Wind-Up — текст песни (Jethro Tull)

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn`t mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
I don`t believe you:
He`s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to Sunday school
how do you dare tell me that I`m my Father`s son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
`cos that`s the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you`re a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don`t believe you:
He`s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.