Letra Mother england reverie Jethro Tull

Mother england reverie

I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone.
I have no wish for wishing wells or wishing bones.
I have no house in the country I have no motor car.
And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line joker in a public bar.
And it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and I'm a one-band-man.
And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand.
There was a little boy stood on a burning log, rubbing his hands with glee.
He said, "Oh Mother England, did you light my smile; or did you light this fire under me? One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery.
And paint you a picture of the queen.
And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree --- it's just the nonsense that it seems." So I drift down through the Baker Street valley, in my steep-sided un-reality.
And when all is said and all is done --- I couldn't wish for a better one.
It's a real-life ripe dead certainty --- that I'm just a Baker Street Muse.
Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way.
I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way.
Indian restaurants that curry my brain --- newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand.
Circumcised with cold print hands.
Windy bus-stop.
Click.
Shop-window.
Heel.
Shady gentleman.
Fly-button.
Feel.
In the underpass, the blind man stands.
With cold flute hands.
Symphony match-seller, breath out of time --- you can call me on another line.
Didn't make her --- with my Baker Street Ruse.
Couldn't shake her --- with my Baker Street Bruise.
Like to take her --- but I'm just a Baker Street Muse.
(I can't get out!)