Wondering Aloud

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I love Tull, and for those new to this great classic group, the photo is of Ian Anderson, the wild eyed genius front man of the group.

One of my favorite tunes ever is Wondering Aloud, which I had always heard on the Aqualung album and wished it was longer. Damned if after these many years I didnt discover it is longer! Here then is a Youtube of this great song, and the lyrics posted below.

—–

Wond’ring aloud
how we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset
my hand in her hair.
We are our own saviours
as we start both our hearts beating life
into each other.

Wond’ring aloud
will the years treat us well?
As she floats in the kitchen,
I’m tasting the smell (yes)
of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
and I shake my head.

And later I’m up with the late work shouting for more,
And giving himself completely she did long before.
And it’s only the giving that makes you what you are.

Wond’ring aloud will a son one day be born
to share in our infancy
in the child’s path we’ve worn.
In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise
we’ll open his eyes.

There’s the stillness of death on a deathly unliving sea,
and the motor car magical world long since ceased to be,
when the Eve-bitten apple returned to destroy the tree.

Incestuous ancestry’s charabanc ride,
spawning new millions throws the world on its side.
Supporting their far-flung illusion, the national curse,
and those with no sandwiches please get off the bus.

The excrement bubbles,
the century’s slime decays
and the brainwashing government lackeys
would have us say
it’s under control and we’ll soon be on our way
to a grand year for babies and quiz panel games
of the hot hungry millions you’ll be sure to remain.

The natural resources are dwindling and no one grows old,
and those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes.

We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow.
Searched for the last pigeon, slate grey I’ve been told.
Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush, heard it sigh,
and left it to die.
At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own,
held its poor broken head in her hands,
dropped soft tears in the snow,
and it’s only the taking that makes you what you are.

Wond’ring aloud will a son one day be born
to share in our infancy
in the child’s path we’ve worn.
In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise
we’ll open his eyes.

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Wondering Aloud

by Richard Crossley time to read: 2 min
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