Jethro Tull 1971

Letras Originales de Canciones Progresivas

Jethro Tull - AqualungJETHRO TULL - AQUALUNG (1971)
Ian Anderson - Flauta, guitarra, guitarra acústica, voces
Martin Barre - Descant, guitarra, guitarra eléctrica, flauta dulce
Clive Bunker - Batería, percusión
John Evan - Melotrón, multi instrumento, órgano, piano, teclados
Jeffrey Hammond - Flauta dulce alto, guitarra (bajo), voces
David Palmer - Teclados, saxofón, sintetizador
Arriba   In the Beginning

1 - In the beginning Man created God; and in the image of Man, created he him. 
2 - And Man gave unto God a multitude of names, that he might be Lord of all the earth when it was suited to Man 
3 - And on the seven millionth day Man rested and did lean heavily on his God and saw that it was good.
4 - And Man formed Aqualung of the dust of the ground, and a host of others likened unto his kind.
5 - And these lesser men were cast into the void; And some were burned, and some were put apart from their kind.
6 - And Man became the God that he had created and with his miracles did rule over all the earth.
7 - But as all these things came to pass, the Spirit that did cause man to create his God lived on within all men: even within Aqualung.
8 - And man saw it not.
9 - But for Christ's sake he'd better start looking.
Arriba   Aqualung

Sitting on a park bench eyeing up little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun, watching as the frilly panties run.
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
goes down to a  bog  to  warm his feet.
Feeling alone the  Army's up the rode
salvation a la mode and a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend don't start away uneasy
you poor old sod you see it's only me.
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze when 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.
Arriba   Cross-Eyed Mary

Who would be a poor man a beggerman, a thief if he had a rich man in his hand.
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.
Dines in  Hampstead village  on expense accounted  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 gray.
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung,
who watches through the railings as they play.
Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along.
She's a poor man's rich girl and she'll do it for a song.
She's a rich man's stealer but her favour's good and strong:
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate helps the poor man get along.
Arriba   Cheap Day Return

On Preston platform do your soft shoe shuffle dance.
Brush away the cigarette ash that's fallen down your pants.
And you sadly wonder does the nurse treat your old man the way she should.
She made you tea: asked for your autograph what a laugh.
Arriba   Mother Goose

As I did walk by Hampstead fair, I came upon Mother Goose - so I turned her loose she was screaming.
And a foreign student said to me was it really true there are elephants and lions too in Piccadilly Circus.
Walked down by the bathing pond to try and catch some sun.
Saw at least a hundred schoolgirls sobbing into hankerchiefs as one.
I don't believe they knew I was a schoolboy.
And a bearded lady said to me if you start your raving and your misbehaving you'll be sorry.
Then the chicken-fancier came to play with his long red beard (and his sister's weird: she drives a  lorry).
Laughed down by the  putting green  I popped 'em in their holes.
Four and twenty labourers were labouring digging up their gold.
I don't believe they knew that I was  Long John Silver.
Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds in his jet black mac (which he won't give back).
Stole it from a snow man.
Arriba   Wond'ring Aloud

Wond'ring aloud how we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset my hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours as we start both our hearts beating life into each other.
Wond'ring aloud will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed and I shake my head.
And it's only the giving that makes you what you are.
Arriba   Up To Me

Take you to the cinema and leave you in a  Wimpy Bar
you tell me that we've gone to far come running up to me.
Make the scene at Cousin Jack's leave him put the bottles back
mends his glasses that I cracked well that one's up to me.
Buy a silver cloud to ride pack the tennis club inside
trouser cuffs hung far too wide well it was up to me.
Tyres down on your bicycle your nose feels like an icicle
the yellow fingered smoky girl is looking up to me.
Well I'm a common working man with a half of butter bread and jam
and if it pleases me I'll put one one you man when the copper fades away.
The rainy season comes to pass the day-glo pirate sinks at last
and if I laughed a bit too fast.
Well it was up to me.
Arriba   My God

People what have you done locked him in his golden cage.
Made him bend to your religion Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the God of nothing if that's all that you can see.
You are the God of everything He's a part of you and me.
So lean upon him gently and don't call on Him to save you
from your social graces and the sins you wash to waive.
The bloody Church of England in chains of history
requests' your earthly presence at the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who he's got him fixed
with his plastic crucifix confuses me as in who and where and why
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to endless sin the endless whining sounds.
You'll be praying till next Thursday to all the God that you can count.
Arriba   Hymn 43

Oh father high in heaven smile down upon your son
whose busy with his money games his women and his gun.
And the unsung Western Hero killed an indian or three
and made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free.
If Jesus saves, well he'd better save himself
from the gory glory seekers who use his name in death.
I saw him in the city and on the mountains of the moon
his cross was rather bloody He could hardly roll his stone.
Arriba   Slipstream

Well the lush separation enfolds you and the products of wealth
push you along on the bow wave of the spiritless undying selves.
And you press on God's waiter your last dime as he hands you the bill.
And you spin in the slipstream timeless unreasoning
paddle right out of the mess.
Arriba   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 Gideon's Bible open at page one
old Charlie stole the handle and the train won't stop going
no way to slow down.
Arriba   Wind Up

When I was young, they packed me off to school and taught me how not to play the game.
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm
their half-asses smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply,
He said I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares);
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers
I don't believe you: you got the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines
how do you dare tell me that I'm my fathers son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me compose a better song
'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory
you're a poorer man than me.

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