1. When She Comes
  2. A Place to Survive
  3. Masks
  4. Meurglys III
  5. Wondering


    Slow motion in the quiet of your room
    so potent is the smell of her perfume
       that you think she's eternal
       that you think she's everything
    -but no-one knows what she is....
    Repentance for all you should have said-
    her entrance seems to raise you from the dead
       and you think she's really with you
       and you think she'll always stay,
       always ready to forgive you,
       always ready to grant you her mercy  
         -but in her own way.
    When she comes she'll be a stranger:
    struck dumb you'll try to protest
    as the drum beats out the danger,
    too late - you should have noticed
    that the lady with her skin so white
    like something out of Blake and Burne-Jones
    always blocked out the light
       and shadowed all you owned.
    Still you think she's forever,
    yesterday and tomorrow
    -but no-one knows where she is.   
    Still you swear that you can win her
    and your prayer is that she'll want you;
    aware,once a saint,now you're a sinner
    and you sins are going to haunt you
    when the lady with her skin so white
    like something out of Edgar Allen Poe
    holds your hand so very tight
       and you hope she'll never let go.
    Easy targets,easy cross-words,easy life:
    these key margins leave you balanced on the knife,
    bleeding darkly.In the end it all comes down
    to sleazy bargains.
    That hidden key - you tried so hard to find it;
    all you can conceive is the effort to be worthy.
    Even now you need to be reminded
    that La Belle Dame is without mercy.
    The lady with her skin so white
    -you never did quite catch her name-
    now she holds you in the night
       and she'll never let go again
           she'll never let go again


    It's easy to say,when you're so down,
       that everything's pointless;
    your eyes burn,your ears howl,
       your limbs are disjointed.
    Barren fields,the barren earth,never more will it flower -
    rub your face and your hands in the dirt:
       now is the hour.
    So stand straight looking over your shoulder,
    walk on though you fear to arrive,
    dont wait till you know that it's over,
    be strong - it's your place to survive.
    While the holocaust rages around you,
       be the eye of the storm;
    though the extent of disaster astounds you,
       forearmed is forewarned.
    You may passed time in happier ways
    but there are ofher mountains to climb:
    you've never lived as you're living today-
       now is the time.   
    Stand straight through your back breakes from trying,
    walk on - even now you must strive.
    Don't wait; while you're waiting,you're dying.
    Be strong - it's your place to survive.
    The universe is doubtless unfolding
       just exactly as it should
    and these dreams of remorse or foreboding
       won't do you any good.
    The joy,the passion,possessions you own,
    the bitterness and the pain,
    the end of everything you've ever know -
       all these are ordained.
    Stand straight looking into the future,
    walk on - we've each got our own lives.
    Don't wait for the guru or tutor,
    be strong - it's your place to survive.
    Stand straight looking over your shoulder,
    walk on;through it hurts,you're alive.
    Don't wait - if you wait it's all over: 
    be strong - it's your right to survive.


    He's a man of the past and one of the present,
    a man who hides behind a mask behind a mask.
    A clown,a fool,
    believing it cool to be down
    or that the game is all about who laughs the last.
    So he tells all his problems to his friends and relations,
    exposes his neuroses to their view.
    They accept as fact 
    every masochistic mumble of his act;
    how could they know what was false and what was true?
    Sometimes when he wakes
    he feels he's walked into a dream
    but all it takes
    to remind him things are what they seem
    is the belief
    that the man behind the mask can really dance.
    Pirouetting smile
    he sees himself cavorting,
    Pierrot for awhile
    before aborting
    to find relief
    in the shelter of the dark,most telling mask.
    After all the pantomimes are ended
    he peels all the make-up off his face
    to reveal beneath
    the tears running all down his cheeks:
    alone,he opens to the world... but it's much too late.
    He's been left,in the end,without a face.


    These days I mainly just talk to plants and dogs -
    all human contact seems painful,risky,odd,
    so I stay acting god in my own universe
    where I trade cigarettes in return for songs.
    The deal's made harder the longer I go on:
    I find me gone from all but secret languages.
    If only could phrase satisfactory words
    in conversation to make my passion heard....
       If only....
    Meurglys III,he's my friend,
    the only one that I can trust
    to let it be without pretence
       - there's no-one else.
    It's killing me,but in the end
    there's no-one else I know is true;
    there's none in all the masks of men.
       There's nothing else
       but my guitar...
       I suppose he'll have to do.
    Talking in tongues is easy when you know how,
    quite pleasing,but still nothing works out right.
    Pressurised lungs,heart bleeding,you'd better slow down  
    and show that you can make it through the night. 
    However dark it seems,the present is just the present,
    beyond it no darkness lies concealed
    and through these desperate dreams,
    this longing for friends and comfort
    you know that in the end all will be revealed.
    When no more plants or dogs or rooms are there
       to hear you
    and no-one is left near you,then you'll see:
    in the end there's only you and Meurglys III
       and this is just what you chose to be,
    Though I know all this is just escape,
    I run because I don't know where the prison lies.
    In songs like this I can bear the weight....
       I running still
       I shall until
       one day I hope that I'll arrive.


    I will arise;
    in the depth,I will open my eyes;
    as my breath almost fails me,survive.
    Wait - there's something unclear,
    there's something I fear now drawing close.
    Could it be you? Whose is that voice?
    Is it now time to make a choice?
    Ah - that irrational pain!
    This ridiculous brain now bursts with joy.
    Could it be me? Could it be now?
    Should I begin to take my vows?
    I will return;
    as I live,as I breath,as I burn
    I swear I will come through
    with my hands stratching out in the dark,
    with my eye pressed up tight to the glass,
       wondering if it's all been true.

    WHEN SHE COMES (Hammill) 7:58 A PLACE TO SURVIVE (Hammill) 10:00 MASKS (Hammill) 6:55 MEURGLYS III,THE SONGWRITER'S GUILD (Hammill) 20:47 WONDERING (Banton/Hammill) 6:33 Produced by VAN DER GRAAF GENERATOR Engineered by PAT MORAN HUGH BANTON: Manuals and Pedals (Manuel and his Music of the Pedallos) GUY EVANS: Drums,Cymbals,Percussion & Fingerpop PETER HAMMILL: Vox,Meurglys III and Wassistderpunktenbacker DAVID JACKSON: Alto,Tenor and Soprano Saxophones and accoutrements,and Fluite (All in The Grotto) The album was recorded and mixed at Rockfield Studios 1 & 2 between May 10-30, 1976 All lyrics by PETER HAMMILL All songs published by Static Music Ltd. THE FAMOUS CHARISMA LABEL VIRGIN

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