The more that we know , the greater confusion grows:
stars are like atoms, and atoms are patterns
and probably in the end
maybe its all been a dream ....
Still Life
La Rossa
Lacking sleep and food and vision,
here I am again, encamped upon your floor,
craving sanctuary and nourishment,
encouragement and sanctity and more.
The streets seemed very crowded, I put on my bravest guise -
I know you know that I am acting, I can see it in your eyes.
In the harsh light of freedom I know that I cannot deny
that I have wasted time, have frittered it away in idle boasts
of my freedom and fidelity when simpler words
would have profited me most.
It isn't enough in the end, when I'm looking for hope.
Though the organ monkey screams
Still Life
7:24 minutes (13.57 MB)
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Citadel reverberates to a thousand voices, now dumb:
what have we become? What have we chosen to be?
Now, all history is reduced to the syllables of our name -
Childlike Faith in Childhood's End
Existence is a stage on which we pass,
a sleepwalk trick for mind and heart;
it's hopeless, I know, but onward I must go
and try to make a start
at seeing something more
than day to day survival, chased by final death.
if I believed this the sum of the life to which we've come,
I wouldn't waste my breath.
Somehow, there must be more.
There was a time when more was felt than known
but now, entrenched inside my sett,
in light more mundane, thought rattles round my brain:
we live, we die...and yet?
In the beginning there was order and destiny
Pilgrims
Sometimes you feel so far away,
distanced from all the action of the play,
unable to grasp significance,
marking the plot with diffident dismay,
stranded at center stage,
scrabbling through your diary for a lost page:
unsure of the dream.
Kicking a stone across the beach,
aching for love and comfort out of reach;
the way ahead seems to be so bleak,
there's no-one with any friendship left to speak
or show you any relation
between your present and future situations...
lost to the dream.
Away, away, away - look to the future day
for hope, some form of peace
Still Life
Citadel reverberates to a thousand voices, now dumb:
what have we become? What have we chosen to be?
Now, all history is reduced to the syllables of our name -
nothing can ever be the same now the Immortals are here.
At the time, it seemed a reasonable course
to harness all the force of life without the threat of death,
but soon we found
that boredom and inertia are not negative,
but all the law we know
and dead are Will and words like survival.
Arrival at immunity from all age, all fear and all end....
Why do I pretend? Our essence is distilled
My Room (Waiting for Wonderland)
Searching for diamonds in the sulphur mine,
leaning on props that are rotten,
hoping for anything, looking for a sign
that I am not forgotten;
lost in a labyrinth of future mystery,
tracing my steps, all mistaken,
trusting to everything, praying it can be
that I am not forsaken,
I wait by the door,
wondering when you will come and keep me warm.
I pray for the end of the night,
hoping the light will still the storm
which presently entraps me:
helpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,
marooned in an ecstasy of waiting,
I yearn, although knowing that I shall dive no more
Still Life
Originally released in 1976 by Charisma Records. One bonus track was added for the 2005 remastered edition.
All songs written by Peter Hammill, except where noted
(Hammill/My Room - Live 1981
