Tekst:
Jethro Tull 20 Years Of Jethro Tull

: Flying made of sticks and paper: aeroplane. Dying is the wind but climbing, my aeroplane. Blowing, and going somewhere high in the evening tumbling

: Woke up this morning to look at things in their funny way. Why can't they be like they used to be only yesterday. Ooh, bring back my sunshine day

: Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in? While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin? There

a long time gone. And now here you are. You're locked in your own excuse. The circle's getting smaller every day. You're busy planning your next fifty years

: Out on the fast and free way, humming along through a build-up ad-man's dream. Steaking past in a cloud of spray goes the high-performance motor

: Cold aeroplanes, slow boats, warm trains remind me of Jack-A-Lynn. Lush hotels and pretty girls won't cheer the misty mood I'm in. Silly, sad -

: Everybody's jumping on the circus train. Some jump high, some jump off again. And the razzmatazz is rolling, women folk unveiled. All truths to

: I have to call you up. Think I've seen a vision of rhythm in gold. No cat could ever move that way. No puss would dare to be so bold. Must tell

: When we're working nights, the village round the old church becomes scary town. All curtained windows and bolted doors but never a eye to see as