The trouble with the Maples (and they're quite convinced they're
right), they say the Oaks are just too lofty and they grab up all the
light. Drawn like moths we drift into the city the timeless old
attraction. I have only the music of the waterfall to comfort me now. I
have not left this cave for days now. Our great computers fill the
hallowed halls. All the world's indeed a stage, and we are merely
players, performers and portrayers, each another's audience outside the
gilded cage. A modern-day warrior, mean mean stride, today's Tom Sawyer,
mean mean pride. Living in the Limelight the universal dream for those
who wish to seem. My uncle has a country place, that no-one knows about.
Fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar!
I brushed away the dust of the years, and picked it up, holding
it reverently in my hands. But the Oaks can't help their feelings, if
they like the way they're made, and they wonder why the Maples can't be
happy in their shade? The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from
the Heart of every Federation city. One likes to believe in the freedom
of music, but glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the
illusion of integrity. Subdivisions - in the basement bars, in the backs
of cars, be cool or be cast out. It has become my last refuge in my
total despair. Forget about your silly whim. It doesn't fit the plan. In
the sudden silence as I finished playing, I looked up to a circle of
grim, expressionless faces. Weary of the night, praying for the light,
prison of the lost - Xanadu Now there's no more Oak oppression for they
passed a noble law, and the trees are all kept equal by hatchet, axe,
and saw...
Can still be open-hearted, not so coldly charted. Today's Tom
Sawyer, he gets high on you, and the space he invades he gets by on you.
Just think of what my life might be in a world like I have seen. I can
no longer live under the control of the Federation, but there is no
other place to go. Off on your way, hit the open road. I wandered home
though the silent streets and fell into a fitful sleep. I wish that it
might come to pass, not fade like all my dreams. My spirits are low. In
the depths of despair, my lifeblood spills over... Catch the mist -
Catch the myth - Catch the mystery - Catch the drift. To find the sacred
river Alph, to walk the caves of ice.
Those who wish to be must put aside the alienation get on with
the fascination, the real relation, the underlying theme. Any escape
might help to smooth the unattractive truth, but the suburbs have no
charms to soothe the restless dreams of youth. Always hopeful, yet
discontent, he knows changes aren't permanent - but change is. I can't
pretend a stranger is a long-awaited friend. The people will all see its
light. Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime... Their power
grows with purpose strong to claim the home where they belong. Just
think about the average. What use have they for you? Instead of the
grateful joy that I expected, they were words of quiet rejection! These
things just can't be true.
I learned to lay my fingers across the wires, and to turn the
keys to make them sound differently. At the one-lane bridge, I leave the
giants stranded at the riverside. Home to tear the Temples down. Home
to change. I scaled the frozen mountain tops of eastern lands unknown.
He leads me on, light years away through astral nights, galactic days.
Companion, unobtrusive, plays the song that's so elusive, and the magic
music makes your morning mood. He says it used to be a farm, before the
Motor Law. I know it's most unusual to come before you so, but I've
found an ancient miracle. I thought that you should know. I see still
the incredible beauty of the sculptured cities, and the pure spirit of
man revealed in the lives and works of this world. The sleep is still in
my eyes.
Yes, we know. It's nothing new. It's just a waste of time.
Sundays I elude the 'Eyes', and hop the Turbine Freight to far outside
the Wire, where my white-haired uncle waits. Living in a fisheye lens
caught in the camera eye, I have no heart to lie. Sunlight on chrome,
the blur of the landscape, every nerve aware. I saw now how meaningless
life had become with the loss of all these things... Sprawling on the
fringes of the city in geometric order. We have no need for ancient
ways. All the gifts of life are held within our walls. I heave a sigh,
and sadly smile. And lie a while in bed. There is magic at your fingers
for the Spirit ever lingers dndemanding contact on your happy solitude.
Concert hall echoes with the sounds of salesmen. As I struck the
wires with my other hand, I produced my first harmonious sounds, and
soon my own music! Get caught in ticking traps and start to dream of
somewhere to relax their restless flight. There's something here as
strong as life. I know that it will reach you. For the words of the
profits are written on the studio wall. Instead of praise, sullen
dismissal. Living on a lighted stage approaches the unreal for those who
think and feel in touch with some reality beyond the gilded cage. As a
mad immortal man, nevermore shall I return, escape these caves of ice,
for I have dined on honey dew and drunk the milk of Paradise. I can't
wait to share this new wonder. An insulated border in between the bright
lights and the far unlit unknown.
Stars stopped in the sky, frozen in an everlasting view, waiting
for the world to end. Some will sell their dreams for small desires or
lose the race to rats. Clearly yet I see the beckoning hand of the
oracle as he stood at the summit of the staircase. I was overwhelmed by
both wonder and understanding as I saw a completely different way to
life, a way that had been crushed by the Federation long ago. There is
trouble with the trees, for the Maples want more sunlight and the Oaks
ignore their pleas. Subdivisions - in the high school halls, in the
shopping malls, conform or be cast out. Our world is doing fine. Our
books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by the
benevolent wisdom of the priests... Father Brown rose to his feet, and
his somnolent voice echoed throughout the silent Temple Hall. The
Priests praise my name on this night.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx. Oh, I will dine on
honey dew and drink the milk of Paradise. Catch the witness - Catch the
wit - Catch the spirit - Catch the spit. Almost free... all this
machinery, making modern music. I can't believe you're saying. An oracle
confronts me there. I don't think I can carry on this cold and empty
life. See how it sings like a sad heart and joyously screams out its
pain.