Artist: Jethro Tull Album: Minstrel In The Gallery {1975}

My Lord and Lady, we have  happened upon these, uh, strolling players
Who'll provide you with their good tunes

We're really gonna go through with this
I can't see ya down their, alright - don't think they're gonna like this much, though

So, my Lord and Lady, for your entertainment


The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces
He met the gazes, observed the spaces between the old men's cackle
He brewed a song of love and hatred, oblique suggestions and he waited
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters, static-humming panel-beaters
Freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters, salaried and collar-scrubbing
He titillated men of action, belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating one-line jokers
T.V. documentary makers, overfed and undertakers
Sunday paper backgammon players, family-scarred and women-haters
And he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends he'd made

The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces
He met the gazes, observed the spaces in between the old men's cackle
And he brewed a song of love and hatred, oblique suggestions and he waited
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters, static-humming panel-beaters
The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the rabbit-run
And he threw away his looking-glass and saw his face in everyone, hey
Titillated men of action, belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts they never mention, salaried and collar-scrubbing, yeah

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating one-line jokers
T.V. documentary makers, overfed and undertakers
Sunday paper backgammon players, family-scarred and women-haters
And then he called the band down to the stage and he looked at all the friends he'd made
The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the rabbit-run
And he threw away his looking-glass and saw his face in everyone, hey

The minstrel in the gallery, yeah, yes
Looked down upon the smiling faces
Met the gazes, yeah
The minstrel in the gallery
Then he waited, yeah

This one's called Cold Wind To Valhalla
Three, four


And ride with us young bonny lass
With the angels of the night
Crack wind clatter, flesh rein bite
On an out-size unicorn
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight
On a cold wind to Valhalla
And join with us please, Valkyrie maidens cry
Above the cold wind to Valhalla
Breakfast with the gods, night angels serve
With ice-bound majesty
Frozen flaking, fish raw nerve
In a cup of silver liquid fire
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve
And light the old Valhalla
"Come join with us please," the Valkyrie maidens cry
Above the cold wind to Valhalla

The heroes rest upon the sighs
Of Thor's trusty hand maidens
Midnight lonely, whisper, cries
"We're getting a bit short on heroes lately."
Sword snap, fright white, pale good, goodbyes
In the desolation of Valhalla
And join with us please, the Valkyrie maidens ride
Empty-handed on the cold wind to Valhalla

Come, let me play with you, black satin dancer
In all your giving, give is the answer
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter
Than the brightest flower in my garden
Begging your pardon, shedding right unreason
Over sensation fly the fleeting seasons
Thin wind whispering on broken mandolin
Bending the minutes, the hours ever turning
On that old gold story of mercy
Desperate breathing, tongue nipple-teasing
Your fast river flowing, your northern fire fed
Come, black satin dancer, come softly to bed

Black satin dancer, give me the answer
Tearing life from limb and looking sweeter
Than the brightest flower in my garden

Come, let me play with you, come black satin dancer
In all your giving, give is the answer
Your fast river flowing, your northern fire fed
Come, black satin dancer, come softly to bed

Two, three, four


Well, I saw a bird today
Flying from a bush
And the wind blew it away
And the black-eyed mother sun
Scorched the butterfly at play
Velvet veined, I saw it burn
With a wintry storm-blown sigh
A silver cloud blew right on by
And, taking in the morning
I sang - O Requiem

Well, my lady told me, "Stay."
I looked aside and walked away along the Strand
But I didn't say a word
As the train time-table blurred close behind the taxi stand
Saw her face in the tear-drop black cab window
Fading in the traffic, watched her go
And taking in the morning
Heard myself singing - O Requiem
Here I go again, it's the same old story

Well, I saw a bird today
I looked aside and walked away along the Strand

A one, two, three


There's a haze on the skyline to wish me on my way
And there's a note on the telephone, some roses on a tray
And the motorway's stretching right out to us all
As I pull on my old wings, one white duck on your wall
Isn't it just too damn real
One white duck on your wall, one duck on your wall

I'll catch a ride on your violin, strung upon your bow
And I'll float on your melody, sing your chorus soft and low
There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called
You can see from the fireplace, one white duck on your wall
Isn't it just too damn real
One white duck on your wall, one duck on your wall, one duck on your wall

So, fly away Peter and fly away Paul
From the finger-tip ledge of contentment
Well, the long restless rustle of high-heeled boot calls
And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all

Something must be wrong with me and my brain
If I'm so patently unrewarding
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that way
And my zero to your power of ten equals nothing at all

There's no double-lock defense, there's no chain on my door
And I'm available for consultation
But remember your way in is also my way out
And love's four-letter word is no compensation

Well, I'm the Black Ace dog-handler, I'm a waiter on skates
So don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion
Cos I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays
To be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday lunch confusion


So there

Baker St. Muse

Baker St. Muse, take one
Shit, shit, shit - take two


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
Indian restaurants that curry my brain
Newspaper warriors changing the names
They advertise from the station stand
With cold print hands
Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline
If you catch me another time

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

Ale-spew, puddle-brew boys, throw it up clean
Coke and Bacardi colors them green
From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess
With great finesse
Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound
Is fifty feet down in the Baker Street underground - what the hell

I 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

Walking down the gutter thinking, "How the hell am I today?"
Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same

Pig-Me And The Whore

"Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me,"
Said the pig-me to the whore
Desperate for more
In his assault upon the mountain
Little man, his youth a fountain
Overdrafted and still counting
Vernacular, verbose
An attempt at getting close
To where he came from
In the doorway of the stars
Between Blandford Street and Mars
Proposition, deal
Flying button feel
Testicle testing
Wallet ever-bulging
Dressed to the left, divulging
The wrinkles of his years
Wedding-bell induced fears
Shedding bell-end tears
In the pocket of her resistance
International assistance
Flowing generous and full
To his never-ready tool
Pulls his eyes over her wool
And he shudders as he comes
And my rudder slowly turns me
Into the Marylebone Road

Nice Little Tune

INSTRUMENTAL

Crash-Barrier Waltzer

And here slip I dragging one foot in the gutter
In the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios
And there sits she - no bed, no bread, no butter
On a double yellow line where she can park anytime
Old Lady Grey, crash-barrier waltzer
Some only son's mother - Baker Street casualty
Oh, Mister Policeman, blue shirt ballet master
Feet in sticking plaster, move the old lady on
Strange pas-de-deux, his Romeo to her Juliet
Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret
No drunken bums allowed
To sleep here in the crowded emptiness
Oh, officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel
I'll pay the bill and make her well
Like hell you bloody will, no do-good over kill
We must teach them to be still more independent

Mother England Reverie

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 motorcar
And if you think I'm joking then I'm just a one-line joker in a public bar
And it seems there's nobody 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 is said and all is 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 hand
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

I'm just a Baker Street muse
I can't get out

Hello sun
Hello bird
Hello my lady
Hello breakfast
May I buy you again tomorrow