[Lifebeats (Instrumental)]
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[Prelude (Instrumental)]
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[The Silver Cord]
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"Do you still see me even here?"
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(The silver cord lies on the ground.)
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"And so I'm dead", the young man said
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over the hill (not a wish away).
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My friends (as one) all stand aligned
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although their taxis came too late.
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There was / a rush along the Fulham Road.
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There was / a hush in the Passion Play.
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Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath
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ripe with rich attainments all imagined
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sad misdeeds in disarray
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the sore thumb screams aloud,
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echoing out of the Passion Play.
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All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key...
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Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
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There was a rush along the Fulham Road
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into the Ever-passion Play.
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And who comes here to wish me well?
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A sweetly-scented angel fell.
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She laid her head upon my disbelief
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and bathed me with her ever-smile.
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And with a howl across the sand
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I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound
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NO-ONE (but someone to be found).
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[Re-Assuring Tune (Instrumental)]
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[Memory Bank]
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All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom.
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Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing room.
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The cameras were all around.We've got you taped you're in the play.
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Here's your I.D. (Ideal for identifying one and all.)
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Invest your life in the memory bank ours the interest and we thank you.
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The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the passion play.
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Take the prize for instant pleasure, captain of the cricket team
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public speaking in all weathers, a knighthood from a queen.
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[Best Friends]
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All your best friends' telephones never cooled from the heat of your hand.
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There's a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that also-ran.
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Climb in your old umbrella. Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
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But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves you alone,
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you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone, you alone.
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[Critique Oblique]
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Lover of the black and white it's your first night.
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The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight.
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Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid,
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why the old dog howls in sadness.
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And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony shoulders
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of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision.
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(The examining body examined her body.)
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Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
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Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won't do.
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Tell me: how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded,
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why the old dogs howl with madness.
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All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.
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And now you've lost a skin or two, you're for us and we for you.
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The dressing room is right behind, We've got you taped, you're in the play.
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How does it feel to be in the play?
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How does it feel to play the play?
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How does it feel to be the play?
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Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out...
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for we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
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Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer?
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Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction
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of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?
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There was / a rush along the Fulham Road.
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There was / a hush in the Passion Play.
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[Forest Dance #1 (Instrumental)]
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A Passion Play (Part 1)
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| Jethro Tull |
