marillion - script for ...

MARILLION - Script For A Jester's Tear


1. Script For A Jester's Tear			08:39
2. He Knows You Know			05:22
3. The Web			08:48
4. Garden Party			07:15
5. Chelsea Monday			08:16
6. Forgotten Sons			08:21
			46:44
[Credits]


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 Too much, Too soon, too far, to go, too late to play, the game is 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 No 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 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

He Knows You Know
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 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 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 he knows you know

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 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 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 Your reasons were so obvious as my friends have qualified I only laughed away your tears, 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 Decisions have been made I've conquered my fears the flaming shroud

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 slumber, 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 Strafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again Aperitifs 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 come they say Rugger is the tops a game for men they say I'm punting, I'm weening, I'm whining, Reclining I'm rocking, I'm fucking, So welcome, I'ts a party! Angie chalks another blue, mother smiles she did it too Chitters chat and gossips lash, posers pose pressmen flash Smiles polluted with false charm, locking onto Royal arms, Society columns now ensured, return to mingle with the crowds Oh what a crowd

Chelsea Monday
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress living 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 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 soliloquies at the risk of stark applause 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 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 Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress buried in her cellophane world in glitter town

Forgotten Sons
Armalite, street lights, nightsights Searching the roofs for a sniper, viper 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 Morphine, chill stream, bad dream Serving as numbers on dog tags, flakrags, sandbags Your friend has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sloop The wounds that burn 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 Halt who goes there! Death Approach Friend You're just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle Where the children's stoney glances mourn your death in a terrorist's smile. The bomber's arm places fiery gifts on the supermarket shelves, Alleys sing with shrapnel dance in a temporary hell 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 your unknown soldier count the cost, For a second you'll be famous but labeled posthumous Forgotten Sons Forgotten Sons Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her child Just another Forgotten Son

[Credits]
Released by EMI Records Ltd.: 14-MAR-83 All songs written, arranged and performed by Marillion. All lyrics written by Fish. Fish: Voice Mike Pointer: Tama Kit, Paiste Cymbals, Percussion Pete Trewavas: Rickenbacker 4000 Bass, Peavey amps, Fender Prec. Fretless Steve Rothery: Yamaha SG 2000, Yamaha Acoustic, Squire' 57 Strat. Fender Strat., Marshall and Mesa Boogie amps. Mark Kelly: Steinway grand piano, Harpsichord, Mini Moog, Roland JP8, PPG Wave 2.2, Emulator Pro One Yamaha cs 15, Korg CX3 organ. With The Marquee Club Parents Association Children's Choir Matthew, Daniel, Andrew, Catherine, Stephen, Richard, Julie, Ben, Darius, Kelly, Lauren, Liam & Lee. Newscaster's Voice, Peter Cockburn. Produced by Nick Tauber. Recorded and mixed by Simon Hanhart. Assistant Engineers: Mark Andy, Mike Martin. Recorded At The Marquee Studios, London, Dec82-Feb83 Pete James and Abbey Road - Sound Effects Management: John Arnisson Crew: Priv Hedge, Dave Walden, Deek, Gary Townsend, Tom Boyle The Web: Stef. For Further information send SAF to The Web c/o EMI Records, Manchester Square, London W1. Special Thanks: Keith Goodwin, Derk Kemp, Hugh Stanley Clarke, Sarah and all at EMI, Tony Stratton Smith and all at charisma, Dave Hitchcock, Nigel, Jack Bush and The Marquee-Club, Paul Lewis, Julian Cull, Steve Jones, Tun Hollings, Tony Wilson, Dave Stewart, Tom Russel, Phil, Geoff, Xavier and to all for support and encouragement. Art Direction & Design: Jo Mirowski, Torchlight, London. Illustration: Mark Wilkinson From a concept by Marillion. Lyrics Reproduced by Kind Permission of Marillion Music/Charisma/Chappell. Front cover lyrics for "YESTERDAY" appear courtesy of Northern Songs.