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@ALBUM: aqualung
'T` n the beginning Man created God; 5 And these lesser men were cast into the
 |  and in the image of Man           void; And some were burned, and some were
,|, created he him.                   put apart from their kind.

2 And Man gave unto God a multitude of    6 And Man became the God that he had
names,that he might be Lord of all        created and with his miracles did
the earth when it was suited to Man       rule over all the earth.

3 And on the seven millionth              7 But as all these things
day Man rested and did lean               came to pass, the Spirit that did
heavily on his God and saw that           cause man to create his God
it was good.                              lived on within all men: even
                                          within Aqualung.
4 And Man formed Aqualung of
the dust of the ground, and a             8 And man saw it not.
host of others likened unto his kind.
 
                    9 But for Christ's sake he'd
                    better start looking.
 

@SONG: Aqualung
 
 Sitting on a park bench
 eyeing up little girls
 with bad intent.
 Snot running down his nose
 greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
 Drying in the cold sun
 Watching as the frilly panties run.
 Feeling like a dead duck
 spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
 Sun streaking cold
 an old man wandering lonely.
 Taking time
 the only way he knows.
 Leg hurting bad,
 as he bends to pick a dog end
 goes down to a bog to
 warm his feet.
 Feeling alone
 the army's up the rode
 salvation a la mode and
 a cup of tea.
 Aqualung my friend
 don't start away uneasy
 you poor old sod
 you see it's only me.
 Do you still remember
 December's foggy freeze
 when the ice that
 clings on to your beard is
 screaming agony.
 And you snatch your rattling last breaths
 with deep-sea diver sounds,
 and the flowers bloom like
 madness in the spring.
 
@SONG: Cross-Eyed Mary
 
 Who would be a poor man
 a beggerman, a thief
 if he had a rich man in his hand.
 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 gray.
 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's stealer
 but her favour's good and strong:
 She's the Robin Hood of Highgate
 helps the poor man get along.
 
@SONG: Cheap Day Return
 
 On Preston platform
 do your soft shoe shuffle dance.
 Brush away the cigarette ash that's
 fallen down your pants.
 And you sadly wonder
 does the nurse treat your old man
 the way she should.
 She made you tea:
 asked for your autograph
 what a laugh.
 
@SONG: Mother Goose
 
 As I did walk by Hampstead fair,
 I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose
 she was screaming.
 And a foreign student said to me
 was it really true there are elephants and lions too
 in Piccadilly Circus.
 Walked down by the bathing pond
 to try and catch some sun.
 Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing
 into hankerchiefs as one.
 I don't believe they knew
 I was a schoolboy.
 And a bearded lady said to me
 if you start your raving and your misbehaving
 you'll be sorry.
 Then the chicken-fancier came to play
 with his long red beard (and his sister's weird:
 she drives a lorry).
 Laughed down by the putting green
 I popped 'em in their holes.
 Four and twenty labourers were labouring
 digging up their gold.
 I don't believe they knew
 that I was  Long John Silver.
 Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds
 in his jet black mac (which he won't give back).
 stole it from a snow man.
 
@SONG: Wond'ring Aloud
 
 Wond'ring aloud
 how wew feel today.
 Last night sipped the sunset
 my hands in her hair.
 We are out own saviours
 as we start both our hearts beating life
 into each other.
 Wond'ring aloud
 will the years treat us well.
 As she floats in the kitchen,
 I'm tasting the smell
 of toast as the butter runs.
 Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
 and I shake my head.
 And it's only the giving
 that makes you what you are.
 
@SONG: Up to Me
 
 Take you to the cinema
 and leave you in a Wimpy Bar
 you tell me that we've gone to far
 come running up to me.
 Make the scene at Cousin Jack's
 leave him put the bottles back
 mends his glasses that I cracked
 well that one's up to me.
 Buy a silver cloud to ride
 pack the tennis club inside
 trouser cuffs hung far too wide
 well it was up to me.
 Tyres down on your bicicle
 your nose feels like an icicle
 the yellow fingered smoky girl
 is looking up to me.
 Well I'm a common working man
 with a half of butter bread and jam
 and if it pleases me I'll put one one you man
 when the copper fades away.
 The rainy season comes to pass
 the day-glo pirate sinks at last
 and if I laughed a bit to fast.
 Well it was up to me.
 
 
@SONG: My God
 
 People what have you done
 locked him in his golden cage.
 Made him bend to your religion
 Him resurrected from the grave.
 He is the God of nothing
 if that's all that you can see.
 You are the God of everything
 He's a part of you and me.
 So lean upon him gently
 and don't call on Him to save you
 from your social graces
 and the sins you wash to waive.
 The bloody Church of  England
 in chains of history
 requests' your earthly presence at
 the vicarage for tea.
 And the graven image you-know-who
 he's got him fixed
 with his plastic crucifix
 confuses me as in who and where and why
 as to how he gets his kicks.
 Confessing to endless sin
 the endless whining sounds.
 You'll be praying till next Thursday to
 all the God that you can count.
 
@SONG: Hymn 43
 
 Oh father high in heaven smile down upon your son
 whose busy with his money games his women and his gun.
 And the unsung Western Hero killed an indian or three
 and made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free.
 If Jesus saves, well he'd better save himself
 from the gory glory seekers who use his name in death.
 I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon
 his cross was rather bloody He could hardly roll his stone.
 
@SONG: Slipstream
 
 Well the lush separation enfolds you
 and the products of wealth
 push you along on the bow wave
 of the spiritless undying selves.
 And you press on God's waiter your last dime
 as he hands you the bill.
 And you spin in the slipstream
 timeless  unreasoning
 paddle right out of the mess.
 
@SONG: Locomotive Breath
 
 In the Shuffling madess
 of the locomotive breath,
 runs the all time loser,
 headlong to his death.
 He feels the piston scraping
 steam breaking on his brow
 old Charlie stole the handle and the
 train won't stop going
 no way to slow down.
 He sees his children jumping off
 at stations  one by one.
 His woman and his best friend
 in bed and having fun.
 Crawling down the corridor
 on his hands and knees
 old Charlie stole the handle and
 the train won't stop going
 no way to slow down.
 He hears the silence howling
 catches angels as they fall.
 And the all time winner
 has got him by the balls.
 He picks up Gideons Bible
 open at page one
 old Charlie stole the handle and
 the train won't stop going
 no way to slow down.
 
@SONG: Wind Up
 
 When I was young, they packed me off to school
 and taught me how not to play the game.
 I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
 or if they said that I was a fool.
 So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm
 their half-asses smiles and the book of rules.
 So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply,
 He said  I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
 So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares);
 before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
 I don't believe you: you got the whole damn thing all wrong
 He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
 Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school
 and have all the bishops harmonize these lines
 how do you dare tell me that I'm my fathers son
 when that was just an accident of Birth.
 I'd rather look around me  compose a better song
 'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
 In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,