| The Story Of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles
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| This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles
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| Owl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching
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| Sitting on a fence one day, he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close
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| by
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| Now this may not seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper to no
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| one in particular
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| «The hare has lost his spectacles,» well, he began to wonder
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| Presently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and there, lying on the grass
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| was hare
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| In the stream that flowed by the grass a newt
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| And sitting astride a twig of a bush a bee
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| Ostensibly motionless, the hare was trembling with excitement
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| For without his spectacles he appeared completely helpless
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| Where were his spectacles? |
| Could someone have stolen them?
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| Had he mislaid them? |
| What was he to do?
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| Bee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer began:
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| «You probably ate them thinking they were a carrot.»
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| «No!» |
| interrupted Owl, who was wise
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| «I have good eye-sight, insight, and foresight
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| How could an intelligent hare make such a silly mistake?»
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| But all this time, Owl had been sitting on the fence, scowling!
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| A Kangaroo were hopping mad at this sort of talk
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| She thought herself far superior in intelligence to the others
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| She was their leader, their guru. |
| She had the answer:
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| «Hare, you must go in search of the optician.»
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| But then she realized that Hare was completely helpless without his spectacles
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| And so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, «I can’t send Hare in search of anything!»
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| «You can guru, you can!» |
| shouted Newt
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| «You can send him with Owl.»
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| But Owl had gone to sleep
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| Newt knew too much to be stopped by so small a problem
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| «You can take him in your pouch.»
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| But alas, Hare was much too big to fit into Kangaroo’s pouch
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| All this time, it had been quite plain to hare that the others knew nothing
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| about spectacles
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| As for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn’t care
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| The lost spectacles were his own affair
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| And after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair
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| Forest Dance No.2
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| Instrumental part
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| The Foot Of Our Stairs
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| We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door
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| Eat in the corner, talk to the floor
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| Cheating the spiders who come to say «Please», (politely)
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| They bend at the knees
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| Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs
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| Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
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| Of ladies lost, of erring sons
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| Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends)
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| Pure as the truth, tied at both ends
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| Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs
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| Scented cathedral spire pointed down
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| We pray for souls in Kentish Town
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| A delicate hush
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| The gods, floating by
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| Wishing us well
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| Pie in the sky
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| God of Ages, Lord of Time
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| Mine is the right, right to be wrong
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| Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs
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| Jack rabbit mister spawn a new breed of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed)
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| Show me a good man and I’ll show you the door
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| The last hymn is sung and the devil cries «More.»
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| Well, I’m all for leaving and that being done
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| I’ve put in a request to take up my turn
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| In that forsaken paradise that calls itself «Hell»
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| Where no-one has nothing and nothing is- well -meaning fool
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| Pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling
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| Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do
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| Overseer Overture
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| Colours I’ve none dark or light, red, white or blue
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| Cold is my touch (freezing)
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| Summoned by name — I am the overseer over you
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| Given this command to watch o’er our miserable sphere
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| Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain
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| Occasional corn from my oversight grew
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| Fell with mine angels from a far better place
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| Offering services for the saving of face
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| Now you’re here, you may as well admire
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| All whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation
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| Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
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| Seen in the sky (flashing)
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| I just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye
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| Passionate play join round the maypole in dance
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| (primitive rite) (wrongly)
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| Summoned by name — I am the overseer over you
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| Flight From Lucifer
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| Flee the icy Lucifer
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| Oh he’s an awful fellow!
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| What a mistake!
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| I didn’t take a feather from his pillow
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| Here’s the everlasting rub: neither am I good nor bad |
| I’d give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once had
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| I’m only breathing
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| There’s life on my ceiling
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| The flies there are sleeping quietly
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| Twist my right arm in the dark. |
| I would give two or three for
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| One of those days that never made impressions on the old score
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| I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree
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| Everyone’s saved we’re in the grave
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| See you there for afternoon tea
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| Time for awaking the tea lady’s making
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| A brew-up and baking new bread
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| Pick me up at half past none
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| There’s not a moment to lose
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| There is the train on which I came
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| On the platform are my old shoes
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| Station master rings his bell
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| Whistles blow and flags wave
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| A little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should)
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| I thank everybody for making me welcome
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| I’d stay but my wings have just dropped off
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| 10.08 To Paddington=
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| Instrumental part
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| Magus Perdé
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| Hail! |
| Son of kings make the ever-dying sign
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| Cross your fingers in the sky
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| For those about to BE
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| There am I waiting along the sand
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| Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea
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| Magus Perdé, take your hand from off the chain
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| Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to BE
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| Here am I (voyager into life)
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| Tough are the soles that tread the knife’s edge
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| Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil
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| Bring the gods, the gods' own fire
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| In the conflict revel
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| The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born
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| Renew the pledge of life’s long song rise to the reveille horn
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| Animals queuing at the gate that stands upon the shore
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| Breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door
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| Man — son of man — buy the flame of ever-life
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| (Yours to breathe and breath the pain of living): living BE!
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| Here am I! |
| Roll the stone away
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| From the dark into ever-day
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| Epilogue
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| There was a rush along the Fulham Road
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| Into the Ever-passion Play |