Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song This Strange Engine, artist - Marillion. Album song With Friends from the Orchestra, in the genre Прогрессивный рок
Date of issue: 28.11.2019
Record label: Ear Music
Song language: English
This Strange Engine |
There was a boy who came into this world |
At the hands of a holy woman in a holy place |
He wore a red coat and walked a bulldog |
Saw them reflected in the mirror of the lakes |
Lived in the shadow of the mountains |
With the smells of disinfectant, dusty old leather |
And the polished wood of his bed |
No more than a baby feeding swans on the river |
Holding the hands of his mother |
And the wax paper bag of yesterday’s bread |
And his father on the other side of the world |
On the ships railings and some far away tide |
With the silent dry tear of home thoughts from abroad |
In his far away eyes |
In his far away eyes |
The smell of the wax on the wooden floor |
Mixture of polish and soap |
No children to fear or to play with |
Rows of empty hooks for the coats |
An upright piano and the boys in the choir |
Still remind him of just before he was born |
Remind him of just before he was breathing |
Strange misty visions of God |
Turn the cities into families |
Into villages of souls |
Hovering in the air while they’re sleeping |
With their houses invisible |
Chase the moon between the buildings |
Running as fast as I could run |
Send to me the ghosts of Christmas |
Whispering, «You're the only one» |
And ever since I was a boy |
I never felt that I belonged |
Like everything they did to me |
Was an experiment to see |
How I would cope with the illusion |
In which direction would I jump |
Would I do it all the same |
As the actors in the game |
Or would I spit it back at them |
And not get caught up in their rules |
And live according to my own |
And not be used, not be used |
To find the fundamental truths |
It was going to take some time |
Thirty five summers down the line |
The wisdom of each passing year |
Seems to serve only to confuse |
Seems to serve only to confuse |
Daddy came out the navy and took us away |
To his dirty grey home town |
And he worked down on a coal mine for National Service |
So that he could be around |
There was a magical purple in the chrome of the exhaust |
Of his Triumph motor bike |
And a warmth of oil and metal and the thrill of the hard corner |
Holding tight |
From the horizon |
Came home from the Navy to the mine |
From the horizon |
To buried alive |
Took his dream underground |
Buried his treasure in his faraway eyes |
And one day as the boy lay sleeping in the sunshine |
Of a half remembered afternoon |
A cloud of bees with no particular aim, and no brain |
Found the boy, decided that his time had come |
Came down out of the sky |
Stung him in the face |
Again and again |
Blue pain |
Screaming like baptism |
Intravenous, Jesus! |
Like being chosen |
Blue pain from something with no brain |
I can’t explain |
It’s happening again |
It’s happening again |
Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you sit a while with me |
Oh Mummy, Daddy, will you jog my memory |
Tell me tall tales of Montego Bay |
Table mountain, flying fish, banana spiders, pots of paint |
And the sun on the equator |
Setting like an ember thrown to deep water |
From crimson to black |
But coming back |
Tomorrow |
On the horizon |
The blue pain |
Fades to a point where it doesn’t fade |
It stayed |
Blue |
Stirred his red coat heart to this strange engine |
This love |
This love |
This inconvenient, blind, blood-diamond |
This puzzle |
I don’t understand |
That knows no faith |
And tries and fails |
And tries again |
Stares at the sea |
The night’s dark deep |
For one last time |
And bleeds |
And bleeds |
And dies for you |
And lies |
And is to blame |
And is ashamed |
And is not the same |
And is true |
And is true |