
So I may charm you --- not alarm you.
Tell you all fine things, and more.
Up, ride with the kelpie.
I'll steal your soul to the deep.
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else.
Say goodbye to all your dear kin ---
for they hate to see you go
in your young prime, to this place of mine
in the still loch far below.
Up, ride with the kelpie.
I'll steal your soul to the deep.
If you don't ride with me while the devil's free
I'll ride with somebody else.
The bomb's in the china. The fat's in the fire.
There's no turkey left on the table.
The commuter's return on the six o'clock flyer
brings no bale of hay for the stable.
Well, the light, it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.
Well the fly's in the milk and the cat's in the stew.
Another bun in the oven --- oh, what to do?
We'll laugh and we'll sing and try to bring
a pound from your pocket.
Good day to you.
Oh, these hard times.
The politicians sat on the wall
and traded with the union game.
Someone slapped a writ on our deficit ---
not a penny left to our name.
Oh, the times are hard and the credits lean,
and they toss and they turn in sleep.
And the line they take is the line they make ---
but it's not the line they keep.
The cow jumped over yesterday's moon
and the lock ran away with the key.
You know what you like, and you like what you know
but there is no jam for tea.
Well the light it is failing along the green belt
as we follow the hard road signs.
Semi-detached in our suburban-ness ---
we're living in these hard times.