Tom: D
Introdução:
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There was a boy who came into this world at the hands of a holy woman in a holy place
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He wore a red coat and walked a bulldog, saw them reflected in the mirror of the lakes
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Lived in the shadow of the mountains with the smells of disinfectant
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Dusty old leather and the polished wood of his bed
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No more than a baby feeding swans on the river, holding the hands of his mother
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And the wax paper bag of yesterday's bread
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And his father on the other side of the world on the ship's railings and some far away tide
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With the silent dry tear of home thoughts from abroad in his far away eyes
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In his far away eyes
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The smell of the wax on the wooden floor, mixture of polish and soap
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No children to fear or to play with, rows of empty hooks for the coats
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An upright piano and the boys in the choir still remind him of just before he was born
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Remind him of just before he was breathing, strange misty visions of God
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Turn the cities into families, into villages of souls
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Hovering in the air while they're sleeping, with their houses invisible
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Send to me the ghosts of Christmas, whispering, "You're the only one"
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And ever since I was a boy, I never felt that I belonged
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Or would I spit it back at them and not get caught up in their rules
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And live according to my own and not be used, not be used
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To find the fundamental truths, it was gonna take some time
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Thirty-five summers down the line, the wisdom of each passing year
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Seems to serve only to confuse, seems to serve only to confuse
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Daddycame out of the navy and took us away to his dirty grey home town
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And he worked down a coal mine for National Service so that he could be around
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There was a magical purple in the chrome of the exhaust of his Triumph motor bike
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And a warmth of oil and metal and the thrill of the hard corner holding tight
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From the horizon came home from the Navy to the mine
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From the horizon to buried alive
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Took his dream underground
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Buried his treasure in his faraway eyes
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And one day as the boy lay sleeping in the sunshine of a half-remembered afternoon
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A cloud of bees with no particular aim and no brain found the boy
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Decided that his time had come
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Came down out of the sky, stung him in the face again and again
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Blue pain, screaming like baptism, intravenous, Jesus
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Like being chosen from something with no brain, blue pain
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It's happening again, it's happening again
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Oh, Mummy, Daddy, will you sit a while with me?
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Oh, Mummy, Daddy, will you jog my memory?
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Tell me tall tales of Montego Bay, Table Mountain, flying fish
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Banana spiders, pots of paint and the sun on the Equator