a pretext - thick as a brick

This is one of my favorite songs, by Jethro Tull, as a pretext for the new Superman movie and its called Thick as a Brick, it’s a long one so:

"Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words but a whisper
your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel
but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter
your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves
over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know
how it feels
to be thick
as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues
are all swept away
in the tidal destruction
the moral melee.

The elastic retreat
rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers
the newfangled way.

But your new shoes
are worn at the heels and
your suntan does rapidly peel and
your wise men
don't know
how it feels
to be thick
as a brick.

And the love that I feel
is so far away:
I'm a bad dream
that I just had today
and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame.

Spin me back down
the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and
shut out the whole truth.

Spin me down the long ages:
let them sing the song.

See there!
A son is born
and
we pronounce him fit to fight.

There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him
to play Monopoly and
to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter
casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry
returning from the sea.

The do-er and the thinker:
no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates
the mercenary's creed.

The home fire burning
the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house
is far away.

The horses stamping
their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning
of the day.

And the poet lifts his pen
while the soldier sheaths his sword.
And the youngest of the family
is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing
at the grass
down by the river
where the swelling mountain water
moves onward to the sea

the builder of the castles
renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl
whose offer is his need.

The young men of the household
have all gone into service
and are not to be expected for a year.

The innocent young master
thoughts moving ever faster
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.

And the poet sheaths his pen
while the soldier lifts his sword.
And the oldest of the family
is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do
when the old man's gone
do you want to be him? And
your real self sings the song.

Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.

LATER.

I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.

So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man
twenty years too late.

Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short
and neat.

I'll judge you all
and make damn sure that
no-one judges me.

You curl your toes
in fun as you smile at everyone
you meet the stares.

You're unaware
that your doings aren't done.

And you laugh
most ruthlessly
as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see
where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom
with your rings upon your fingers and
your downy little sidies and
your silver-buckle shoes.

Playing at the hard case,
you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super crooks
and show us all the way.

Well!
Make your will and testament.
Won't you?
Join your local government.

We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one
and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and
they put you first in line.

And so you finally ask yourself
just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world
of bigger motor cars.

And you wonder who to call on.

So!
Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though?

They're all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.

See there!
A man born
and we pronounce him fit for peace.

There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.

We'll take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE:
We will be geared to the average
rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward
and saw 218 babies
wearing nylons cats are on the upgrade
upgrade?
Hipgrave.

Oh, Mac.

LATER

In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching,
they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying:
how's your granny and
good old Ernie
he coughed up a tenner
on a premium bond win.

The legends
(worded in the ancient tribal hymn)
lie cradledin the seagull's call.

And all the promises they made
are ground beneath the sadist's fall.

The poet and the wise man
stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.

Light the sun.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you?
Believe in the day!

The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.

Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned
to the night
and fully pregnant with the day,

wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?
Do you?
Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales
of your life
of your love
and the cut of the knife

the tireless oppression
the wisdom in
stilled
the desire to kill or be killed.

Let me sing of the losers
who lie in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty
the gutters run red while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men
who are building castles!

Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.

Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools and
the thoughts of the wise and
from the pan under your bed.

Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and
is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So!
Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and
join your voices in a hellish chorus.

Mark the precise nature of your fear.

See!
The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear.

So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super-crooks and
show us all the way.

Well!
Make your will and testament.
Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have
Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men
don't know
how it feels
to be thick
as a brick."