Interpret:

Jethro Tull

Album:

Thick As A Brick

LATER. 
See there! A man born - and we pronounce him fit for peace. 
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease. 
We'll 
take the child from him 
put it to the test 
teach it 
to be a wise man 
how to fool the rest. 


QUOTE 
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional 
God is an overwhelming responsibility 
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons 
cats are on the upgrade 
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac. 


LATER 
In the clear white circles of morning wonder, 
I take my place with the lord of the hills. 
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows) 
sporting canvas frills. 
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention, 
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen. 
Saying -- how's your granny and 
good old Ernie: he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win. 


The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled 
in the seagull's call. 
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall. 
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun, 
and signal for the crack of dawn. 
Light the sun. 


Do you believe in the day? Do you? 
Believe in the day! The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun. 
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one. 
Do you believe in the day? 
The fading hero has returned to the night - and fully pregnant with the day, 
wise men endorse the poet's sight. 
Do you believe in the day? Do you? Believe in the day! 


Let me tell you the tales of your life of 
your love and the cut of the knife 
the tireless oppression 
the wisdom instilled 
the desire to kill or be killed. 
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by. 
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red - while the fool 
toasts his god in the sky. 


So come all ye young men who are building castles! 
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus. 
Mark the precise nature of your fear. 
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed 
with 
the blood of the fools and 
the thoughts of the wise and 
from the pan under your bed. 
Let me make you a present of song as 
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while 
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and 
the nursery rhyme winds along. 


So! Come all ye young men who are building castles! 
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus. 
Mark the precise nature of your fear. 
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you 
and the hour of judgement draweth near. 
Would you be 
the fool stood in his suit of armour or 
the wiser man who rushes clear. 
So! Come on ye childhood heroes! 
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books 
your super-crooks and 
show us all the way. 
Well! Make your will and testament. 
Won't you? Join your local government. 
We'll have Superman for president 
let Robin save the day. 
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday? 
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through? 
They're all resting down in Cornwall - writing up their memoirs 
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual. 


OF COURSE 
So you ride yourselves over the fields and 
you make all your animal deals and 
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.