IAN ANDERSON: WALK INTO LIGHT

Fly By Night

It's hard to say I'm sorry. 
May we just forget about today. 
You see, I fly by night. 
I fly by night. 
I laid my love beside the door 
and left you sleeping on the floor. 
So long. I fly by night, 
I fly by night. 
And though you might think it's too bad of me 
I have to leave you with used memories. 
I have no stomach for the dawn. 
I feel I should be moving on 
and so I fly by night. 
Now lady luck's deserted me. 
The ghosts of love stand clear to see. 
They also fly by night. 
Strange figures in the dark. 
Did Cupid strike and leave his mark? 
It seems his arrows fly by night. 
They fly by night. 
Let's fly. 

Made In England

Somewhere in a town in England 
lay a babe with a curious smile. 
He was of your father's children. 
Born each side of a dry-stone mile. 
He grew up through the schools and factories, 
Brunel's tunnels and bridges bold. 
Grey towers built high on that Kingdom 
with apartments still unsold. 
Somewhere in a town in England. 
Could be Newcastle, Leeds or Birmingham. 
And were you made in 
England's green and pleasant land? 
He accepts no unemployment 
and is to indeterminate station bred. 
Is possessed of skills and reason. 
Flies the flag upon his head. 
Watches the democratic process 
grind it's way through the Commons cold, 
filled with fiery infiltrators 
who would pave the streets with England's gold. 

Walk Into Light

Close in, move out to where you want to go. 
There's a crowd out there handclapping slow. 
We're all powered up, switched on, the rig is tight. 
Step into joy. Walk into light. 
Never mind what some people say. 
They're going to love you anyway. 
Shake off that nervous twitch and feel your strength. 
Stand astride the width and walk the length. 
Those super-troopers fired and burning bright. 
Step into joy. Walk into light. 
Stand tall and be yourself. 
You can do it for your health. 
Maybe a circus ring, a disco floor. 
Do like we do. And do some more. 
A crowded office or a party night. 
Step into joy. Walk into light. 

Trains

Here I am at the end of the day 
with a cup of cold coffee 
from the station buffet. 
On trains, on trains I seem 
to spend my life on trains. 
See the blue suit banker in the ticket line. 
Got an Evening Standard with Playboy 
hidden behind. 
On trains, on trains he seems 
to spend his life on trains. 
Time after time. 
Was I just dreaming? 
Did I help you aboard? 
Full passenger service --- 
let me help with the door. 
Sit down take the weight off your feet. 
There's a train full of people I'd like 
you to meet. 
On trains, on trains we love 
to spend our lives on trains. 
Join the secret world of trains. 
Feel the pleasure. Touch the pain. 
Drift into yesterday. 
Once and again 
I was just thinking. 
We could meet sometime 
on the 17.30 where 
I usually find 
my friends at the end of the day. 
May we pay your fare, lady? 
We should like you to stay 
in our train. On trains --- 
you'll have to spend your life 
on trains. 
I hear there's an office party on the 18.05. 
You'll be home for Christmas if they 
take you alive from the train. 
Those trains, we have to spend our lives 
on trains. 
Once and again 
I was just thinking. 
We could meet any time 
on number two platform 
where I usually find 
my friends at the end of the day. 
On trains, trains, trains. 

End Game

I'm slipping into grey. 
And I was (in my way) good to you. 
And you were good for me. 
Bye bye my love. 
Going to play the end game. 
It's growing kind of still. 
You know there always will be a dream 
waiting for you when 
sleep comes around. 
I had to play the end game. 
Bless us all. I must say 
it was good, you know. 
Keep me in mind for 
a re-match in warm snow. 
The faces at the door 
couldn't have looked more lost to see 
me waving as I brush 
away a tear. 
Gone to play the end game. 

Black And White Television

I looked in the mirror then 
saw my face in a dream. 
With eyes sharp as diamonds 
blessed with clear vision. 
Things were not as they seemed. 
Black and white television 
stared back from the wall. 
Is that my life? 
Am I here at all? 
Down in the High Road, see 
motor cavalcades glide 
past shopwindow dressers 
desperately covering 
all the parts they can hide. 
Black and white television 
stares at me again. 
Is that their lives? 
Even dummies pretend. 
The truth is so hard to deny. 
The answer is here. 
The screen never lies. 
Black and white television. 
It's the right television. 
Show me it's all a dream tonight. 
The boys on the corner sulk 
in their Suzuki haze. 
In primary colours 
(each year more startling) 
but they still fade to grey 
on black and white television. 
It's sweeping the land. 
Is that your life? 
Do you understand? 
The truth is so hard to deny. 
The answer is here. 
The screen never lies. 
Black and white television. 
Back the right television. 
Black and white television. 
Hard to fight television. 
Show me it's all a dream tonight. 

Toad In The Hole

I walk along the Strand 
to catch the late ride home. 
Shuttle through the evening gloom 
knowing I forgot to phone. 
The back door's open. 
There's a chill blowing in. 
Take your warm hands off me. 
Let the night begin. 
Shush your mouth. 
Listen to me. 
I won't say nothing --- 
just let me be your 
toad in the hole. 
Kicking through the wet leaves lying 
all along the Station Road. 
Past tired graffitti wailing, 
raw emotion to unload. 
There's coal in the fireplace 
and money in the bank too. 
Deep-pile carpets, tinsel wallpaper. 
Still got the back room to do. 
Don't be late. 
Got a day's work behind me. 
Feel a little devastated 
but my nights are assigned to you. 
Toad in the hole. 
No tom-cat creeping, now 
could ever be so bold 
to hang around our place tonight 
when I come in from the cold. 
There's a straight-six in the garage 
and some fine wine to cool. 
Labour-savers in the kitchen, 
room in the garden for a pool. 
Shush your mouth. 
Let imagination run 
here in bed-sit heaven 
where all the best wishing's done 
to warm toad in the hole. 

Looking For Eden

As I drove down the road to look for Eden 
saw two young girls but left them standing there. 
They were too late to get home on the underground 
and probably too drunk, too drunk to care. 
Can anyone tell me the way to Eden? 
I'll ask them there, have they a job for me. 
I'm not a fussy man, I can weed and hoe. 
I'll be her Adam, she can be my Eve. 
And where on earth are all those songs of Eden. 
The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men. 
Just one old dosser lurching down Oxford Street 
to spend his Christmas lying in the rain. 
Don't anybody know the way to Eden. 
I'm tired of living my life in free-fall. 
They say it's somewhere out on the edge of town. 
Perhaps it isn't really there at all. 
Looking for Eden. 

User-Friendly

Do we inhabit some micro-space 
and interface through wires. 
Dance on a printed circuit board 
throw the software to the fires. 
My memory's slim --- so volatile 
but I'm learning. 
Plug yourself in. Stay for awhile. 
Un-discerning. 
And on dusty terminals 
finger me lightly do. 
And QWERTY is the name of love 
printed on the V.D.U. 
Cut yourself free. We're all alone 
communicating. 
Don't bother me with arithmetic --- 
I'm waiting. 
User-friendly. 
That's what I am to you. 
I have to break out of here. 
Trapped in my hardware cell. 
And come to you as you sleep tonight, 
take you back into my hell. 
Binary joys and digital sighs 
so appealing. 
I'm one of the boys and it's only 
your mind that I'm stealing. 
User-friendly. 
That's all I am to you. 

Different Germany

The lights are down in Germany 
and Germany is closed to me 
different somehow this time. 
The airport's stiff, cold corridors 
ring empty beats through hollow feet 
that I find to be mine. 
Different Germany. 
History repeats somehow. 
Different Germany. 
Afraid to know you now. 
And past my eyes with leathered gaze 
stare clean-cut boys all dressed as men 
in sharpened uniform. 
Who turned the clock? (Moved on or back) 
And what dark chill is gathering still 
before the storm. 
Out in the street a tableau double-glazed 
with laughing girls whose fastened smiles 
are clearly not meant for me.