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In a churchyard by a river
Lasing in the haze of midday
Laughing in the grasses and the graves

Yellow bird you are not lonely
In signing and in flying on
In laughing and in leaving

Willow weeping in the water
Waving to the river daughters
Swaying in the ripples and the wreaths

On a trip to Cirrus Minor
Saw a crater in the sun
A thousand miles of moonlight later

The Nile Song (R. Waters)

I was standing by the Nile
When I saw the lady smile
I would take her out a while for a while
Like tiers that like a child
How her golden hear was blowing wild
Then the spread her wings to fly for to fly
Soaring high above the breezes
Going always where the pleases

She will make it tog island in the sun
I will follow her in her shadow
And I'll watch her from my window
One day I will catch her

She is calling from the deep
Summoning my soul to endless sleep
She is bound to drug me down

Crying Song (R. Waters)

We smile and smile
Laughter echoes in your eyes
We climb and climb
Fruit falls softly in the pines
We cry and cry
Sadness passes in a while
We roll and roll
Help me roll away the stone

Up The Khuber (R. Wright, N. Mason)


Grenn In The Colour (R. Waters)

Heavy hung the canopy of blue
Shade my eyes and I can see you
White is the light that shines through the dress
That you wore

She lay in the shadow of a wave
Hazy were the visions overplayed
Sunlight in her eyes, but moonshine made her cry every time

Green is the colour of her kind
Quickness of the eye decieves the mind
Envy in the bond between the hopeful and the damned

Cymbaline (R. Waters)

The path you tread is narrow and the trumpets sheer
And very high
The ravens all are watching from the vantage point nearby
Aprehension creeping like a tube train up your spine
Will the tight rope reach the end
Will the final couplet rhyme
And it's high time, Cumbaline
Please wake me

A butterfly with brouken wings is falling by your side
And raves all are closing in there's nowhere
You can hide
Your manager and agent are both busy on the phone
Selling coloured photographs to magasines back home
And it's high time, Cumbaline
Please make me

The lions converging where you stand, they must have moved
The picture plain
The leaves are heavy 'round your feet,
You hear the trunder of the train
Suddenly it strikes you that they're moving into range
And Doctor Strange is always changing size
And it's high time, Cumbaline
Please make me



I'm so afraid of the mistakes they I made
Making every time that I lay
I fell like an odball with a cut-off mind
So if you excuse me it's time
When the count is rhymed
And the story-line is fine

I've been amazed since the first time
I can't get a line too close
Take me down, take me down
From the cell of my mind
And hear me slowly floating lonely
Flowing down too slow





Last-modified: Tue, 29 Jul 1997 08:45:40 GMT
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