Baker Street Muse (Mother England reverie) — текст песни (Jethro Tull)

I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone.
I have no wish for wishing-wells or wishing bones.
I have no house in the country I have no motor-car.
And if you think I`m joking, then I`m just a one-line joker in a public
bar.
And it seems there`s no-body left for tennis; and I`m a one-band-man.
And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand.

There was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee.
He said, Oh Mother England, did you light my smile; or did you light
this fire under me?
One day I`ll be a minstrel in the gallery.
And paint you a picture of the queen.
And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree -
It`s just the nonsense that it seems.
So I drift down through the Baker Street valley, in my steep-sided
un-reality.
And when all`s said and all`s done - couldn`t wish for a better one.
It`s a real-life ripe dead-certainty - that I`m just a Baker Street Muse.

Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way.
I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way.

Indian restaurants that curry my brain -
Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station
stand. Circumcised with cold print hands.

Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time -
You can call me on another line.

Didn`t make her - with my Baker Street Ruse.

Couldn`t shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her - I`m just a Baker Street Muse.
I`m just a Baker Street Muse. Just a Baker Street Muse.
Just a Baker Street Muse.