Wind Up!

This morning on the way to work I decided I should break from the compusory routine of tuning my radio to Talk/news radio. With the bright nature of this beautiful morn I simply wished to avoid becoming angry over the devilry that I was sure to be subjected to if any political news reached me.

Sometimes.... You just have to say no.

Instead I reached into my console and pulled out my old Aqualung CD by Jethro Tull. (yes I still have compact discs as well as an I-Pod) As the songs began to pound out of my poor speakers I noticed that the volume kept getting louder and louder. Unconciously I was reaching over and turning the knob with each new verse. By the time I reached the outskirts of my little town the pounding beats of Locomotive Breath and Aqualung were filling the air and ears of homeowners and pedestrians all along my route. I cant blame some of them for giving me, a middle aged man who should know better, dirty looks as I flew by them in the early summer morning creating all that noise.

Music is somewhat magical, for it has the power to dredge up memories, feelings, and thoughts forgotten long ago. So it was for me this morning.

This is my favorite song from the album, for it's rather heartfelt and straight forward lyrics. The presentation is not too shabby either!

Wind Up

When I was young, and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind, if they groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I was a fool.

So I left there in the morning,
With their god tucked underneath my arm --
Their half-assed smiles, and the book of rules.
So I asked this god a question
And by way of firm reply,
He said –“ I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.”
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers –

I don't believe you:
You have the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate me, on my way to Sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines –

How do you dare tell me, that I'm my father's son
when that was just an accident of birth.
I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song
`cause that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me,
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.

I don't believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull)

Cheers
Allen R Butler

*the Photo is of Ian Anderson in 2004