Sailors Hornpipe
The Hallway. From The Outside An Ordinary House. A Great House, True. 483 Rooms, Each One With Its Own Marble Wash Bassin And
Douche. Bide As It's Known. But Inside ... And The Positions Are Reversed. A Human Failing, Some Say A Disease, But A Disease That Sir Francis Dashwood Knew And Used Well. Upstairs, Inside And A Revelation, It's A Discotheque. No, No, Err ... There Are Paintings ... Real ... And Look Here! A Rare 17th Century Masterpiece. And If I Can Scrape A Little Of It Of, Beneath I Can Find Hidden ... A 14th Century Underpiece. Made Entirely Of Tiny Pieces Of Eggshell. This Lurid Work Has Caused Controvesary In The World Of Embroidery And Anthropology. No, I'll Say It Again; Anthropolopology. No Quite Possibly Making Anthropole. No, I Mean An Epilog ... It Has Enthralled Distinguished Professors And In Laymans Language, It's Blinking Well Buffling, But To Be More Obtusely; Buggered If I Know. Yes, Buggered IF I Know. And That's All We've Been So Far. From Experts In 14th Century Painting Renaissance Greengrocers, And Recently Revived Members Of The Public. Buggered If I Know. Vivian Stanshall, About 3 O'clock In The Morning, Oxfordshire 1973. Goodnight!
The Rio Grande
We're homeward bound across the blue sea.
Going home.
We're homeward bound across the blue sea,
And we're come from the old country.
And away, love, away.
Going home.
We're homeward bound this very day,
And we're come from the old country.
The sails are unfold and the anchor's aweigh.
Going home.
She yeilds to the breeze as she gathers her way,
And we're come from the old country.
And away, love, away.
Going home.
We're homeward bound this very day,
And we're come from the old country.
We're homeward bound across the blue sea.
Going home.
We're homeward bound across the blue sea,
And we're come from the old country.
And away, love, away.
Going home.
We're homeward bound this very day,
And we're come from the old country.
Speak (Tho' You Only Say Farewell)
Speak, vision of the night,
Tell me why you haunt me so.
Speak, heaven morning light,
Whisper all my heart would know.
Dawn, ever finds you gone
Back to where the shadows dwell.
Speak, my beloved, speak,
Tho' you only say farewell.
When doubts and fears cause their tears that blind me,
Why be down if you've come to find me?
Speak to me and I'll follow,
Leaving all the wold behind me.
Can those eyes, calm and wise, deceive me?
While I still know the thrill of your
Mystic shade, dare fade and leave me,
Arms high and low.
Speak, vision of the night,
Tell me why you haunt me so.
Speak, heaven morning light,
Whisper all my heart would know.
Dawn, ever finds you gone
Back to where the shadows dwell.
Speak, my beloved, speak,
Tho' you only say farewell.
Speak! Speak!