by Strawbs


The gilt-edged invitation came
And I said, "What can this mean,
To attend the coronation
As the first guest of the Queen,
And sit upon her right hand
Where the Prince is mostly seen?"
The maids of honour stared at me
And register surprised
To see a man of such good taste
Appear before their eyes
Now being rather humble
I adopted a disguise
As the Minister of State
For Mass Environment Controls,
Who condemn the working classes
For inhabiting the holes
That belong to Queen and Country,
But do not permit their souls
To be free like me.

The perspex chandelier
Began to melt and slip away;
One million candle-powered
It kept the night at bay.
While the power station workers
Were busy making hay,
The workers in the fields
Were engaged in self-defence,
Which involved the use of barbed wire
As a self-containing fence,
But as a means of self-protection
It was needlessly immense.
I stopped to ask them for a light,
They pointed at the sun,
Which raised their hopes of harvesting
A better crop than guns
Can ever mass-produce
At the expense of anyone
Who is free like me.

The solitary peasant
In his home above the lake,
Raised high on woooden stilts,
Has made the singular mistake
Of revolutionary conduct
At the celebration wake.
His urban counterpart,
Engaged in mundane occupation,
Enjoys the chance of laughing
At the Queen's humiliation
At the hands of Ministers of State
For Rehabilitation,
Now the power station worker,
Though his aim is too disjointed,
Finds himself around the corner;
While his gun is never pointed,
He is ever at the ready,
He desires to be annointed
And be free like me.



Transcribed by Rich Kulawiec, rsk@ecn.purdue.edu