MELHORES MÚSICAS / MAIS TOCADAS
jethro tull - aqualung
Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot is running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Hey aqualung!
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Hey aqualung!
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
The only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the park and
Warms his feet.
Feeling alone
The army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and
A cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
Don't ya start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see it's only me.
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
And the ice that clings on to your beard
Is screaming agony
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds,
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring.
jethro tull - too old to rock n roll too young to die
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.
He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville.
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
and prays that he always will.
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
all of his mates are doing time:
married with three kids up by the ring road
sold their souls straight down the line.
And some of them own little sports cars
and meet at the tennis club do's.
For drinks on a Sunday --- work on Monday.
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes.
Now they're too old to Rock'n'Roll and they're too young to die.
So the old Rocker gets out his bike
to make a ton before he takes his leave.
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner
just like it used to be.
And as he flies --- tears in his eyes ---
his wind-whipped words echo the final take
and he hits the trunk road doing around 120
with no room left to brake.
And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.
No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.
jethro tull - summerday sands
I once met a girl with her hands and we lay together on the summerday sands.
I gave her my raincoat and told her,"Lady,be good!"
And we made truth together,where no one else would.
I smiled through her fingers and ran the dust through her hands-the hour-glass of reason on the summerday sands.
We sat as the sea caught fire.
Waited as the flames grew higher in her eyes.
We watched the eagle born-wings clipped,tail feather shorn but we saw him rise-over summerday sands.
Came the ten o'clock curfew:she said,"I must start my car.I'm staying with someone I met last night in a bar."
I called from my wave top-"At least tell me your name!"
She smiled from her wheelspin and said,"It's all the same."
I thought for a minute,jumped back on dry land-left one set of footprints in the summerday sands.
I once met a girl with her life in her hands and we lied together on the summerday sands.
jethro tull - rainbow blues
Through northern lights on back streets ---
I told the coachman, ``Just drive me on,
It's the same old destination
but a different world to sing upon.''
So he threw back his head and he counted.
I jumped out about five to nine.
And I waved at the stage door-keeper ---
said, ``Mister, get me to the stage on time.''
Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so I slipped behind a rainbow
and waited till the show had done.
I packed my ammunition.
Inside the crowd was shouting, ``Encore'',
But I had a most funny feeling ---
it wasn't me they were shouting for.
So when the tall dark lady smiled at me
I said, ``Oh, baby let us go for a ride.''
And we came upon two drinks or four
and popped them oh so neatly inside.
Oh, but the rain wasn't made of water
and the snow didn't have a place in the sun
so we slipped behind a rainbow
and lay there until we had done.
Let me pack you deep in my suitcase.
Oh, there's sure to be room for two ---
or you can drive me to the airplane
but don't let me catch those rainbow blues.
jethro tull - locomotive breath
In the Shuffling madness
of the locomotive breath,
runs the all time loser,
headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping
steam breaking on his brow
old Charlie stole the handle and the
train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
He sees his children jumping off
at stations one by one.
His woman and his best friend
in bed and having fun.
Crawling down the corridor
on his hands and knees
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
He hears the silence howling
catches angels as they fall.
And the all time winner
has got him by the balls.
He picks up Gideons Bible
open at page one
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
jethro tull - jack in the green
Have you seen Jack-in-the-Green?
- With his long tail hanging down.
He quietly sits under every tree
In the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup.
The dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground -
Signals the snow drops, it's time to grow
It's no fun being Jack-in-the-Green:
No place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier;
And carries the green flag all the winter long.
Jack do you never sleep - does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so.
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.
The Rowan, the Oak and the Holly tree
Are the charges left for him to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers, "Jack-in-the-Green."
"Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night."
And - "We are the berries on the Holly tree:
Oh, the Mistle Thrush is coming. Jack, put out the light!"
jethro tull - to cry you a song
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,
can't find what they're looking for.
Waving me through
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.
Lights in the street,
peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before --
Came down from the skies
to cry you a song.
jethro tull - teacher
Well the dawn was coming,
heard him ringing on my bell.
He said, ``My name's the teacher,
that is what I call myself.
And I have a lesson
that I must impart to you.
It's an old expression
but I must insist it's true.
Jump up, look around,
find yourself some fun,
no sense in sitting there hating everyone.
No man's an island and his castle isn't home,
the nest is for nothing when the bird has flown.''
So I took a journey,
threw my world into the sea.
With me went the teacher
who found fun instead of me.
Hey man, what's the plan, what was that you said?
Sun-tanned, drink in hand, lying there in bed.
I try to socialize but I can't seem to find
what I was looking for, got something on my mind.
Then the teacher told me
it had been a lot of fun.
Thanked me for his ticket
and all that I had done.
Hey man, what's the plan, what was that you said?
Sun-tanned, drink in hand, lying there in bed.
I try to socialize but I can't seem to find
what I was looking for, got something on my mind.
jethro tull - budapest
I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.
We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.
You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of aknife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playingfor your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.
She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.
She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.
Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.
I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.
jethro tull - pussy willow
In the half-tone light of a young morning
she sighs and shifts on the pillow.
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
to kiss the Pussy Willow.
In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing
in a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believe
for her white knight to appear.
Pusy Willow down fur-lined avenue
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs for the train, see: eight o'clock's coming
cutting dreams down to size again.
Pussy Willow down fur-lined avenue,
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming,
cutting dreams down to size again.
She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing
an apartment in old Mayfair.
Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring
or to die for a cause somewhere.
Pussy Willow down fur-lined avenue,
brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming,
cutting dreams down to size again.
Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow, Pussy Willow.
jethro tull - a christmas song
Once in Royal David?s City stood a lowly cattle shed,
where a mother laid her baby.
You?d do well to remember the things He later said.
When you?re stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties,
you?ll laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You?re missing the point I?m sure does not need making;
that Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
So how can you laugh when your own mother?s hungry
and how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I messed up your thoughtless pleasures,
remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.
Hey, Santa: pass us that bottle, will you?
jethro tull - some day the sun won t shine for you
In the morning - gonna get my things together.
Packing up and I'm leaving this place.
I don't believe you'll cry, there'll be a smile upon your face.
I didn't think how much you'd hurt me.
That's something that I laugh about.
Bring in the good times, baby.
And let the bad times out.
That old sun keeps on shining,
But someday it won't shine for you.
In the morning I'll be leaving.
I'll leave your mother too.
jethro tull - cross eyed mary
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.
She dines in Hampstead village on expense acconted gruel,
and the jack-knife barber drops her off at school.
Laughing in the playground - gets no kicks from little boys:
would rather make it with a letching grey
Or maybe her attention is draw by Aqualung
who watches through the railings as they play.
Cross-eyed MAry finds hard to get along.
She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a a song.
She's the rich man stealer but her favour's good and strong:
she's the Robin Hood of Highgate - helps the poor man get along.
jethro tull - a passion play
"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 wets 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 of 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.....
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 sleeves 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 appeared 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 eye-sight, insight, and foresight.
How could an intelligent hare make such a silly mistake?"
But all this time, Owl had been sitting on the fence, scowling!
A 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 was 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, of 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, 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.
Colours 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.
jethro tull - roots to branches
Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
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