The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the
smiling faces.
He met the gazes --- observed the spaces between the
old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred --- oblique
suggestions --- and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters --- static-humming
panel-beaters --- freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing).

Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief --
if he had a rich man in his hand.
And 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.

My first and last time with you
and we had some fun.
wenT walking through the trees, yeah!
And then I kissed you once.
Oh I want to see you soon
but I wonder how.
It was a new day yesterday
but it's an old day now.

Spent a long time looking
for a game to play.
My luck should be so bad now
to turn out this way.
Oh I had to leave today
just when I thought I'd found you.
It was a new day yesterday

[Instrumental]

Thick As A Brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out
My words but a whisper, your deafness a shout
I may make you feel but I can't make you think
Your sperm's in the gutter, your love's in the sink
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

I'll take you down to that bright city mile ---
there to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile,
that will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain,
when you join my explosion
and play with my games.
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
No unconditional surrender; no armistice day ---
each night I'll die in my contentment and lie in your grave.

Colors I've none -- dark or light, red, white or blue.

Cold is my touch (freezing).

Summoned by name -- I am the overseer over you.

Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.

Fallen from grace / called on to bring sun or rain.

Occasional corn from my oversight grew.

Fell with mine angels from a far better place, offering services for

the saving of face.

Flying so high, trying to remember
how many cigarettes did I bring along
When I get down I'll jump in a taxi cab
driving through London town
to cry you a song.

It's been a long time --
still shaking my wings.
Well, I'm a glad bird
I got changes to ring.

Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
but I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,

The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.
Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---
the transport caf' prophet of doom.
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
in his post-war-babe gloom.

Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die.

Rise up all you fine young ladies and take arms for the show.
Oh, we’ll put your name up in lights,
Put you down on glory row.
Would you be the star of ages
To light your own way at night?
Might be a former beauty queen with your high smile stuck on so tightly.
They come and they go down on glory row.
It’s the same old story --- yes, it the same old show.