Marillion (79,50 %)
Script for a Jester's Tear (89,73 %)
In collection
Released: 1983-03
Type: Studio
Type: Studio
Ranking:
Artist:
1
Year (1983):
1
Decade (1980's):
9
Overall:
68
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1.
Script for a Jester's Tear
 08:43
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2.
He Knows You Know
05:24
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3.
The Web
 08:52
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4.
Garden Party
 07:20
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5.
Chelsea Monday
08:18
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6.
Forgotten Sons
08:23
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Album length:
47:00
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Lyrics |
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1.
Script for a Jester's Tear
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So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts Too much, too soon, too far to go, too late to play The game is over, the game is over So here I am once more in the playground of the broken heart I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts The game is over, over, over Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts The game is over Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play The game is over I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with twisted smile To bleed the lyric for this song to write the rites to right my wrongs An epitaph to a broken dream to exorcise this silent scream A scream that's borne from sorrow I never did write that love song, the words just never seemed to flow Now sad in reflection did I gaze through perfection And examine the shadows on the other side of the morning And examine the shadows on the other side of mourning Promised wedding now a wake, promised wedding now a wake The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and cry Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why As you grow up and leave the playground Where you kissed your prince and found your frog Remember the jester that showed you tears, the script for tears So I'll hold our peace forever when you wear your bridal gown In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the sirens' song Has gone solo in the game, I've gone solo in the game But the game is over Can you still say you love me Can you still say you love me |
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2.
He Knows You Know
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He knows, he knows, he knows Light switch, yellow fever, crawling up your bathroom wall Singing psychedelic praises to the depths of a china bowl You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head You should have listened to the priest at the confession When he offered you the sacred bread He knows, you know, he knows, you know He knows, you know, but he's got problems Fast feed, crystal fever, swarming through a fractured mind Chilling needles freeze emotion, the blind shall lead the blind You've got venom in you stomach, you've got poison in your head When your conscience whispered, the vein lines stiffened You were walking with the dead He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know He's got experience, he's got experience, he knows, you know But he's got problems, problems, problems He knows... slash wrist, scarlet fever, crawled under your bathroom door Pumping arteries ooze their problems through the gap that the razor tore You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head You should have listened to your analyst's questions When you lay on his leather bed He knows, you know, he knows, you know He knows, you know, but he's got problems Blank eyes, purple fever, streaming through the frosted pane You learned your lesson far too late from the links in a chemist chain You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head You should have stayed at home and talked with father Listen to the lies he fed He knows, you know, he knows, you know, He knows, you know, but he's got problems He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know He's got experience, he's got experience, he knows, you know You know, you know, you know |
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3.
The Web
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The rain auditions at my window Its symphony echoes in my womb My gaze scans the walls of this apartment To rectify the confines of my tomb I'm the cyclops in the tenement, I'm the soul without the cause Crying amidst my rubber plants, ignoring beckoning doors Clippings from ancient newspapers lie scattered across the floor Stained by the wine from a shattered glass Meaningless words, yellowed by time Ffaded photos exposing pain, celluloid leeches bleeding my mind You've finished playing hangman, you've cast the fateful dice Advice, advice, advice me, this shroud will not suffice And thus begins the web Attempting to discard these clinging memories I only serve to wallow in our past I fabricate the weave with my excuses Its strands I hope and pray shall last Oh, please do last The flytrap needs the insects, ivy caresses the wall Needles make love to the junkies, the sirens seduce with their call Confidence has deserted me, with you it has forsaken me Confused and rejected, despised and alone I kiss isolation on its fevered brow Security clutching me, obscurity threatening me Christ, your reasons were so obvious as my friend have qualified I only laughed away your tears but even jesters cry But even jesters cry I realise I hold the key to freedom I cannot let my life be ruled by threads The time has come to make decisions The changes have to be made I realise I hold the key to freedom I cannot let my life be ruled by threads The time has come to make decisions The changes have to be made Now I leave you, the past does have its say You're all but forgotten a mote in my heart Decisions have been made, have been made, have been made Decisions have been made I've conquered my fears, my fears The flaming shroud, the flaming shroud Thus ends the web |
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4.
Garden Party
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Garden party held today Invites call the debs to play Social climbers polish ladders Wayward sons again have fathers Hello Dad, hello Dad Edgy eggs and queuing cumbers Rudely wakened from their slumbers Time has come again for slaughter On the lawns by still cam waters A slaughter, it's a slaughter Champagne corks are firing at the sun again Swooping swallows chased by violins again Straafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again Oh God, not again Aperitifs consumed en masse Display their owners on the grass Couples loiter in the cloisters Social leeches quoting Chaucer Doctor's son a parson's daughter Where, why not and should they oughta Please don't lie upon the grass Unless accompanied by a fellow May I be so bold as to perhaps suggest Othello Punting on the cam is jolly fun, they say Beagling on the downs, oh please, do come, they say Rugger is the tops, a game for men, they say I'm punting, I'm beagling, I'm wining, reclining I'm rucking, I'm fucking, so welcome, it's a party Angie chalks another blue Mother smiles, she did it too Chitters chat and gossips lash Posers pose, pressmen flash Smiles polluted with false charm Locking on to Royal arms Society columns now ensured Returns to mingle with the crowds Oh, what a crowd Punting on the cam, oh please, do come, they say Beagling on the downs, oh please, so come, they say Garden party held today, they say Oh please, do come, oh please, do come, they say |
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5.
Chelsea Monday
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Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress Hiding in her cellophane world in glitter town Awaiting the prince in his white Capri Dynamic young Tarzan courts the bedsit queen She's playing the actress in this bedroom scene She's learning her lines from glossy magazines Stringing all her pearls from her childhood dreams Auditioning for the leading role on the silver screen Patience my tinsel angel Patience my perfumed child One day they really love you You'll charm them with that smile But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday Drifting with her incense in the labyrinth of London Playing games with faces in the neon wonderland Perform to scattered shadows on the shattered cobbled aisles Would she dare recite soliloquies at the risk of stark applause Of Chelsea Monday She'll pray for endless Sundays as she enters saffron sunsets Conjure phantom lovers from the tattered shreds of dawn Fulfilled and yet forgotten the St. Tropez mirage Fragrant aphrodisiac, the withered tuberose Of Chelsea Monday, sweet Chelsea Monday Patience, my tinsel angel, patience, my perfumed child One day they really love you, you'll charm them with that smile But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday Sweet Chelsea Monday [Hello John, did you see The Standard about four hours ago? Fished a young chick out of The Old Father Blond hair, blue eyes She said she wanted to be an actress or something Nobody knows where she came from, where she was going Funny thing was she had a smile on her face She was smiling, what a waste] Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress Buried in her cellophane world in glitter town Of Chelsea Monday |
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6.
Forgotten Sons
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Armalite, street lights, nightsights Searching the roofs for a sniper, a viper, a fighter Death in the shadows he'll maim you, he'll wound you, he'll kill you For a long forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores Boys baptised in wars Morphine, chill scream, bad dream Serving as numbers on dog tags, flak rags, sandbags Your girl has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sleep The wounds that burn so deep Your mother sits on the edge of the world When the cameras start to roll Panoramic viewpoint resurrect the killing fold Your father drains another beer, he's one of the few that cares Crawling behind a Saracen's hull from the safety of his living room chair Forgotten sons, forgotten sons, forgotten sons And so as I patrol in the valley of the shadow of the tricolour I must fear evil, for I am but mortal and mortals can only die Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless, faceless watchers That stalk the carpeted corridors of Whitehall Who orders desecration, mutilation Verbal masturbation in the guarded bureaucratic wombs Minister, minister care for your children, order them not into damnation To eliminate those who would trespass against you For whose is the kingdom, the power, the glory forever and ever, amen Halt who goes there, Death, approach friend You're just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle When our children's stony glances mourn our death in a terrorist's smile The bomber's arm placing fiery gifts on the supermarket shelves Alley sings with shrapnel detonate a temporary hell Forgotten Sons From the dole queue to the regiment a profession in a flash But remember Monday signings, when from door to door you dash On the news a nation mourns you unknown soldier, count the cost For a second you'll be famous but labeled posthumous Forgotten sons, forgotten sons Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her child Just another Forgotten Son |