Sad victim of the overground Talisman I wear against my heart She knows she’s not the first to shed some light on me She knows she may well be the last
I’ve heard some rumours of a world outside Beyond the circle of her arms Strange legend of a race for time Make-believe world of false alarms
Who are we? Who are you to tell us? Who are we? Who are you to tell us Take a look at yourselves
I met Dave Kenyon at South Hill Park, Bracknell in the early 70s. We kicked some stuff around in the studio there – I don’t have any tapes at this point – and he had a fragment of a song (basically the last part of this lyric and a tune IIRC). I worked on it later in the form that eventually got recorded here, roughly, but I lost touch with him before that. If you’re out there, Dave, get in touch!
Quiet days / Slow march past of the minutes
Remorseless progression / of the hours
The sun burns out / in a mock tropic sky
The sands run down / and time holds its breath
Waiting, ever waiting for the stranger in uniform
To shatter the mirror-still days
Quiet days / counting falling leaves
Stripping petals / from a scrap of bush
Nights under the trees / hiding from the world
Singing wild songs / to a gypsy moon
Waiting, ever waiting for the stranger in uniform
To shatter the cut-crystal days
Quiet days / sunrise leaps from tree to tree
A small boy with a fishing rod / re-lives jam-jar days
Ripples smooth away / the wrinkled image
Waiting for history / to rewrite the page
Waiting, ever waiting for the stranger in uniform
to shatter the diamond-cut days
Quiet country days / in a honeymoon paradise
Raindrops / dancing tiptoe on the glass
Clouds hang heavy / as time and history
Hiding in each other / in autumn 1939
Waiting, ever waiting for the stranger in uniform
To shatter the looking glass days
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