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Peter Hammill - Flight Lyrics

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  • Flying Blind
  • I alway forget how crazy things are
  • so sometimes it catches me off my guard
  • when they make sense.
  • The line on the road trail the arrow in the sky,
  • I search for the mote in my brother's eye
  • beneath the pence...
  • a time of blunt instruments.
  • Still uncertain when I've woken
  • or what constitutes a conscious mind,
  • though the thought remains unspoken
  • I know I'm flying blind.
  • Breaking into cold sweat on the white-hot coals
  • the pennies from heaven drop through my soul:
  • it don't relent.
  • At the back end of dreams I'm amazed to awake...
  • I offer my theories but just can't shake
  • that seventh sense
  • to which there's no defense.
  • It seemed the time was for action,
  • it seemed so cool to be that kind...
  • my tongue writhed to form some retraction
  • but I knew I was flying blind.
  • I want things to be fast, down to the power-drive;
  • I want the zero-gravity heroes to play dead,
  • but stay alive.
  • We want it to be slow, all the way to stall;
  • we talk about a thousand things that never change at all.
  • No, it never change...
  • It was then that I knew I'd been thoughtless -
  • something had slipped my mind:
  • I'd strapped myself into the Fortress
  • but the Fortress was flying blind.
  • We got full clearance, so someone down there
  • ought to know the truth of our disappearance -
  • If even that still shows it accuses and blames me,
  • but nothing was quite what it seemed.
  • Sometimes things work out so strangely
  • that it might as well all be dreamed.
  • The White Cane Fandango
  • The White Cane Fandango in Morse code,
  • try to shake through the message,
  • shake the load;
  • only venial sin, running on the spot -
  • till the dance begins.
  • Where does a man go when the muscles cramp?
  • Try to write out a postcard on a postage stamp
  • with a drawing pin punching out the Braille
  • for the whole within?
  • Upset the contango on your future stock;
  • paying backwardation, hold onto what you've got -
  • such a sideways grin! Some day you may need
  • to trade that in.
  • If we ride this right
  • the future will fall in our hands.
  • If we survive the flight
  • the future will work out -
  • nothing's that black and white.
  • Control
  • The colour-coded charts are spread,
  • but we're still gliding deep into the red,
  • the radio is dead
  • every valve blown open.
  • The radar screen flicks monochrome,
  • air traffic controller wants to get on home,
  • waiting for a phone call
  • to release him from responsibility.
  • Nobody goes to see him any more
  • except for the man from the ministry.
  • He wanted to be, he wanted to be
  • the man at the helm, in command of the flightpath;
  • he's flying a chair, quite beyond control;
  • he's going to have just one more chance
  • at a barrel roll.
  • All in a dream, all as a dream,
  • the colours too bright, the music too deafening -
  • the black-out world has just begun to show.
  • These cracked-out words I offer...
  • but I still don't know.
  • Cool blue suffuse the colour gun -
  • oh come in, come in number one:
  • your time's nearly run.
  • Speed-freeze the frame,
  • the present and the past hold fast...
  • It's too fast, the thing don't,
  • the thing won't,
  • the thing don't last.
  • *****pit
  • The rolling dice clash together never make up the score;
  • that old device, the ejector seat, glued to the floor.
  • Everybody waits for everyone to make a show -
  • no-one wants to be the first, admitting that they know
  • how anythings that's gone down here
  • could fit into an analytic groove...
  • Wait for the tactical move,
  • wait for some action we all can approve.
  • Too much to drink, for the cup reaches down to the sea;
  • too much to think, the barometer pressuring me.
  • Rolling down the weather for an Easter parade,
  • reeling out the Maydays in the hope of being saved,
  • but the radio ham's out giving blood -
  • no, no, no, he's not listening.
  • The cricketer knows his "Wisden",
  • the pilot has got his "Jane's",
  • but the sum of this factual wisdom
  • don't help us to fly the plane
  • (no, and it never will...)
  • Beneath the tartan two-piece something rips undone...
  • Wait for the ladder to run
  • wait for the snake that the ladder becomes.
  • A passenger hits the *****pit, willing to chance his game:
  • pulls out his gun and *****s it
  • in the hope that it all might change. (oh, but it never will...)
  • A fly-leaf from the library shows others have been here before,
  • tried, failed and kicked out the door;
  • the aircrew don't care anymore -
  • not they just wait
  • for the beat of the silk-worm wing,
  • wait for the heat to come down on us
  • - full force of the law.
  • Silk-Worm Wings
  • Full force of gravity pulls me down,
  • I'll be better off out of there;
  • aerobatic spin around,
  • I'll take my chances in the open air.
  • Sycamore silk-worm wings
  • or Roman Candle to the ground,
  • there's only one thing for shure:
  • when the balloon goes up
  • the aeronaut calm down.
  • He say nothing is quite what it seems,
  • he say nothing is quite what it seems;
  • I say nothing is nothing.
  • A Black Box
  • Softly, the angels sing their time and space refrain:
  • there's something in everything if you can only pin down its name
  • Aerobatic thoughts at the back of my mind -
  • Is it nothing but the looping line we all follow?
  • Nothing but the spiral twist of DNA
  • There'll be no looking back from tomorrow on today.
  • So the wire is tripped, split-seconds defect to their successors;
  • the umbilical cord is ripped -
  • here we all are in free fall.
  • I stall where I am, as if to see where I've been:
  • only running down the looping line we all follow,
  • only chasing down the spiral twist of DNA -
  • There can be no looking on to tomorrow from today.
  • Life/death/night/day - cold breath will surely fly away.
  • Is the empire of sensation locked in a black box
  • deep in me, encoded there somehow?
  • It fires the imagination to fly on a wing and a prayer
  • through my life - is that how it is?
  • There'll be no looking back on this...
  • this is now, which will be then -
  • is this the means? All I know for shure is
  • this is the end.
  • No looking back from tomorrow,
  • no, there'll be no looking back on today;
  • better be looking on to tomorrow...
  • better think on today.
  • All lyrics by Peter Hammill
  • Published by Hit and Run Music Publishing Ltd.
  • Printed by permission.
  • S-type records, 55-59 Shaftsbury Ave., London W.I.
  • Calligraphy by Jet

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