 MARILLION
- SCRIPT FOR A JESTER'S TEARS
(1983) Fish - Voces principales
Mark Kelly - Teclados
Mick Pointer - Batería y
Percusión Steve Rothery - Guitarra
Pete Trewavas - Bajo
Script For A Jester's Tear
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken
hearts.
One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self penned.
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and
pride.
Too late to say I love you,
too late to restage the play,
abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday.
I'm losing on the swings,
I'm losing on the roundabouts.
I'm losing on the swings,
I'm losing on the roundabouts.
Too much, too soon, too far, to go,
too late to play, the game is over, the game is over!
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken
hearts.
I'm losing on the swings,
I'm losing on the roundabouts.
The game is over, over, over, over, over, over...
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and
pride.
I'm losing on the swings,
I'm losing on the roundabouts.
The game is over.
Too late to say I love you, too late to restage the play.
The game is over.
I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with a
twisted smile.
To bleed the lyric for this song to write the rites to right
my wrongs.
An epitaph to a broken dream to exorcise this silent scream.
A scream that's borne from sorrow.
I never did write that love song, the words just never
seemed to flow.
Now sad in reflection
Did I gaze through perfection and examine the shadows
on the other side of mourning?
and examine the shadows on the other side of mourning?
Promised wedding now a wake,
promised wedding now a wake,
a wake, a wake, a wake.
The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder
and cry.
Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
As you grow up and leave the playground
where you kissed your prince and found your frog.
Remember the Jester that showed you tears, the script for
tears.
So I'll hold my peace forever when you wear your bridal
gown.
In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the siren's
song
has gone solo in the game
I've gone solo in the game,
but the game is over.
Can you still say you love me?
Can you still say you love me?
Can you still say... that you love me?
Do you love me? Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Do you love me? Do you love me?
A Jester’s tear.
Can you still say you love me?
Can you still say you love me?
Can you still say... that you love me?
A Jester’s Tear,
A Jester’s Tear.
Do you love me? Do you love me?
Do you love me?
He Knows You Know
He knows, you know, he knows, you know.
Problems, problems, problems, problems.
Light switch, yellow fever, crawling up your bathroom wall.
Singing psychedelic praises to the depths of the
china bowl.
You've got venom in your stomach,
You've got poison in your head,
You should have listen to the priest at the
confession when he offered you the sacred bread.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know,
he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
Fast feed, crystal fever,
swarming through a fractured mind.
Chilling needles freeze emotion.
The
blind shall lead the blind.
You've got venom in your stomach,
you've got poison in your head.
When your conscience whispered,
the vein lines stiffened.
You were walking with the dead,
with the dead, with the dead...
He knows, you know, he knows,
you know, he knows, you know.
He's got experience, he's got experience,
he knows you know,
but he's got problems, problems,
problems, problems, problems, problems...
He knows... Slash wrists, scarlet fever,
crawl under your bedroom door
Pumping arteries ooze their problems,
through the gap that the razor tore
You've got venom in your stomach,
you've got poison in your head
You should have listened to your analyst's questions
when you lay on his leather bed.
He knows, you know, he knows,
you know, he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
Blank eyes, purple fever streaming through the frosted
panes.
You learned your lesson far too late
from the links in a chemist chain.
You've got venom in your stomach,
you've got poison in your head.
You should have stayed at home
and talked with father listen to the lies he fed.
He knows, you know, he knows,
you know, he knows, you know, but he's got problems.
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know.
He's got experience, he's got experience,
he knows, you know, you know, you know...
Problems... problems?... Problems...
Hello...? Hello...
Don’t get me your problems!!
The Web
The rain auditions at my window. It's symphony echoes in my
womb.
My gaze scans the walls of this apartment to rectify the
confines of my tomb.
I'm the cyclops in the tenement, I'm the soul without the
cause.
Crying midst my rubber plants, ignoring beckoning doors.
Clippings from ancient newspapers he scattered cross the
floor
stained by the wine from a shattered glass,
Meaningless words, yellowed by time.
Faded photos exposing pain, celluloid leeches bleeding my
mind.
You've finished playing hangman, you've cast the fateful
dice
Advise, advise, advise me. This shroud will not suffice.
And then becomes the web.
Attempting to discard these clinging memories, I only serve
to wallow in our past
I fabricate the weave with my excuses, its strands I hope
and pray shall last
Oh please do last.
Oh please do last.
The flytrap needs the insect.
Ivy caresses the wall.
Needles make love to the junkies, sirens seduce with their
call.
Confidence has deserted me, with you it has forsaken me.
Confused and rejected, despised and alone,
I kiss isolation on it's fevered brow.
Security clutching me, obscurity threatening me.
Christ! Your reasons were so obvious as my friends have
qualified.
I only laughed away your tears, but even jesters cry
but even jesters cry.
I realize I hold the key to freedom,
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions,
the changes have to be made.
I realize I hold the key to freedom,
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions,
the changes have to be made.
Now I leave you, the past has had its say.
You're all but forgotten, a mote in my heart.
Decisions have been made, have been made, have been made.
Decisions have been made.
I've conquered my fears, all my fears!
The flaming shroud. The flaming shroud
Ends the web,
The web, the web,
The web, the web.
Garden Party
Garden Party held today, invites call the debs to play,
Social climbers polish ladders, wayward sons again have
fathers,
Edgy eggs and queing cumbers, rudely wakened from their
slumbers.
Time has come again for slaughter, on the lawns by still
Cam
waters.
Champagne corks are firing at the sun again.
Swooping swallows chased by violins again.
Straafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again.
Oh, again, Oh, God, no again!
Apertifs consumed en masse display their owners on the
grass.
Couples loiter in the cloisters, social leeches quoting
Chaucer.
Doctor's son a parson's daughter where why not and should
they oughta?
Please don't lie on the grass, unless accompanied by a
fellow,
may I be so bold as to suggest Othello?
Punting on the Cam is jolly fun... they say
Beagling on the downs
Oh please do come... they say
Rugger is the tops... a game for men... they say.
They say... Oh, God, they say!
I’m panting, I’m beagling, I’m whining,
Reclining, I’m rocking, I’m fucking,
So welcome, it’s a party!
Angie
chalks another blue,
mother smiles she did it too.
Chitters chat and gossips lash,
posers pose, pressmen flash.
Flash!, flash! flash! flash! flash! flash!
Smiles polluted with false charm, locking onto Royal arms,
Society columns now ensured, return to mingle with the
crowds.
Oh, what a crowd! Putting on the Cam
Oh, please do come... they said.
Beagling on the downs
Oh, please do come... they said.
Garden party held today... they said
Oh, please do come
Oh, please do come... they said.
Chelsea Monday
News or
Stand: late one!
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
hiding in her cellophane world in glitter town.
Awaiting the prince in his white
Capri,
dynamic young Tarzan courts the bedsit queen.
She's playing the actress in this bedroom scene,
she's learning her lines from glossy magazines.
Stringing all her pearls from her childhood dreams,
auditioning for the leading role on the silver
screen.
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child,
One day they'll really love you,
you'll charm them with that smile
But for now it’s just another
Chelsea Monday. Chelsea Monday.
Drifting with her incense in the labyrinth of London,
Playing games with faces in the neon wonderland.
Perform to scattered shadows on the shattered cobbled
aisles.
Would she dare recite soliliquies at the risk of stark
applause?
Sweet Chelsea Monday.
She'll pray for endless Sundays as she enters saffron
sunsets,
Conjure phantom lovers from the tattered shreds of dawn,
Fulfilled and yet forgotten the
St.
Tropez mirage
Fragrance aphrodisiac, the withered tuberose.
Oh, Chelsea Monday, Sweet Chelsea Monday
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they'll really love you, you'll charm them with that
smile
But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday.
Sweet Chelsea Monday
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
buried in her cellophane world in glitter town.
Sweet Chelsea Monday...
She’s only dreaming...
Hello John, did you see the Standard about four hours ago?
Fished a young chick out the
Old
Father
Blonde hair, Blue eyes
She said she wanted to be an actress or something
Nobody knows where she came from, where she was going
Funny thing was she had a smile on her face
She was smiling!
What a waste!
Forgotten Sons
Armalite, street lights, nightsights
Searching the roofs for a sniper, a Viper, a fighter.
Death in the shadows he'll maim you,
wound you, kill you for a long
forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores.
Boys baptized in wars, boys baptized in wars.
Morphine, chill stream, bad dream
Serving as numbers on dogtags, flakrags, sandbags.
Your girl has married your best friend, loves end,
poison pen.
Your flesh will always creep, tossing, turning sleep.
The wounds that burn so deep, so deep.
Your mother sits on the edge of the world
when the cameras start to roll
Panoramic viewpoints resurrect the killing fold
Your father drains another beer he's one of the few that
cares
Crawling behind a
saracen's hull
from the safety of his living room chair
Forgotten Sons, Forgotten Sons, Forgotten Sons.
And so I patrol the valley of the shadow of the Tricolor
I must fear evil for I am but mortal and mortals can only
die.
Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless
faceless watchers that stalk the carpeted corridors of
Whitehall.
Who order desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation
in their guarded bureaucratic wombs?
Minister, Minister care for your children,
order them not into damnation to
eliminate those who would trespass against you.
For whose is the kingdom and the power and the glory,
forever and ever Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen.
Halt! Who goes there? Death, approach friend.
You're just another coffin on its way down
the emerald aisle where the
children's stony glances mourn your death
in a terrorist's smile.
The bomber's arm places fiery gifts
on the supermarket shelves.
Alleys sing with shrapnel detonate in a temporary hell
Forgotten Sons, Forgotten Sons.
From the dolequeue to the regiment a profession in a flash.
But remember Monday's signings when from door to door you
dash.
On the news a nation mourns you unknown soldier count the
cost.
For a second you'll be famous but labelled posthumous
Forgotten Sons. Forgotten Sons. Forgotten Sons. Forgotten
Sons
They are still forgotten! They are still so forgotten!
Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her
child
Just another Forgotten Son
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