Jethro Tull in Moscow - Part 3 (2003-10-18)

The hosts of the show:
Vladimir Ilinskiy, Olga Palna

I get lost in crowds: if I can,
I remain invisible to the hungry mouths.
I stay unapproachable.
I wear the landscape of the urban chameleon.
Scarred by attention.
And quietly addicted to innocence.

So, who am I?
Come on: ask me, I dare you.
So, who am I?
Come on: question me, if you care to.
And why not try to interrogate this apparition?
I melt away to get lost in this quaint condition.

At starry parties where,
Amongst the rich and the famous
I'm stuck for words: or worse,
I blether with the best of them.
I see their eyes glaze
And they look for the drinks tray.
Something in the drift
Of my conversation bothers them.

So, who am I?
Come on: ask me, etc.

In scary airports, in concourses over-filled,
I am detached in serious observation.
As a passenger, I become un-tethered when
I get lost in clouds: at home with my own quiet company.

Herald Tribune or USA Today.
Sauvignon Blanc or oaky Chardonnay.
Asleep for the movie.
Awake for the dawn
Dancing on England and hedgerowsE
embossed on a carpet of green.
I descend and forgive me
I mean to get lost in crowds.

Who would be a poor man, a beggarman, a thief -
if he had a rich man in his hand.
And who would steal the candy
from a laughing baby's mouth
if he could take it from the money man.
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again.
She signs no contract
but she always plays the game.
Dines in Hampstead village
on expense accounted gruel,
and the jack-knife barber drops her off at school.
Laughing in the playground - gets no kicks from little boys:
would rather make it with a letching grey.
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung,
who watches through the railings as they play.
Cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along.
She's a poor man's rich girl
and she'll do it for a song.
She's a rich man stealer
but her favour's good and strong:
She's the Robin Hood of Highgate -
helps the poor man get along.

Happy and I'm smiling,
walk a mile to drink your water.
You know I'd love to love you,
and above you there's no other.
We'll go walking out
while others shout of war's disaster.
Oh, we won't give in,
let's go living in the past.

Once I used to join in
every boy and girl was my friend.
Now there's revolution, but they don't know
what they're fighting.
Let us close out eyes;
outside their lives go on much faster.
Oh, we won't give in,
we'll keep living in the past.

Instrumental

Got a birthday card at Christmas... it made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, "I love you" in small letters. I simply had to read it twice.
Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys. The smell of frost was in the air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness. I looked again... it wasn't there.

People have showered me with presents. While their minds were fixed on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles. Pointy trees and angel wings.
I am the shadow in your Christmas. I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration. You offer content but no style.

That little baby Jesus... he got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense. Some penny baubles for his tree.
Have some time off for good behaviour. Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus... Let's share a birthday card with you.