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Lords Prayer

アーティスト：Roy Harper  アルバム：Lifemask 

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a) Poem b) Modal Song parts I to IV c) Front Song d) Middle Song e) End Song (Front Song reprise) There once was a man from the old stone age And he used to follow the weather But now he's got hung up on filling a page Upon whether to go or together And he's been around for so damn long With his whooping and wailing Crushing questions between right and wrong And impaling The best he can hope and the worst he can fear On the solstices of an illusion A massive erection of pushy defence Up the whole of the prosecution Great solace the wound, great relish the pain To be loosing the reins of a poem To bleed from the tip of my tongue yet again That part of my heart that is showing These children conceived in the womb of this crash To be the sponsors of nothing much more Than rearguard directions of crossfingered sections Of purpose pot - looking for nothing But what is this last desperate vestige of heart over head But another conjecture No more the tomb of the martyred dead Than the ghost of our parting gesture And a hundred billion crystal balls Represent a remarkable failure To swell the song each moment long At the counterpoint of nature As four thumbs flick the tarot deck And two tongues fork eight aces Maybe sixteen fingers feel The fool lives in two places Where rosy lee can read this tea And leave me living the story A white dove with a hawks' head And an open mind before me To sail for a land where life is a high Not a word to be heard or be spoken But the soul - woven web of the endless touch Of a child who could never be broken Who plays a new world on the brink of the ebb As the fish cats prowl in the harbour And now soars high on the beckoning tides' long arm To weigh his last anchor And the sou'westers sing as the lifeboat bells ring In the heads on the faces of changes The heavens collage on excalibres edge The star in his movie converges With fate, in his task, and doom on his brow And a ship in his eye in a bottle Who speeds, to force, to want, to have, To find, to further fortune, Who comes from the north, west, south and east Of the passions of a spirit Witl all the flight of the wildest beast To ever spurr a stirrup, Whose pulse is the master of action Whose heart is an everlasting secret Whose arms are desire Whose lips are welcome Whose eyes tell stories Whose head is a journey Whose hands unfold Whose feet fly Whose face is the stained glass window of a continuous orgasm. Whose being is mine Whose wounds are precious Whose poem is a flower Whose gentleness is the devil Whose indentity is naked Whose magic is a gift Whose power is the transparent tapestry of history Whose stamp is a freak Whose wits are battles Whose cousin is dog Whose times are well fought for Whose stoneage is clever Whose poets know Whose music is barbarian Whose artists are helpless spherical mirrors spinning on the horns of a tidal wave Whose information is belief Whose complexes become religion Whose foundation is spread Whose word is god Whose books are projectiles Whose message is must Whose excuse is holy



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