Song | Babel |
Artist | Peter Hammill |
Album | Incoherence |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
Words upon words | |
stack the tower of Babel | |
brick on brick on straw on clay | |
but a whispering stirs | |
and the structure's unstable | |
when all the scaffold's stripped away. | |
We're ever quick to aver | |
that we are ready and able | |
but we can't say what's coming, come what may. | |
By definition self-obsessed | |
we strive to make ourselves plain | |
with words that pass the acid test | |
with passive thought in train. | |
Words upon words, | |
fiction, folly and fable, | |
each pregnant pause a dead giveaway... | |
ploughing on undeterred | |
as the sell-bys expire on our labels | |
though at length we'll have little or nothing to say | |
it would be too absurd | |
to spend life all agaze at our navels – | |
oh, we've got such limited time to go on and explain. | |
So, running off at the mouth, | |
we all get carried away | |
uncertain when it all goes south | |
if we mean what we say. | |
If we mean what we say... |
Words upon words | |
stack the tower of Babel | |
brick on brick on straw on clay | |
but a whispering stirs | |
and the structure' s unstable | |
when all the scaffold' s stripped away. | |
We' re ever quick to aver | |
that we are ready and able | |
but we can' t say what' s coming, come what may. | |
By definition selfobsessed | |
we strive to make ourselves plain | |
with words that pass the acid test | |
with passive thought in train. | |
Words upon words, | |
fiction, folly and fable, | |
each pregnant pause a dead giveaway... | |
ploughing on undeterred | |
as the sellbys expire on our labels | |
though at length we' ll have little or nothing to say | |
it would be too absurd | |
to spend life all agaze at our navels | |
oh, we' ve got such limited time to go on and explain. | |
So, running off at the mouth, | |
we all get carried away | |
uncertain when it all goes south | |
if we mean what we say. | |
If we mean what we say... |
Words upon words | |
stack the tower of Babel | |
brick on brick on straw on clay | |
but a whispering stirs | |
and the structure' s unstable | |
when all the scaffold' s stripped away. | |
We' re ever quick to aver | |
that we are ready and able | |
but we can' t say what' s coming, come what may. | |
By definition selfobsessed | |
we strive to make ourselves plain | |
with words that pass the acid test | |
with passive thought in train. | |
Words upon words, | |
fiction, folly and fable, | |
each pregnant pause a dead giveaway... | |
ploughing on undeterred | |
as the sellbys expire on our labels | |
though at length we' ll have little or nothing to say | |
it would be too absurd | |
to spend life all agaze at our navels | |
oh, we' ve got such limited time to go on and explain. | |
So, running off at the mouth, | |
we all get carried away | |
uncertain when it all goes south | |
if we mean what we say. | |
If we mean what we say... |