A Passion Play Lyrics

    "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.
    From your hand.
    There's a line in a front-page story- 13 horses that also-ran.
    Also-ran.
    Climb in your old umbrella, Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
    In the dome?
    But the rain only gets in sometimes, and the sun never leaves you
         alone.
    You alone.
    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 sleeve, 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.

     This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles!

    Owl  loved  to  rest  quietly  whilst no one was watching. Sitting on a
    fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close by.
    Now  this may not seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper
    to  no  one in particular, "The hare has lost his spectacles", well, he
    began to wonder.
    Presently,  the  moon appeared from behind a cloud, and there, lying on
    the  grass,  was  Hare. In the stream that flowed by the grass- a newt.
    And sitting astride a twig of a bush- a bee.
    Ostensibly  motionless,  the  hare  was  trembling with excitement, for
    without  his  spectacles  he  was  completely  helpless. Where were his
    spectacles?  Could  someone have stolen them? Had he mislaid them? What
    was he to do?
    Bee  wanted  to  help,  and  thinking  he  had  the answer, began, "You
    probably ate them thinking they were a carrot".
    "No!"  interrupted  Owl,  who  was wise. "I have good eysight, insight,
    and  foresight.  How  could  an  intelligent  hare  make  such  a silly
    mikstake?"  But  all  this  time,  Owl  had  been sitting on the fence,
    scowling!
    Kangaroo  were  hopping  mad  at this sort of talk. She thought herself
    far  superior  in  intelligence  to  the  others. She was their leader,
    their  guru.  She  had  the answer: "Hare, you must go in search of the
    optician"
    But  then  she  realized that Hare were completely helpless without his
    spectacles.  And  so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, "I can't send Hare in
    search of anything!"
    "You  can,  guru,  you can!" shouted Newt. "You can send him with Owl."
    But  Owl  had  gone  to  sleep.  Newt knew too much to be stopped by so
    small  a  problem: "You can take him in your pouch." But alas, Hare was
    much too big to fit into Kangaroo's pouch.
    All  this  time,  it  had been quite plain to Hare that the others knew
    nothing about spectacles.
    As for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn't care.
    The lost spectacles were his own affair.
    And after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair...
    A-pair...


    We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door
    Eat in the corner, talk to the floor.
    Cheating the spiders who come to say "Please"
    Politely they bend at the knees.

    Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

    Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
    Of ladies lost and erring sons.
    Lace-covered dandies revel with friends
    Pure as the truth tied at both ends.

    Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

    Scented cathedral-spire pointed down
    We pray for souls in Kentish town.
    A delicate hush- the gods floating by
    Wishing us well- pie in the sky.
     God of Ages, Lord of Time
    Mine is the right to be wrong.

    Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.

    Jack rabbit mister, spawn a new breed
    Of love-hungry pilgrims, no bodies to feed
    Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
    The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More"

    Well, I'm all for leaving and that being done
    I've put in a request to take up my turn
    In that forsaken paradise that calls itself Hell
    Where no one has nothing and nothing is well-

    -meaning fool, pick up thy bed and rise
    Up from your gloom smiling.
    Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.

    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.
    Now you're here you may as well admire
    All whom living has retired
    From the benign reconciliation.

    Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
    Seen in the sky, flashing.
    I just lit a fag, then took my leave in the blink of an eye.

    Passionate play, join round the maypole in dance
    Primitive rite- wrongly
    Summoned by name, I am the overseer over you.

    Flee the icy Lucifer!
    Oh he's an awful fellow!
    What a mistake! I didn't take
    A feather from his pillow.

    Here's the everlasting rub
    Neither am I good or bad
    I'd give up my halo for a horn
    And the horn for the hat I once had.
     I'm only breathing, there's life on my ceiling
    The flies there are sleeping quietly...

    Twist my right arm in the dark
    I would give two or three for
    One of those days that never made
    Impressions on the old score.

    I would gladly be a dog
    Barking up the wrong tree
    Everyone's saved- we're in the grave
    See you there for afternoon tea.

    Time for awaking, the tea-lady's making
    A brew up and baking new bread...

    Pick me up at half past none
    There's not a moment to lose
    There is the train on which I came
    On the platform are my old shoes.

    Station master rings his bell
    Whistles blow and flags wave
    A little of what you fancy does
    You good, or so it should

    I thank everybody for making me welcome
    I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off.

    Hail, Son of Kings!  Make the ever-dying sign
    Cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
    There am I, waiting along the sand.
    Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.

    Magus Perde', take your hand from off the chain
    Loose a wish to still the rain, the storm about to BE.
    Here am I, Voyager into life.
    Tough are the soles that tread the knife's edge.

    Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the Devil.
    Bring the gods, the gods' own fire in the conflict revel.

    The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born
    Renew the pledge of life's long song, rise to the reveille horn.

    Animals queueing at the gate that stands upon the shore
    Breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.

    Man, son of man, buy the flame of ever-life
    Yours to breathe and breath the pain of living, living BE!
    Here am I! Roll the stone away
    From the dark into ever-day.

    There was a rush along the Fulham Road
    Into the ever-Passion Play.