[Music] Best lyrics in a song

n1 gull said:

This is a bit route one but none the less simply sublime;

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die …

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Harry Wilson's tackle said:

Here's chilling. Let's see if anyone knows it. Clue, from the 1970s.

In Bromine Chambers
there can be no mercy,
no bitter flagellation for your sins;
no forgiveness and no sackcloth
can cease the dance
of ashes on the wind.

Too late now for a wish
to change all wishing;
too late to change, to breathe, to grow.
Too late to smother out the tell-tale footprints
which mark your passage through the greying snow.

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Weststander said:

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling, rolling into the night
People so busy, make me feel dizzy, taxi light shines so bright
But I don't, need no friends
As long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset, I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
Chilly chilly is the evening time, Waterloo sunset's fine

Terry meets Julie, Waterloo Station, every Friday night
But I am so lazy, don't want to wander, I stay at home at night
But I don't, feel afraid
As long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset, I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
Chilly chilly is the evening time, Waterloo sunset's fine

Millions of people swarming like flies 'round Waterloo underground
Terry and Julie cross over the river where they feel safe and sound
And they don't, need no friends
As long as they gaze on Waterloo Sunset, they are in paradise

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Harry Wilson's tackle said:

Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
Sometimes I think I'll disappear; betimes I think I have.
There's a line snaking down my mirror :
Splintered glass distorts my face,
And though the light is strong and strange
It can't illuminate the musty corners of this place.
There is a lofty, lonely, Lohengrenic castle in the clouds --
I draw my murky meanings there,
But seven years' dark luck is just around the corner
And in the shadows lurks the spectre of Despair.
A cracked mirror mid the drapes of the landing :
Split image, labored understanding ----
I'm only trying to find a place to hide my home ....
I've lived in houses composed of glass
Where every movement is charted,
But now the monitor screens are dark
And I can't tell if silent eyes are there.
My words are spiders upon the page,
They spin out faith, hope and reason ----
But are they meet and just, or only dust
gathering about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling that there's
Someone else there :
The faceless watcher makes me uneasy,
I can feel him through the floorboards,
and His presence is creepy ----
He informs me that I shall be expelled ....
What is that but out of and into :
I don't know the nature of the door that I'd go through,
I don't know the nature of the nature
that I am inside ....
I've lived in houses of brick and lead
Where all emotion is sacred,
And if you want to devour the fruit
You must first sniff at the fragrance
And lay your body before the shrine
With poems and posies and papers ----
Or, if you catch the ruse, you'll have to choose
To stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant.
What is this place you call home?
Is it a sermon or a confession?
Is it the chalice that you use for protection?
Is it really only somewhere you can stay?
Is it a rule-book or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the hands of your Protector?
Does the idol have feet of clay?
Home is what you make it, so my friends
all say,
But I rarely see their homes in these dark days.
Some of them are snails and carry houses
on their backs;
Others live in monuments which, one day,
will be racks --
I keep my home in place with sellotape
and tin-tacks,
But I still feel there's some other Force here :
He who cracks the mirrors and moves the walls
Keeps staring through the eye-slits of the portraits
in my hall;
He ravages my library and taps the telephone --
I've never actually seen Him,
But I know He's in my home
And if he goes away,
I can't stay here either.
I believe -- er -- I think --
Well, I don't know ......
I only live in one room at a time,
But all of the walls are ears, all the windows, eyes :
Everything else is foreign,
'Home' is my wordless chant :
Mmmmmaah!
Give it a chance!
I am surrounded by flesh and bone,
I am a temple of living,
I am a hermit, I am a drone,
And I am boning out a place to be.
With secret garlands about my head
Unearthly silence is broken :
The room is growing dark, and in the stark light
I can see a face I know ----
Could this be the guy who never shows
The cracked mirror what he's feeling,
Merely mumbles prayers to the ground where
he's kneeling :
"Home is home is home is home is home is home is me!"
All you people looking for your houses,
Don't throw your weight around, you might
break your glasses
And if you do, you know you just can't see
And then how are you to find the dawning
of the day?
--- Day is just a word I use to keep the dark
at bay,
And people are imaginary, nothing else exists
Except the room I'm sitting in,
And, of course, the all-pervading mist ---
Sometimes I wonder if even that's real ....
Maybe I should de-louse this place;
Maybe I should de-place this louse;
Maybe I'll maybe my life away
In the confines of this silent house.
Sometimes it's very scary here; sometimes it's very sad;
Sometimes I think I'll disappear; sometimes I think ..... "

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studio150 said:

Peter Hammill

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studio150 said:

As we're now onto songs about cars,

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