REPEAT: THE BEST OF JETHRO TULL VOL. II Minstrel In The Gallery The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces. He met the gazes observed the spaces between the old men's cackle. He brewed a song of love and hatred, oblique suggestions and he waited. He polarized the pumpkin-eaters, static-humming panel-beaters, freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters (salaried and collar-scrubbing.) He titillated men-of-action belly warming, hands still rubbing on the parts they never mention. He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating, one-line jokers, TV documentary makers (overfed and undertakers.) Sunday paper backgammon players family-scarred and women-haters. Then he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends he'd made. The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces. He met the gazes observed the spaces in between the old men's cackle. He brewed a song of love and hatred, oblique suggestions and he waited. He polarized the pumpkin-eaters, static-humming panel-beaters, The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the rabbit-run. And threw away his looking-glass - saw his face in everyone. He titillated men-of-action belly warming, hands still rubbing on the parts they never mention. (salaried and collar-scrubbing.) He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating, one-line jokers, TV documentary makers (overfed and undertakers.) Sunday paper backgammon players family-scarred and women-haters. Then he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends he'd made. The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the rabbit-run. And threw away his looking-glass - and saw his face in everyone. The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces. He met the gazes... The minstrel in the gallery Cross-Eyed Mary Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief -- if he had a rich man in his hand. And who would steal the candy from a laughing baby's mouth if he could take it from the money man. Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again. She signs no contract but she always plays the game. Dines in Hampstead village on expense accounted gruel, and the jack-knife barber drops her off at school. Laughing in the playground -- gets no kicks from little boys: would rather make it with a letching grey. Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung, who watches through the railings as they play. Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along. She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song. She's a rich man stealer but her favour's good and strong: She's the Robin Hood of Highgate -- helps the poor man get along. A New Day Yesterday My first and last time with you and we had some fun. wenT walking through the trees, yeah! And then I kissed you once. Oh I want to see you soon but I wonder how. It was a new day yesterday but it's an old day now. Spent a long time looking for a game to play. My luck should be so bad now to turn out this way. Oh I had to leave today just when I thought I'd found you. It was a new day yesterday But it's an old day now. Bouree [Instrumental] Thick As A Brick (Edit #4) 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. Warchild I'll take you down to that bright city mile there to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile, that will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain, when you join my explosion and play with my games. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. No unconditional surrender; no armistice day each night I'll die in my contentment and lie in your grave. While you bring me water and I give you wine. Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors. Let me live in your country let me sleep by your shores. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away. A Passion Play (Edit #9) Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow! What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow. Here's the everlasting rub: neither am I good nor bad. I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had. I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling. The flies there are sleeping quietly. Twist my right arm in the dark. I would give two or three for one of those days that never made impressions on the old score. I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree. Everyone's saved; We're in the grave. See you there for afternoon tea. Time for awaking. The tea lady's making a brew-up and baking new bread. Pick me up at half past none, there's not a moment to lose. There is the train on which I came. On the platform are my old shoes. Station master rings his bell. Whistles blow and flags wave. A little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should). I thank everybody for making me welcome. I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off. To Cry You A Song Flying so high, trying to remember how many cigarettes did I bring along? When I get down I'll jump in a taxi cab driving through London town to cry you a song. It's been a long time -- still shaking my wings. Well, I'm a glad bird I got changes to ring. Closing my dream inside its paper-bag. Thought I saw angels but I could have been wrong. Search in my case, can't find what they're looking for. Waving me through to cry you a song. It's been a long time -- still shaking my wings. Well I'm a glad bird I got changes to ring. Lights in the street, peeping through curtains drawn. Rattling of safety chain taking too long. The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before -- Came down from the skies to cry you a song. Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll: Too Young to Die The old Rocker wore his hair too long, wore his trouser cuffs too tight. Unfashionable to the end drank his ale too light. Death's head belt buckle yesterday's dreams the transport cafe prophet of doom. Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams in his post-war-babe gloom. Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die. He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville. Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs and prays that he always will. But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys all of his mates are doing time: married with three kids up by the ring road sold their souls straight down the line. And some of them own little sports cars and meet at the tennis club do's. For drinks on a Sunday work on Monday. They've thrown away their blue suede shoes. Now they're too old to Rock'n'Roll and they're too young to die. So the old Rocker gets out his bike to make a ton before he takes his leave. Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner just like it used to be. And as he flies tears in his eyes his wind-whipped words echo the final take and he hits the trunk road doing around 120 with no room left to brake. And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die. No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die. Glory Row Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show. Oh, we'll put your name up in lights, put you down on Glory Row. Would you be the star of ages to light your own way at night? Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly. They come and they go down on Glory Row. It's the same old story --- yes, it the same old show. Well, hello all you gentlemen, I fear I'm a lot like you. We're wearing the same school tie but a different pair of shoes. How did you get to be who you are? Will your children share the blame? Is it really worth the time it takes to carve your name on Glory Row? Down on Glory Row. It's the same old story yes, it the same old show. |