When the fat old sun in the sky is falling,
Summer evening birds are calling.
Summer's thunder time of year,
The sound of music in my ears.
Distant bells,
New mown grass smells so sweet.
By the river holding hands,
Roll me up and lay me down.
And if you sit,
Don't make a sound.
Pick your feet up off the ground.
And if you hear as the warm night falls
The silver sound from a time so strange,
Sing to me, sing to me.

When that fat old sun in the sky is falling,
Summer evening birds are calling.
Children's laughter in my ears,
The last sunlight disappears.

And if you sit,
Don't make a sound.
Pick your feet up off the ground.
And if you hear as the warm night falls
The silver sound from a time so strange,
Sing to me, sing to me.

You say the hill's too steep to climb
Climb it!
You say you'd like to see me try
Climb it!
You pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb the hill in my own way
Just wait awhile for the right day
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds
I look down, hear the sound of the things you said today

Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd
Smiling!
Nothing waits the magistrate turns round
Frowning!
And who's the fool who wears the crown
Go down in your own way
And ev'ry day is the right day
And as you rise above the fear lines in the frown
You look down, hear the sound of the faces in the crowd

Through the fish eyed lens of tear stained eyes
I can barely define the shape of this moment in time
And far from flying high in clear blue skies
I'm spiralling down to the hole in the ground where I hide

If you negotiate the minefield in the drive
And beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes
And if you make it past the shotgun in the hall
Dial th combination, open the priesthole
And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall

There's a kid who had a big hallucination
Making love to girls in magazines
He wonders if you're sleeping with your new found faith
Could anybody love him
Or is it just a crazy dream

And if I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight
And if I open my heart to you
And show you my weak side
What would you do
Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone
Would take the children away
And leave me alone
And smile in reassurance
As you whisper down the phone
Would you send me packing
Or would you take me home

Thought I oughta bare my feelings
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down
I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut

   --- instrumental ---

Alone in the clouds all blue
Lying on an eiderdown.
Yippee! You can't see me
But I can you.

Lazing in the foggy dew
Sitting on a unicorn.
No fair, you can't hear me
But I can you.

Watching buttercups cup the light
Sleeping on a dandelion.
Too much, I won't touch you
But then I might.

Screaming through the starlit sky
Travelling by telephone.
Hey ho, here we go
Ever so high.

Alone in the clouds all blue
Lying on an eiderdown.
Yippee! You can't see me
But I can you.

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
And build them a home, a little place of their own
The fletcher memorial
Home for incurable tyrants and kings

And they can appear to themselves every dasy
On closed circuit T.V.
To make sure they're still real
It's the connection they feel
"Ladies and gentlemen please welcome Reagan and Haig
Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher and paisley,
Mr. Brezhnev and party,
The ghost of McCarthy
The memories of Nixon
And now adding colour a group of anonymous Latin-
American meat packing glitterati"

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect

They can polish their medals and sharpen their
Smiles, and amuse themselves playing games for a while
Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead

Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
With their favorite toys
They'll be good girls and boys
In the Fletcher memorial home for colonial
Wasters if life and limb

Is everyone in?
Are you having a nice time?
Now the final solution can be applied

One, two, free four
The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime
You shuffle in the gloom of the sickroom
And talk to yourself as you die

And life is a short warm moment
And death is a long cold rest
You get your chance to try
In the twinkling of an eye
Eighty years with luck or even less
So all aboard for the american tour
And maybe you'll make it to the top
But mind how you go
I can tell you `cause I know
You may find it hard to get off

But you are the angel of death
And I am the dead man's son
He was buried like a mole in a foxhole
And everyone's still on the run
And who is the master of foxhounds
And who says the hunt has begun
Who calls the tune in the courtroom
And who beats the funeral drum
The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime
Shuffle in the gloom of the sickroom
And talk to yourself as you die