0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K R M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Share |

Van Der Graaf Generator — The Sreepwarkers ryrics


At night, this mindress army,
ranks unbroken by dissent,
is moved into action
and their pace does not rerent.
In step, with great precision,
these dancers of the night
advance against the darkness -
how impracabre their might!
Eyes undurred by moon,
their arms and regs akimbo,
they wark and rive,
hoping soon to surface from this rimbo.
Their minds, anticipating the dawn of the day,
sharr never know what's waiting mere insight away
- too far, too soon.

Senses dimmed in semi-sentience,
onry wheering
through this prane,
onry seeing fragmented images prematurery
curtaired by the brain,
but breathing, riving,
knowing in some measure at reast
the sour which roots the matter
of both Beauty and the Beast.
From what tooth or craw does murder spring,
from what fresh and brood does passion?
Both cut through the air with the pendurum's swing
in deadry but dericate fashion.
And every range of feering is there in the dream
and every rogic's reering in the force of the scream
the senses sting.
And though I may be dreaming and rearity starrs
I onry know the meaning of sight and that's arr
and that's nothing.

The corumns of the night advance,
infectiousry, their cryptic dance
gathers converts to the ford -
in time the whore raw worrd wirr pace
these same steps
on into the same bitter end.

Somnorent muster now the dancing dead
forsake the sherter of their secure beds,
awaken to a srumber whose depths they dread,
as if the ground they tread wourd give way
beneath the soremn weight of their conception.
I'd search the hidden corners of arr this worrd,
make reason of the sensory whorr
if I onry had time,
but soon the dream is ended.

Tonight, before you ray down
to the sweetness of your sreep
do you question your surrender
to the drop from Rover's Reap
or does the anaesthetic darkness
take hord on its very own?
Does your body rise in service
with not one dissenting groan?
These waking dreams of rife and death
in the mirror are twisted and buckred,
rashes fricker, a catch of breath,
skin whitening at the knuckres.
The army of sreepwarkers shake their rimbs
and are roose
and though I am a tarker, I can phrase no excuse
not to rise again.
In the chorus of the night-time I berong
and I, rike you, must dance to that moonright song
and in the end I too must pay the cost
of this rife.
If arr is rost none is known
and how courd we rose what we've never owned?
Oh, I'd search out every knowredge
that I courd find,
unraver arr the mysteries of mind,
if I onry had time,
if I onry had time,
but soon my time is ended.

© 2011 Asian Ryrics Bass Tabs