Preenchendo O Vazio da Existência

Peregrinos

Algumas vezes você se sente tão longe,

Distante de toda a ação do jogo

Impossibilitado de coomprender significados,

Marcando a trama com uma reservada tristeza

Preso no centro do palco,

Procurando pelo seu diário por uma página perdida:

Incerto do sonho

Chutando uma pedra pela praia

Machucando-se por amor e comforto fora do alcançe

O caminho em frente pareçe ser tão escuro

Não há ninguém com nenhuma amizade restante para falar

Ou mostrar alguma relação

Entre as suas situações do presente e do futuro...

Perdido no sonho

Longe, Longe, Longe -- Olhe para o dia futuro

Para esperança, algum tipo de paz

Dentro da crescente tempestade.

Eu escalo pela noite

Vivo e acreditando

Que ao tempo todos deveremos saber nossos objetivos

E intão, nosso lar

Por enquanto, tudo é secreto -

Mas como eu poderia dizer,

Permita-me o sonho no meu olho!

Eu estive esperando por tanto tempo

Só para ver, finalmente, todas as mãos firmemente apertadas,

Todos nós peregrinos

Andando em silêncio pela costa,

Meramente por uma jornada - aqui a esperança é a maior,

Meramente para saber que há um fim;

Todos nós - amantes, irmãos, irmãs, amigos

De mãos dadas

Pegadas brilhantes na areia molhada

Lideram até o sonho.

O tempo chegou, a maré quase correu

E drenou o fundo: Eu levanto-me de um sono de toda a vida.

Parece tanto tempo

Eu sonhei, mas agora acordado,

Eu vejo que somos peregrinos e então,

Devemos andar esta rua,

Desconhecido em nossos propósitos,

Sozinhos, mas não desvalorizados,

E o lar nunca nos chamando.

Nós esperamos aqui por tanto tempo,

Todas nossas mãos juntas em esperança,

Segurando o peso na corda

Todos nós, Peregrinos.(Peter Hammill)

House With No Door

There's a house with no door and I'm living there
at nights it gets so cold and the days are hard to bear inside.
There's a house with no roof, so the rain creeps in,
falling through my head as I try to think out time.
I don't know you, you say you know me, that may be so,
there's so much that I am unsure of ...
You call my name, but it sounds unreal, I forget how I feel,
my body's rejecting the cure.
There's a house with no bell, but then nobody calls;
I sometimes find it hard to tell if any are alive at all outside.
There's a house with no sound; yes, it's quiet there ...
there's not much point in words if there's no-one to share in time.
I've learned my lines, I know them so well, I am ready to tell
whoever will finally come in
Of the line in my mind that's cold in the night, it doesn't seem right
when there's that little dark figure running ...
There's a house with no door and there's no living there:
one day it became a wall ... well I didn't really care at the time.
There's a house with no light, all the windows are sealed,
overtaxed and strained NOW NOTHING IS REVEALED BUT TIME
I don't know you, you say you know me, that may be so,
there's so much that I am unsure of ...
You call my name, but it sounds unreal, I forget how I feel,
my body's rejecting the cure .....
Won't somebody help me ......?(Peter Hammill)

The Aerosol Grey Machine

Just one breath, and it's instant death,
it's the Aerosol Grey Machine!
Just one breath, and it's instant death,
it's the Aerosol Grey Machine!
You're walking along the road one day,
up comes a man dressed all in grey;
he blows a little aerosol in your face
and you find your mind's all over the place...
Just one breath, and it's instant death,
it's the Aerosol Grey Machine!
(hype:) "Buy an Aerosol Grey Machine for your own home today!"
(dissent:) "Shan't. Shan't. I'm not going to!"
(sniggersnigger. chortle.)(Peter Hammill)

Emperor In His War Room

i. THE EMPEROR
Standing in the space that holds the silent lace of night
away from you
You think that you can hold the searing, moulten gold between
your fingers ...
But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes,
exposing the white of a knuckle ...
flesh-and-metal forming letters in the mould.
Cradling you gun, after choosing the ones you think should die-
Lying on the hill ... crawling over the windowsill into your
living-room
They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads,
bodies torn by vultures ..
you are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death.
Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace ...
Ah, but it is the only way you know .....
Looking out to sea, a flattened plane of weeds which bear no living
You crush life in your fist as your heart is kissed by the lips
of death
Ghosts betray you, ghosts betray you, in the night they steal your eye
from its socket ...
and the ball hangs fallen on your cheek.
Complaining tongues are stilled; a thousand mouths are filled
with rusting metal.
Your face a shade of green; somehow you try to speak through all the
garbage in your mouth
But it won't come out, and you cannot frame the words
as your stepson
throws your fame into the flames and you are burned.
Saviour of the Fallen, Protector of the Weak,
Friend of the Tall Ones, Keeper of the Peace.
Ah, but it is the only way you know ..........
ii. THE ROOM
Live by sword and you shall die so,
All your power shall come to nought,
every life you take is part of your own,
death, not power, is what you've bought.
Cringing in your room as the outriders of doom step
on your threshold;
Begging for your life as the impartial knife sinks in your
screaming flesh ...
without malice, merely taking murder's toll,
you must pay the price of hate, and that price is
your soul ....
Live in peace or die forever in your war-room.(Peter Hammill)