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peter hammill - faint-heart and the sermon [the peel sessions] lyrics

[verse 1]
with my face drained of colour
and my brain of blood
like billy budd
i’m lashed to the grating
with senses growing duller
and with quaking heart
i make a start
at temperature equating
and my lungs suck useless air
[verse 2]
like paraplegic dancers
in formation team
my understanding seems
hidebound in its movements
contemplating answers
that could break my bonds +
to be half wrong
would be, in me, improvement…
but my comprehensive faculties are impaired

[bridge]
and it seems absurd, but now all i’ve heard
fades in empty words and is worthlеss
as the human laugh rocks the cenotaph
but thе joke is half+true, and mirthless

[verse 3]
trying to trace a reason
from the spinning words
but all i’ve heard
seem at odds with their meanings
phonetically pleasing
but delivered with such haste
that in their place
my mind commences screaming
[bridge]
on the verge of belief i crash onto the reef
and a cynical thief steals my senses
so i cling to the pew with dimensions askew
and recognition refuses present tenses
all the lives of the saints demonstrate that my faint
is a minor complaint, but the end is
nowhere in sight
why can’t i find me a way to go?

[verse 4]
i don’t want to die in the nave
but i know it may be with me some day
so i’ve got to find a way i can save up
my energies, and find a cause to pray
to something for something
to which i can give my creed

[instrumental break]

[verse 5]
i’d gladly succumb to the wave
if i thought the water taught a way to light;
i’d gladly succumb + i’m not brave
and it’s easy to believe what the preacher says
except for the conflict raging between my head and my brain
i don’t want to die, but just the same
some day….
[verse 6]
waiting for a moment
that i know will come
when i’ll have to run
and find another sermon
everyman and norman
and the talking priest++
still i am at least holding all the doors open

[bridge]
as the cracked bells peal it all seems unreal
but the seventh seal stays unbroken
and the offertory plate tenders no escape +
still i refuse to scr+pe up a token
of esteem for these false
alleyways of the course;
i must try to divorce sense from sensing
tell me again
tell me the way to go

[outro]
so when i talk to myself
although i take good care to listen
my heart grows ever more faint
there’s something missing?

- peter hammill lyrics

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