Letras Forest Dance #2 - Jethro Tull

Forest Dance #2

The Story Of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles\nThis is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles\nOwl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching\nSitting on a fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close\nby\nNow this may not seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper to no\none in particular\n«The hare has lost his spectacles,» well, he began to wonder\nPresently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and there, lying on the grass\nwas hare\nIn the stream that flowed by the grass a newt\nAnd sitting astride a twig of a bush a bee\nOstensibly motionless, the hare was trembling with excitement\nFor without his spectacles he appeared completely helpless\nWhere were his spectacles? Could someone have stolen them?\nHad he mislaid them? What was he to do?\nBee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer began:\n«You probably ate them thinking they were a carrot.»\n«No!» interrupted Owl, who was wise\n«I have good eye-sight, insight, and foresight\nHow could an intelligent hare make such a silly mistake?»\nBut all this time, Owl had been sitting on the fence, scowling!\nA Kangaroo were hopping mad at this sort of talk\nShe thought herself far superior in intelligence to the others\nShe was their leader, their guru. She had the answer:\n«Hare, you must go in search of the optician.»\nBut then she realized that Hare was completely helpless without his spectacles\nAnd so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, «I can’t send Hare in search of anything!»\n«You can guru, you can!» shouted Newt\n«You can send him with Owl.»\nBut Owl had gone to sleep\nNewt knew too much to be stopped by so small a problem\n«You can take him in your pouch.»\nBut alas, Hare was much too big to fit into Kangaroo’s pouch\nAll this time, it had been quite plain to hare that the others knew nothing\nabout spectacles\nAs for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn’t care\nThe lost spectacles were his own affair\nAnd after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair\nForest Dance No.2\nInstrumental part\nThe Foot Of Our Stairs\nWe sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door\nEat in the corner, talk to the floor\nCheating the spiders who come to say «Please», (politely)\nThey bend at the knees\nWell, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs\nOld gentlemen talk of when they were young\nOf ladies lost, of erring sons\nLace-covered dandies revel (with friends)\nPure as the truth, tied at both ends\nWell I’ll go to the foot of our stairs\nScented cathedral spire pointed down\nWe pray for souls in Kentish Town\nA delicate hush\nThe gods, floating by\nWishing us well\nPie in the sky\nGod of Ages, Lord of Time\nMine is the right, right to be wrong\nWell I’ll go to the foot of our stairs\nJack rabbit mister spawn a new breed of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed)\nShow me a good man and I’ll show you the door\nThe last hymn is sung and the devil cries «More.»\nWell, I’m all for leaving and that being done\nI’ve put in a request to take up my turn\nIn that forsaken paradise that calls itself «Hell»\nWhere no-one has nothing and nothing is- well -meaning fool\nPick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling\nGive me your hate and do as the loving heathen do\nOverseer Overture\nColours I’ve none dark or light, red, white or blue\nCold is my touch (freezing)\nSummoned by name — I am the overseer over you\nGiven this command to watch o’er our miserable sphere\nFallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain\nOccasional corn from my oversight grew\nFell with mine angels from a far better place\nOffering services for the saving of face\nNow you’re here, you may as well admire\nAll whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation\nLegends were born surrounding mysterious lights\nSeen in the sky (flashing)\nI just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye\nPassionate play join round the maypole in dance\n(primitive rite) (wrongly)\nSummoned by name — I am the overseer over you\nFlight From Lucifer\nFlee the icy Lucifer\nOh he’s an awful fellow!\nWhat a mistake!\nI didn’t take a feather from his pillow\nHere’s the everlasting rub: neither am I good nor bad\nI’d give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had\nI’m only breathing\nThere’s life on my ceiling\nThe flies there are sleeping quietly\nTwist my right arm in the dark. I would give two or three for\nOne of those days that never made impressions on the old score\nI would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree\nEveryone’s saved we’re in the grave\nSee you there for afternoon tea\nTime for awaking the tea lady’s making\nA brew-up and baking new bread\nPick me up at half past none\nThere’s not a moment to lose\nThere is the train on which I came\nOn the platform are my old shoes\nStation master rings his bell\nWhistles blow and flags wave\nA little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should)\nI thank everybody for making me welcome\nI’d stay but my wings have just dropped off\n10.08 To Paddington=\nInstrumental part\nMagus Perdé\nHail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign\nCross your fingers in the sky\nFor those about to BE\nThere am I waiting along the sand\nCast your sweet spell upon the land and sea\nMagus Perdé, take your hand from off the chain\nLoose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to BE\nHere am I (voyager into life)\nTough are the soles that tread the knife’s edge\nBreak the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil\nBring the gods, the gods' own fire\nIn the conflict revel\nThe passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born\nRenew the pledge of life’s long song rise to the reveille horn\nAnimals queuing at the gate that stands upon the shore\nBreathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door\nMan — son of man — buy the flame of ever-life\n(Yours to breathe and breath the pain of living): living BE!\nHere am I! Roll the stone away\nFrom the dark into ever-day\nEpilogue\nThere was a rush along the Fulham Road\nInto the Ever-passion Play