Procol HarumBeyond
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Simple Sister
Got Whooping Cough
Have to burn her toys
Take her treats
Eat her sweets
Scare off all the boys
Simple Sister
Got Whooping Cough
Have to put her out
Wear her clothes
Steal her bows
Tell her that she's stout
Simple Sister
Got Whooping Cough
Lock her in a cell
Throw the key
Into the sea
Hope she never gets well
It was all once bright jewels
And glittering sand
The oceans have ravaged
And strangled the land
Waste fills the temples,
Dead daughters are born
The presses are empty
The editors torn
Whose husband was the first to fall?
Who died the worst death of them all?
How many splinters in each separate band?
How many stations in the final hand?
Now gather up sea shells,
And write down brave words
Your prayers are unanswered,
Your idols absurd
The seaweed and the cobweb,
Have rotted your sword
Your barricades broken,
Your enemies Lord.
Cellar full of diamonds, turret full of gold
All for a mermaid's locket, too much to hold
Drink the seals' blood from the ocean,
Drink the whole ocean dry
Steal the moonshine from the night-time,
Steal the sun from the sky
Black-skinned warrior, Zulu Queen
Sold for a silver dollar, shipped across the sea
Worked like a Mexican donkey,
Used like a hole in the ground
Branded her skin like she didn't feel a thing
Crying without a sound
Tulips lips oh Luskus Delph
Your baking breath breeds body 'x'
With silken measures try to gauge
The inside sweetness of your cave.
Peach preserve your simmering jewel
Hid away like orphans' gruel
Help me find the widow's crack
Make me stick like ceiling wax
Almond eyed my turkish pearl
Burn me up sweet oyster girl
Shove me in your steaming vat
Make me split like chicken fat
Climbing out of open windows
Crashing down from broken stairs
Keeping watch on smoking cinders
Falling over burning chairs
Tossed and crossed and screwed in transit
broken , splintered, bruised and thrown
Badly shattered, gale force frighty
Brushed across and shown alone
Speech reduced by poor relations
Strung from weeks of self abuse
Chopped up, churned out weeks of greasy
Spark plugs burned up, power's fused
I will meet you on the other side of the moon
The doctors say they must operate
But there's no knowing what they'll find when they open up the
womb
I will meet you on the other side of the moon
I will meet you at the bottom of the sea
We will lie inside the ocean and sleep
Our friend the Arab will guide us while we dream
I will meet you at the bottom of the sea
Skeptic at the feast in ashes
Huntsmen at the voyeurs' ball
Funeral parlor guests invited
Mourning poorly worn by all
Old and mouldy words of passion
Savage Rose destroyed them all
Wrote her faith in neon captions
Slender sender made me crawl
Playmate of the Mouth expected
Passionata bless the small
Baby sandwich soaped for comfort
Slippery sliding ten feet tall
Poor Mohammed at the peep show
Kick the beggar down the stairs
Can't keep guard, he's old and feeble
Steal his books, burn his prayers
Poor Mohammed at the keyhole
Sitting by the kitchen door
Slop his food all around the table
Let him lick it off the floor
Put Mohammed in the cellar
Keep him there 'til half past ten
Toss some bread into his beard
Let the rats dine on him there
Warning about copyright Words from other Procol Harum albums
PH on stage | PH on record | PH in print | BtP features | What's new | Interact with BtP | For sale | Site search | Home |