THE WASTE LAND CYCLE of song lyrics by Joel Sattler,
based on the poem by T. S. ELIOT
===================
APRIL IS THE CRUELEST MONTH, part I of The Waste Land cycle
Part I of THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
April
April
April
is the cruelest month
breeding
breeding
breading
lilacs from the dead land
mixing memory
memory
memory
with desire
stirring
stirring
stirring
dull roots with spring rain
winter kept us warm
kept us safe from harm
covered earth with snow
buried us below
somehow we forget
our little lives and yet
summer is surprise
blinding in our eyes
April
April
April
is the cruelest month
stopping in the rain
hiding from the shower
drinking coffee pain
talking hour hour
of when I a child
something more than wild
riding in the sled
and my cousin said
Marie hold on tight
and then down we went
in the mountains free
blind by what you see
April
April
April
is the cruelest month
what the roots we clutch
what the faces touch
all that we can know
where the weeds may grow
out of ruins broke
where there is no hope
the trees are without leaf
crickets no relief
under the dry stone
no sound of water lone
no ticking of the clock
no shadow under this red rock
April
April
April
is the cruelest month
I will make it clear
make it clear I must
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
speak and my eyes fail
and I could not speak
neither live nor dead
and the land was bleak
and looking in the heart
of the heart of light
silence was a word
a word that made the night
April
April
April
is the cruelest month
==========================
A HANDFUL OF DUST, part II of The Waste Land Cycle
Part II of THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
your shadow in the morning
striding there behind you
your shadow in the evening
rising up to meet you
your shadow disappearing
fading in the dusk
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
a handful of dust
a handful of dust
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
your arms were full
and your hair was wet
I could not speak
hadn't been born yet
I knew nothing
neither living or dead
"call me the hyacinth girl"
that's what you said
a handful of dust
a handful of dust
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
looking into the heart
the heart of the light
I couldn't tell
if I were the day or the night
the silence it spoke
it spoke unto not
no sound of water
under this red rock
a handful of dust
a handful of dust
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
a heap of broken images
a pyramid of stone
a man walking endlessly
endlessly alone
what branches grow
what roots clutch
into the earth
for a handful of dust
what winds blow
blow they must
reach to the sky
for a handful of dust
a handful of dust
a handful of dust
I will show you fear
in a handful of dust
===============
THE FORTUNETELLER, part III of The Waste Land cycle
Part III of THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
Madame Sosostris
famous clairvoyist
wisest woman in Europe
had a bad bad cold
but still nevertheless
with her cards she guessed
fortunes with the best
with the Tarot told
it was a wicked pack of cards
with wicked images
the devil and the deep blue sea
and of the future says
here you are the drown dead sailor
those are pearls that were his eyes
here you see the Belladonna
lady of the shipwreck lies
lady of the situations
here we find the three of clubs
here the wheel, the one eye merchant
must beware of what he does
and here the card which must be blank
which I am forbidden to see
pay the fee no need to thank me
put your money in the tea
let me say before you go
I do not find the Hang ged Man
crowds of people in a ring, though
save yourself while you still can
if you see Ms. Equitone
say I bring the horoscope
one must be so careful these days
still you must hold on to hope
============
UNREAL CITY, part IV of The Waste Land cycle
Part IV of THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
unreal city
unreal city
under the fog of a winter dawn
unreal city
unreal city
first it was here but now it is gone
a crowd flowed over the London Bridge
I had not thought death had undone
so many eyes fixed on so many feet
am I the only the loneliest one
the flow of the mass up the hill of the town
over King William Street silent and down
to where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept hours
where far away stood the city and tower
with a dead sound final stroke of the nine
I saw a man who was friend of mine
said "Stetson! With me at the ships at Mylae!
what did you do? what did you say?
"You planted a corpse last year in the garden,
now has it sprouted? This year will it bloom?
Or has the frost disturbed it in bed?
Keep the Dog from it, or it is doomed.
"Or with his claws he will dig up again,
even though to all men he is friend,
But I am your mirror, I and no other,
hypocrite reader, my dopplegang brother!"
unreal city
unreal city
under the fog of a winter dawn
unreal city
unreal city
first you were here but now you are gone
=====================
A GAME OF CHESS, part V of The Waste Land cycle
Part I of A GAME OF CHESS
she sat there in her burnished chair
in the stink perfume of her fire hair
and told the tale of Philomel
who turned into a nightingale
she turned into a nightingale
nightingale she had no choice
filling all the virgin desert
with a never broken voice
but now she sat in marble room
full of cupids made of gold
full of riches full of glitter
lonely stupid sated cold
and still she cried, the world pursued
and hooted "jug jug" to dirty ears
footsteps shuffled on the stairs
her nerves were bad and full of fear
and we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess
she stay with me a while
speak to me you never smile
what you thinking what you mean
I never know until you scream
I think we're in rat's alley now
don't ask me why I don't know how
what's that noise, wind under door
why'd you have to do that for
what does the wind do nothing do
nothing again no nothing new
nothing seen nothing known
do you remember nothing no
I remember once was wise
those are pearls that were his eyes
are you alive or not or dead
is ther nothing in your head?
oh let's do the Shakespeare rag
elegant intelligent
shall I rush out as I am
tell me what to do again
we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess
if it rains if it pours
step into closed car at four
pressing lidless eyes and waiting
for a knock upon the door
then we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess
=================
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME, part VI of The Waste Land cycle
Part II of A GAME OF CHESS
when Lil's husband got demobilized
I said to her damn your eyes
I didn't mince my words I said
or else your pieces forfeited
hurry up please it's time
hurry up please it's time
to be out of bed is such a crime
hurry up please it's time
now Albert's coming back be smart
take the offer take your heart
he'll want to know about the cash
to fix your teeth you made a hash
of what was left of your damn life
he's the husband, you're the wife
you have to have them out I bet
pull them all get a new set
he said can't bear to look at you
I swear I need you but it's true
and I can't bear to see it too
think of Albert go and do
four years in the Army I'm
four years in the war until
all he wants is a good time
if you won't some one else will
oh is there she said the bat
yes there is something wrong of that
she just smirked the stupid skank
and said then I'll know who to thank
hurry up please it's time
hurry up please it's time
to be out of bed is such a crime
hurry up please it's time
if you don't like get on with it
others pick and choose you git
if Albert makes off lack of telling
someone else will do the selling
you ought to be ashamed I said
to look so old to look so dead
and she was only 31
I can't help it she was glum
I took them pills to bring it off
it nearly killed me made me soft
the chemist said would be all right
aint never been since that bad night
I said you are a proper fool
you know the game of chess the rule
you know the awful thing you did
why'd you get married if not kids?
hurry up please it's time
hurry up please it's time
to be out of bed is such a crime
hurry up please it's time
well that Sunday Al came home
he didn't want to be alone
they did it till at last could not
took me to dinner it was hot
hurry up please it's time
hurry up please it's time
to be out of bed is such a crime
hurry up please it's time
goodnight Bill goodnight Lou
good night Mary goodnight you
ta ta good night good night good night
go home now and do it right
good night ladies
good night ladies
good night ladies
we hate to see you go.....
=========================
SWEET THAMES, part VII of The Waste Land cycle
Part I of THE FIRE SERMON
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
run softly until I have finished my song
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
for I speak not too loud and I won't be too long
the leaves made a canopy on the surface of the waters
but now they have sunken into the banks of mud
the wind has crossed the land so brown and unheard
the nymphs have have departed the Naiads have scud
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
run softly until I have finished my song
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
for I speak not too loud and I won't be too long
the litter that polluted the waters so dark
has been swept away for a time
the bottles and paper and cigarette butts
all testimony of the dank summer nights
the heirs of the city who squandered their health
have taken away what was left of their wealth
leaving nothing behind but the maidens despoiled
and a city that knows of no pleasure but toil
by the waters of Leman I sat down and wept
at my back a cold blast of air like a stone
a chuckle spread ear to ear to ear
the air was at war and rattled my bones
a rat creeping softly through reeds and the muck
as I was marooned in the present day dusk
I was thinking of king my brother unfound
while bodies lay naked upon the low ground
and picked over bones in the garret upstairs
rattled by rat's feet or year after year
the sound of the traffic the motors and horns
are all that I from time to time to time that I hear
Sweeney will come to Ms. Porter in spring
they wash their feet in soda water
o the moon shone bright on Ms. Porter
shone bright on Ms. Porter and daughter
the knight of the grail sings O ces voix d'enfants
chantant and chantant in the holy dome
jug jug jug sings the nightingale so rudely forced
tereu tereu there's no way back home
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
run softly and now I have finished my song
sweet Thames run softly run softly sweet Thames
I spoke not too loud and I wasn't too long
============
REPRISE OF THE UNREAL CITY, part VIII of The Waste Land cycle
Part II of THE FIRE SERMON
unreal city
unreal city
under the fog of a winter dawn
unreal city
unreal city
first it was here but now it is gone
under the fog of a brown winter noon
Mr. Eugenides sat in his room
with a pocket of currants, unloved and unshaved
C.i.f. London, one foot in the grave
he handed me documents asked me to lunch
in a demotic French he could barely control
and took me up to the Cannon Hotel
and then to a weekend at the Metropole
unreal city
unreal city
under the fog of a winter dawn
unreal city
unreal city
first he was here but now he is gone
======================
I TIRESIAS I, part IX of The Waste Land cycle
Part III of THE FIRE SERMON
when the eyes and back
at the violet hour
turn up from the desk
when human engine waits
like a taxi throbbing
I Tiresias I
blind between two lives
old man full of hate
with wrinkled female breasts
can see the evening hour a thing
that strives with every power to bring
the sailor home from the sea
I Tiresias I
was a woman once
the typist home for tea
clears the breakfast lights
the stove and lays
out tins for food that night
the sun dries out the wash
her stocking piled on couch
that midnight is her bed
the window she looks out
I Tiresias I
I foretold the rest
the half expected guest
a small house agent clerk
has come in silky hat
to get a piece of work
the time is right he guessed
the meal is done and gone
she bored and tired one
the undesired caress
he takes her in assault
encounters no defense
but he needs no response
welcomes indifference
and I Tiresias I
have foresuffered all
enacted on this bed
sat Thebes upon the wall
and walked among the lowest
lowest of the dead
he patronizes kiss
and gropes his way outside
she turns and sees the glass
and over is the ride
her brain allows to pass
this one half formed last thought
"well now that's done so fast
I'm glad it's over ought"
when woman is a fool
and stops to folly lone
she smoothes her hair a tool
and plays the gramophone
and I Tiresias old
twas all as I foretold
=================
WEIALALA LEIA, part X of The Waste Land cycle
Part IV of THE FIRE SERMON
the music crept by me on the waters
up Queen Victoria along the Strand
beside a public bar in Lower Thames
I hear the whining mandolin
the clatter of the cups within
the chatter of the fishermen
where walls of Magnus Martyr hold
the splendour inexplicable
of Ionian white and gold
the river sweats of oil and tar
the barges drift with turning tide
to leeward, swung on heavy spar
red sails wide oh wide so wide
the barges wash the drifting logs
down Greenwich past the Isle of Dogs
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester beating oars
the stern was formed a gilded shell it seems
the swell was brisk rippling the shores
the southwest wind carried them downstream
the peal of bells
the white towers, well
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
trams and dusty trees
Highbury bore me
Richmond and Kew
they did undid me, true
by Richmond
I raised my knees
supine on on the floor
of a narrow canoe....
my feet are at Margate
my heart under my feet
and afterwards he weeps
promising a new start
but I could say nothing
didn't know what it meant
I made no comment
what should I resent?
on Margate Sands I can connect
nothing with nothing how could I forget
the broken nails of dirty hands
my people humble people who expect
nothing
to Carthage then I came
burning burning burning burning
oh Lord Thou pluckest me out
oh Lord Thou pluckest burning
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
Weialala leia
wallala leialala
==============
DEATH BY WATER, part XI of The Waste Land cycle
death by water
death by water
Phlebas the Phoenician
found the death he sought
dead for this a fortnight
the cry of gulls forgot
in the deep sea swell
the profit and the loss
a current under sea
in whispers picked his bones
as he rose and fell
in watery grave alone
and as he was corrupted
through youth and all his ages
the whirlpool then he entered
through time and all its stages
be Gentile or be Jew
oh you who turn the wheel
and look to windward think of
the man who can not feel
and you who once was handsome
till ocean conquered too
consider Phlebus done
who once was tall as you
death by water
death by water
Phlebas the Phoenician
found the death he sought
================
WHAT THE THUNDER SAID, part XII of The Waste Land cycle
Part I of WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
with little patience
with a little death
we'll all understand
what the thunder said
what the thunder said
after torchlight red
on the face of sweat
silence the gardens
frosty cold and wet
after agony
in the stony place
the shouting and cries
of the human race
prison and the palace
reverberates and sings
over distant mountains
thunder of the spring
with little patience
with a little death
we'll all understand
what the thunder said
what the thunder said
he who was living now is dead
we who were living are now dying
all that we are or were's been said
we can't be blamed for lack of trying
but with little patience
with a little death
we'll all understand
what the thunder said
what the thunder said
====================
DEAD MOUNTAIN MOUTH, part XIII of The Waste Land cycle
part II of WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
here there is no water
but only rock
rock and no water
and the sandy road
the road winding
high among the mountains
to places where
we know we have to go
if there were water
we should stop and drink
but amongst the rock
we can not stop or think
sweat is dry
and feet are in the sand
the body is willing
but the soul beyond command
if there were only water
amongst the rock
dead mountain mouth
of carious teeth
teeth that can not spit
but only shout
here one can not lie
or neither stand nor sit
there's not even silence
in the mountains over plain
but dry sterile thunder
without the rain
there's not even solitude
but red sullen faces sneer
and snarling from the doors
of mudcracked houses here
if there were water
and no rock
if there were rock
and also water
and water and water
and a spring
a pool among the rock
or anything
if there were just
the sound of water only
not the cicada
and the dry grass singing
but the sound of water
over a rock
where hermit thrushes sing
in the pine trees
drip drop drip drop
drop drop drop
if there were only water
then we could stop
but there is no water
but there is no water
but there is no water
no water
============================
THE THIRD, part XIV of The Waste Land cycle
part III of WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
who is the third
who is the third who walks beside you
who is the third
on the other side of you
when I try to count
there is only you and I
but when I look ahead
another walks beside
wrapped in a brown robe
hood without a face
man or woman I don't know
leaving not a trace
who is the third
who is the third who walks beside you
who is the third
on the other side of you
what is that sound on high
the mother's lamentations
high up in the sky
sweeping over nations
who are the hooded hoards
swarming over plains
stumbling in the cracks
of the earth in pain
ringed by flat horizon
cities over mountains
reforming bursting in violet air
falling towers counting
Athens and Jerusalem
ancient Alexandria
Vienna, London and London
falling towers falling walls
unreal cities all
who is the third
who is the third who walks beside you
who is the third
on the other side of you
====================
THE GRASS IS SINGING, part XV of The Waste Land cycle
part IV of WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
a woman drew out her long black hair tight
and fiddled whispered music on those long black strings
and hats with baby faces in the violet light
whistled in the dark, and beat their bat-like wings
and crawled head downward down a blackened wall
and upside down were towers, towers in the air
and reminiscent bells tolled hours down the hall
and voices singing out of the exhausted wells
but still the grass is singing
over tumbled graves
still the grass is singing
and something can be saved
in this decaying hole among the mountain swell
in the faintest moonlight, the grass is singing
about the empty chapel, a windowless shell
the wind has come home at last, the door is swinging
dry bones can harm no one the bells the bells they echo
a cock stood on the rooftree explaining once again
co co rico rico co co rico rico
and in a flash of lightning a damp gust bringing rain
and still the grass is singing
over tumbled graves
still the grass is singing
so something can be saved
================
SHANTIH SHANTIH SHANTIH, part XVI of The Waste Land cycle
part V of WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
the Ganga was sunken
and the limp leaves
waited for rain
waited for rain
while the black clouds
gathered far distant
over the snow
Himavant below
the jungle crouched silent
then spoke the thunder
then spoke the thunder again
da da da da
Datta: what have we wondered
what have we given
my friend, my blood shaking my heart
what do we live in
the awful daring of a moment's surrender
an age of prudence we can never retract
by this and this only we have existed
the one thing our obits can never subtract
or in the memories draped by good spider
or under seals broken by lean salesman
in our empty rooms where the thunder has spoken
and all of our prophecies ended in failure
da da da da
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
turn in the door and turning once only
we think of the key, each in his prison
only at nightfall broken and lonely
Coriolanus
Coriolanus
Coriolanus
da da da
Damyata: the boat has responded
to the hand expert go sail and with oar
the sea was so sure your heart would have calmed it
beating obedient to hands and to more
I sat on the shore
with the plain behind me
fishing at least
set my lands in order
London Bridge is falling down
falling down
falling down
then he hid in the refining fire
and asked when
shall I be as the swallow
o swallow o swallow
The Aquitaine prince in the ruined watchtower
these fragments I built up to support my lost power
and now why I'll fit you once more breach my friend
Geronimo mad is mad once again
Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata
and me
Shantih shantih shantih
you're free.....
==============
