Lyrics Prelude Bizzy Bone

Prelude

Instrumental part

Instrumental part

"Do you still see me even here?"
(The silver cord lies on the ground.)
"And so I'm dead", the young man said - over the hill (not a
wish away).
My friends (as one) all stand aligned, although their taxis
came too late.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was a hush in the Passion Play.

Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath ripe with rich
attainments
All imagined sad misdeeds in disarray the sore thumb screams
aloud,
Echoing out of the Passion Play.
All the old familiar es come crowding in a different key:
Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance.
There was a rush along the Fulham Road
Into the Ever-passion Play.
And who comes here to wish me well?
A sweetly-scented angel fell.
She laid her head upon my disbelief
And bathed me with her ever-smile.
And with a howl across the sand
I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound
NO-ONE (but someone to be found).

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All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the
gloom.
Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? Step into the viewing
room.
The cameras were all around. We've got you taped; you're in
the play.
Here's your I.D. (Ideal for identifying one and all.)
Invest your life in the memory bank; ours the interest and
we thank you.
The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the
passion play.

Take the prize for instant pleasure,
Captain of the cricket team
Public speaking in all weathers,
A knighthood from a queen.

All of your best friends' telephones never cooled from the
heat of your hand.
There's a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that
also-ran.
Climb in your old umbrella.
Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?

But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves
you alone.

Lover of the black and white it's your first night.
The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight.
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid,
Why the old dog howls in sadness.

And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away
On the bony shoulders of a young horse named George
Who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision.
(The examining body examined her body.)

Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won't
do.
Tell me: how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded,
Why the old dogs howl with madness.

All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.
And now you've lost a skin or two, you're for us and we for
you.
The dressing room is right behind,
We've got you taped, you're in the play.
How does it feel to be in the play?
How does it feel to play the play?
How does it feel to be the play?

Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out:
For we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory
satisfaction
Of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?

There was a rush along the Fulham Road.
There was a hush in the Passion Play.

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