[Spoken Intro: Peter Hammill, Trident engineer & Guy Evans]
Oh, I'm mad with this take, you could carry on
You could have carried on
You could have carried on, because [?]
Take 3
One, two, three, four
[i. The Emperor]
[Verse 1]
Standing in the space
That holds the silent lace of night away from you
You think that you can hold
The searing, molten gold between your fingers
But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes
Exposing the white of a knuckle
Flesh and metal forming letters in the mould
[Verse 2]
Cradling your gun
After choosing the ones you think should die
Crying on the hill
Crawling over the windowsill into your living-room
They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads
Bodies torn by vultures
You are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death
Oh, I'm mad with this take, you could carry on
You could have carried on
You could have carried on, because [?]
Take 3
One, two, three, four
[i. The Emperor]
[Verse 1]
Standing in the space
That holds the silent lace of night away from you
You think that you can hold
The searing, molten gold between your fingers
But it slips through, tearing tendons as it goes
Exposing the white of a knuckle
Flesh and metal forming letters in the mould
[Verse 2]
Cradling your gun
After choosing the ones you think should die
Crying on the hill
Crawling over the windowsill into your living-room
They stare out, glass-eyed aimless heads
Bodies torn by vultures
You are the man whose hands are rank with the smell of death
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