Summoned by name I am the overseer over you.

[Flight From Lucifer]

Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
Here's the everlasting rub... neither am I good or bad.
I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had.
I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
The flies there are sleeping quietly.
Twist my right arm in the dark.
I would give two or three for
one of those days that never made
impressions on the old score.
I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree.
Everyone's saved we're in the grave.
See you there for afternoon tea.
Time for awaking the tea lady's making
a brew-up and baking new bread.
Pick me up at half past none
there's not a moment to lose.
There is the train on which I came.
On the platform are my old shoes.
Station master rings his bell.
Whistles blow and flags wave.
A little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should).
I thank everybody
for making me welcome.

I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off.

[10.08 To Paddington (Instrumental)]

[Magus Perde]

Hail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign
cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
There am I waiting along the sand.
Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.
Magus Perde, take your hand from off the chain.
Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to BE.
Here am I (voyager into life).
Tough are the soles that tread the knife's edge.
Break the circle,stretch the line, call upon the devil.
Bring the gods, the gods' own fire
In the conflict revel.
The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born,
renew the pledge of life's long song rise to the reveille horn.
Animals queueing at the gate that stands upon the shore
breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.

Man - son of man - buy the flame of ever-life
(yours to breathe and breath the pain of living)... living BE!
Here am I! Roll the stone away

from the dark into ever-day.

[Epilogue]
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
into the Ever-passion Play.

"WarChild"

I'll take you down to that bright city mile ---
there to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile,
that will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain,
when you join my explosion
and play with my games.
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
No unconditional surrender; no armistice day ---
each night I'll die in my contentment and lie in your grave.
While you bring me water and I give you wine ---
let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine.
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
Open your windows and I'll walk through your doors.
Let me live in your country --- let me sleep by your shores.
WarChild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

"Queen And Country"

The wind is on the river and the tide has turned too late,
so we're sailing for another shore where some other ladies wait.
To throw us silken whispers: catch us by the anchor chains ---
But we all laugh so politely and we sail on just the same.
For Queen and Country in the long dying day,
And it's been this way for five long years,
since we signed our souls away.
We bring back gold and ivory; rings of diamonds; strings of pearls ---
make presents to the government
so they can have their social whirl
With Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years
since we signed our souls away.
They build schools and they build factories
With the spoils of battles won.
And we remain their pretty sailor boys ---
hold our heads up to the gun
Of Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years
since we signed our souls away.
To Queen and Country in the long dying day.
And it's been this way for five long years
since we signed our souls away.

"Ladies"

Ladies of leisure, with their eyes on the back roads ---
All looking for strangers, to whom they extend welcomes
With a smile and a glimpse of pink knees and elbows;
Of satin and velvet --- good ladies, good fortune.
Ladies.
They sing of their heroes: of solitary soldiers
Invested in good health and manner most charming.
Whose favors are numbered (none the less well intended)
By hours in a minute; by those ladies who bless them.
Ladies.

"Back-Door Angels"

In and out of the front door, ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown ---
they didn't see me wink my eye.
`Tis said they put we men to sleep with just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs --- and make them linger.
They carry their candles high --- and they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean with pressed and scented wild-flowers.
They grow all their roses red, and paint our skies blue ---
drop one penny in every second bowl ---
make half the beggars lose,
why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something?
And call it the name they choose,
having chosen nothing.
Think I'll sit down and invent some fool ---
some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast, he'll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door, ran one front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown ---
she smiled and I think she winked her eye.

"SeaLion"

Over the mountains, and under the sky ---
riding dirty gray horses, go you and I.
Mating with chance, copulating with mirth ---
the sad-glad paymasters (for what it's worth).
The ice-cream castles are refrigerated;
the super-marketeers are on parade.
There's a golden handshake hanging round your neck,
as you light your cigarette on the burning deck.
And you balance your world on the tip of your nose ---
like a SeaLion with a ball, at the carnival.
You wear a shiny skin and a funny hat ---
the Almighty Animal Trainer lets it go at that.
You bark ever-so-slightly at the Trainer's gun,
with you whiskers melting in the noon-day sun.
You flip and you flop under the Big White Top
where the long-legged ring-mistress starts and stops.
But you know, after all, the act is wearing thin ---
as the crowd grows uneasy and the boos begin.
But you balance your world on the tip of your nose ---
you're a SeaLion with a ball at the carnival.
Just a trace of pride upon our fixed grins ---
for there is no business like the show we're in.
There is no reason, no rhyme, no right
to leave the circus `til we've said good-night.
The same performance, in the same old way;
it's the same old story to this Passion Play.
So we'll shoot the moon, and hope to call the tune ---
and make no pin cushion of this big balloon.
Look how we balance the world on the tips of our noses,
like SeaLions with a ball at the carnival.

"Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of The New Day"

Meanwhile back in the year One --- when you belonged to no-one ---
you didn't stand a chance son, if your pants were undone.
`Cause you were bred for humanity and sold to society ---
one day you'll wake up in the Present Day ---
a million generations removed from expectations
of being who you really want to be.

Skating away ---
skating away ---
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

So as you push off from the shore,
won't you turn your head once more --- and make your peace with everyone?
For those who choose to stay,
will live just one more day ---
to do the things they should have done.
And as you cross the wilderness, spinning in your emptiness:
you feel you have to pray.
Looking for a sign

that the Universal Mind (!) has written you into the Passion Play.

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

And as you cross the circle line, the ice-wall creaks behind ---
you're a rabbit on the run.
And the silver splinters fly in the corner of your eye ---
shining in the setting sun.
Well, do you ever get the feeling that the story's
too damn real and in the present tense?
Or that everybody's on the stage, and it seems like
you're the only person sitting in the audience?

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.