| Lifebeats
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| Instrumental part
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| Prelude
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| Instrumental part
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| The Silver Cord
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| «Do you still see me even here?»
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| (The silver cord lies on the ground.)
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| «And so I’m dead», the young man said — over the hill (not a wish away)
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| My friends (as one) all stand aligned, although their taxis came too late
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| There was a rush along the Fulham Road
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| There was a hush in the Passion Play
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| Such a sense of glowing in the aftermath ripe with rich attainments
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| All imagined sad misdeeds in disarray the sore thumb screams aloud
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| Echoing out of the Passion Play
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| All the old familiar choruses come crowding in a different key:
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| Melodies decaying in sweet dissonance
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| There was a rush along the Fulham Road
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| Into the Ever-passion Play
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| And who comes here to wish me well?
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| A sweetly-scented angel fell
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| She laid her head upon my disbelief
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| And bathed me with her ever-smile
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| And with a howl across the sand
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| I go escorted by a band of gentlemen in leather bound
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| NO-ONE (but someone to be found)
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| Re-Assuring Tune
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| Instrumental part
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| Memory Bank
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| All along the icy wastes there are faces smiling in the gloom
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| Roll up roll down, Feeling unwound? |
| Step into the viewing room
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| The cameras were all around. |
| We’ve got you taped; |
| you’re in the play
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| Here’s your I.D. |
| (Ideal for identifying one and all.)
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| Invest your life in the memory bank; |
| ours the interest and we thank you
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| The ice-cream lady wets her drawers, to see you in the passion play
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| Take the prize for instant pleasure
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| Captain of the cricket team
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| Public speaking in all weathers
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| A knighthood from a queen
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| Best Friends
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| All of your best friends' telephones never cooled from the heat of your hand
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| There’s a line in a front-page story, 13 horses that also-ran
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| Climb in your old umbrella
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| Does it have a nasty tear in the dome?
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| But the rain only gets in sometimes and the sun never leaves you alone
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| Critique Oblique
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| Lover of the black and white it’s your first night
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| The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight
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| Tell me how the baby’s made, how the lady’s laid
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| Why the old dog howls in sadness
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| And your little sister’s immaculate virginity wings away
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| On the bony shoulders of a young horse named George
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| Who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision
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| (The examining body examined her body.)
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| Actor of the low-high Q, let’s hear your view
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| Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won’t do
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| Tell me: how the baby’s graded, how the lady’s faded
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| Why the old dogs howl with madness
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| All of this and some of that’s the only way to skin the cat
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| And now you’ve lost a skin or two, you’re for us and we for you
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| The dressing room is right behind
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| We’ve got you taped, you’re in the play
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| How does it feel to be in the play?
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| How does it feel to play the play?
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| How does it feel to be the play?
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| Man of passion rise again, we won’t cross you out:
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| For we do love you like a son, of that there’s no doubt
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| Tell us: is it you who are here for our good cheer?
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| Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction
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| Of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?
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| There was a rush along the Fulham Road
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| There was a hush in the Passion Play
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| Forest Dance No.1
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| Instrumental part |