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