Текст песни Gethsemane, Again - 2007 Remaster - Al Stewart
                                                In 
                                                Gloucester 
                                                Cathedral, 
                                                on 
                                                Saturday 
                                                night
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                came 
                                                to 
                                                your 
                                                flower 
                                                show, 
                                                blown 
                                                like 
                                                    a 
                                                kite
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                stood 
                                                by 
                                                the 
                                                tombstones 
                                                and 
                                                gazed 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                lights 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                altar
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                horse-faced 
                                                old 
                                                ladies 
                                                and 
                                                tweedy-toned 
                                                men
 
                                    
                                
                                                Of 
                                                county 
                                                society 
                                                they 
                                                came 
                                                and 
                                                they 
                                                went
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                pamphlets 
                                                and 
                                                leaflets 
                                                of 
                                                Christian 
                                                events 
                                                for 
                                                the 
                                                fall
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                ain′t 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                Gethsemane, 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh 
                                                the 
                                                half-a-crown 
                                                programmes 
                                                on 
                                                sale 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                door
 
                                    
                                
                                                Were 
                                                clutched 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                teeth 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                rich 
                                                and 
                                                the 
                                                poor
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                they 
                                                swayed 
                                                in 
                                                an 
                                                undertone 
                                                conscience-free 
                                                forward 
                                                together
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                outstretching 
                                                hands 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                swains 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                Lord
 
                                    
                                
                                                Sold 
                                                the 
                                                communing 
                                                commuters 
                                                the 
                                                word
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                LP′s 
                                                of 
                                                Mary 
                                                and 
                                                photos 
                                                of 
                                                God 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                hall
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                Gethsemane, 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh 
                                                the 
                                                flowers 
                                                hushed 
                                                the 
                                                air 
                                                as 
                                                the 
                                                columns 
                                                advanced
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                the 
                                                clinking 
                                                of 
                                                coins 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                ritual 
                                                dance
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                the 
                                                flagstones 
                                                that 
                                                ached 
                                                for 
                                                    a 
                                                chance 
                                                of 
                                                    a 
                                                chance 
                                                of 
                                                escaping
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                mystical 
                                                statues 
                                                looked 
                                                down 
                                                so 
                                                depressed
 
                                    
                                
                                                At 
                                                the 
                                                endless 
                                                possessors 
                                                becoming 
                                                possessed
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                costumed 
                                                confessors 
                                                who 
                                                never 
                                                confessed 
                                                to 
                                                the 
                                                wall
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                ain′t 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain′t 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                Gethsemane, 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh 
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                    a 
                                                blue 
                                                hair-rinse, 
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                    a 
                                                black 
                                                tooth
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                    a 
                                                false 
                                                face 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                telephone 
                                                booth
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                stark 
                                                white-faced 
                                                roses 
                                                that 
                                                screamed 
                                                out 
                                                the 
                                                truth
 
                                    
                                
                                                Of 
                                                their 
                                                dying
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    a 
                                                walrus's 
                                                dreams 
                                                and 
                                                    a 
                                                carpenter′s 
                                                love
 
                                    
                                
                                                Absorbed 
                                                like 
                                                    a 
                                                hand 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                great 
                                                rubber 
                                                glove
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                flown 
                                                like 
                                                    a 
                                                flag 
                                                over 
                                                battlefields, 
                                                factories 
                                                and 
                                                all
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain′t 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                Gethsemane 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh 
                                                    I 
                                                dodged 
                                                the 
                                                collection 
                                                box 
                                                choirboy 
                                                and 
                                                out
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                the 
                                                streets 
                                                where 
                                                the 
                                                wind 
                                                shook 
                                                my 
                                                hair 
                                                with 
                                                    a 
                                                shout
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                dusty-faced 
                                                daisies 
                                                were 
                                                blowing 
                                                about 
                                                so 
                                                freely
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                Christ 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                ruins 
                                                was 
                                                wandering 
                                                again
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                he 
                                                walked 
                                                with 
                                                the 
                                                beggars 
                                                and 
                                                talked 
                                                to 
                                                the 
                                                lame
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                danced 
                                                with 
                                                the 
                                                children 
                                                and 
                                                sailors 
                                                who 
                                                came 
                                                at 
                                                his 
                                                call
 
                                    
                                
                                                But 
                                                ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain′t 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                Gethsemane 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Jesus
 
                                    
                                
                                                Crying 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                rain?
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ain't 
                                                that 
                                                all 
                                                just 
                                                like 
                                                Nazareth 
                                                again?
 
                                    
                                
                            
                                Альбом
                                
Zero She Flies                                
                                
                            
                        1 My Enemies Have Sweet Voices - 2007 Remaster
2 Small Fruit Song - 2007 Remaster
3 Gethsemane, Again - 2007 Remaster
4 Burbling - 2007 Remaster
5 Electric Los Angeles Sunset - 2007 Remaster
6 Manuscript - 2007 Remaster
7 Black Hill - 2007 Remaster
8 Anna - 2007 Remaster
9 Room of Roots - 2007 Remaster
10 Zero She Flies - 2007 Remaster
11 Lyke Wake Dirge - 2007 Remastered Version
Внимание! Не стесняйтесь оставлять отзывы.