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sexta-feira, 24 de janeiro de 2014

Jethro Tull - Thick As a Brick





Thick As a Brick
Jethro Tull

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.
And the sand castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction, the moral melee
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
As the last wave uncovers the newfangled way

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
And your suntan does rapidly peel
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be Thick as a Brick
And the love that I feel is so far away
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
And you shake your head
And say it's a shame
Spin me back down the years
And the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains
And shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages
Let them sing the song

See there, a son is born
And we pronounce him fit to fight
There are blackheads on his shoulders
And there he pees himself in the night
We'll make a man of him
Put him to trade
Teach him to play Monopoly
And how to sing in the rain

The poet and the painter
Casting shadows on the water
As the sun plays on the infantry
Returning from the sea

The doer and the thinker, no allowance for the other
As the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed
The home fire burning, the kettle almost boiling
But the master of the house is far away

The horses stamping
Their warm breath clouding
In the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen
While the soldier sheaths his sword

And the youngest of the family
Is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea
He dares the tardy tide
To wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing
At the grass down by the river
Where the swelling mountain water
Moves onward to the sea

The builder of the castles
Renews the age-old purpose
And contemplates the milking girl
Whose offer is his need

The young men of the household
Have all gone into service
And are not to be expected for a year

The innocent young master
Thoughts moving ever faster
Has formed the plan to change the man he seems

And the poet sheaths his pen
While the soldier lifts his sword

And the oldest of the family
Is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea
He challenges the son
Who puts him to the run

What do you do when the old man's gone?
Do you want to be him?

And your real self sings the song
Do you want to free him?

No one to help you get up steam
And the whirlpool turns you way off beam

I've come down from the upper class
To mend your rotten ways
My father was a man of power
Whom everyone obeyed
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
Just like I did with my old man
Twenty years too late

Your bread and water's going cold
Your hair is short and neat
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
That no one judges me

You curl your toes in fun
As you smile at everyone
You meet the stares
You're unaware
That your doings aren't done
And you laugh most ruthlessly
As you tell us what not to be
But how are we supposed to see
Where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom
With your rings upon your fingers
And your downy little sidies
And your silver-buckle shoes

Playing at the hard case
You follow the example
Of the comic-paper idol
Who lets you bend the rules
So, come on you childhood heroes
Won't you rise up from the pages
Of your comic-books, you 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

You put your bet on number one
And it comes up every time
The other kids have all backed down
And they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself
Just how big you are
And you take your place in a wiser world
Of bigger motor cars
(And you wonder who to call on)
So, where the hell was Biggles
When you needed him last Saturday?
And where are all the sportsmen
Who always pulled you through?

They're all resting down in Cornwall
Writing up their memoirs
For a paperback edition
Of the boy scout manual