1. Coming Up On The Hour (Overture)

The Previi of course were old enough to remember when all the stuff used to work, and would charm people by telling
more and more incredible stories about a world, where every morning 50 million people on this island woke up and had to
be at least 30 miles away from where they woke up within an hour. They spent around eight hours of the 24 that made up
a day in a place that they did not want to be, doing something which apparently they did not like doing. When they had
finished, they went back 30 miles to the place they woke up at, and their reward for doing this task was to be paid
some token amount which allowed them to temporarily call themselves the owner of a small building. With the remaining
eight hours, they used to do bodily functions like eat and wash, have sex, and do something called "watching TV".

2. Morning Journey & The Arrival

There's no camera that can see the grey line
The overture for the coming dawn
That subtle shift that provokes the birdsong,
The unseen spark that awakes the corn

So let the headlights on the road
Slicing through the morning murk,
Be a metaphor for daybreak, or
Be our allegory, for work.

There's no disk that can save our feelings,
Of an early Tuesday's run into town,
In the darkness on less than a good sleep,
Faces set with an unseen frown.

So let the rain onto the wheels,
Spell the end of what we see as the night,
Be a metaphor for humdrum,
Be an allegory, of life.

My son asked me once:
"Dad? Do we see the same thing?....
When it's green?"

We carry more weight than our muscles can bear
Our infrastructure looks familiar when viewed from the air,
'Cos we are Ants! Crawling, marching.......

We strip our carrion of the last scraps of their flesh,
Move onto the next victim and start afresh,
We are Ants!
AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaarrrrgggggggnnnnts!!!

I wish that we could see this;
The heaving bird's eye view from any given height,
Our ant hill lives below us,
The crawling cars and snail trails of our human might.

All the flyovers and tunnels that circle round the church,
At the centre of our cities where we fight our way to work,
Where cameras watch our progress on spaghetti-like ring roads,
To business parks, call centres and retail outlet nodes.

Park drive late phone talk push bank home work,
Car Park drive late phone talk push bank home,
Work Car Park drive late phone talk push bank,
Home work Car Park drive late phone talk push,

It all just looks like bird shit!
Just look on Google Earth – the higher up you climb!
And each day we traverse it!
An hour from waking up we're driving thirty miles.

All the people ripped from sleeping in their luxury mobiles,
On telephones, computers, all "getting a great deal",
To the car parks by the buildings where we hate away our days,
To buy a little house, a TV and a package holiday.

And all the blue plaques in all the buildings,
Say they're "Investors in Our Souls",
But I don't believe them, not 'til I see it,
Until I put my finger in the holes.

All the time that we give,
To companies who call themselves our friends,
All the time that we live with their aims at heart, their intent.

And then they tell us that we're important, or
"We're all part of the whole",
I don't believe them, not 'til I see it,
Until I put my finger in the holes.

In the flickering light she sees Canadian trees,
Log cabins, warm fires and smiles at the apr?s ski,
She punches in her name to the company mainframe,
And logs into her pact with the Devil again.

She is lost, she is floating,
She's like us all, tied to the fabric we wear,
She takes it as she finds,
Lives for the good times,
She's a product,
She's a consumer,
And then she's a girl.

In the cubicle next door it's time to 'meet the band';
In a Rush T-shirt, pony tail, 2112 tattooed on his hands,
He's a star through thick & thin,
But he still gets that data in,
A modern day warrior, today's Tom Sawyer is a clerk.

So let the tapping of the keys,
The hub-bub of the office chat,
Be a meta for disillusion,
Be a metaphor for life.

We all found out too late (that the contract's binding)
We could never appreciate that the ads we saw as kids, and
Everything we did were just putting us on the right road.
Putting our houses on our backs,
With our mortgages in tow to fill the cracks,
Between the stuff we can't provide,
We try to cross the great divide,
And hope we're on the right road.
All the things we wanted and all the goals we craved!
We were on the treadmill, we became the slaves.
Oh! Did we get lucky?! Or just a metaphor for life?

3. Afternoon Malaise

When are you you?
You seem so far away,
From the man who climbed the mountain on some halcyonic day,
Supervisor's closing in on methods you prefer,
Waving your appraisal forms like weapons, built for her.

Do you meet approval from the people at the top?
Could you stand for them in the shop?
Are you a good team player in a side that want your art,
To mould into their die casts? The truth is:
They can't take it with them, they can try, but they'll fail.

When are you you?
Just who is it in there?
Behind the stingy plastic staff pass and slightly maintained hair,
You play the Bullshit Bingo but the pain inside you smarts,
As they salute the flagpole you know that,
They can't take you with them, they can try, but they'll fail,
So pretend you know their ropes,
They can try, but they'll fail,
At least that's what you hope.

Steve Wright in the Afternoon, friendly DJ
A bit of humour, bit of music,
Helps pass the time.
News bulletin at four o' clock, so you know you're on the homestretch,
But the minutes drag on your analogue watch

Steve's like a car you follow in the dark – he's your friend,
We've got some time that we don't wanna spend with you,
We're only here 'cos there's nothing else we can do,
And Steve knows, – 'cause he's under no illusions,
So he gives us a factoid or something to make the time go by
It ain't gonna be "Yours Is No Disgrace" (But he has a good try).

All the factories and offices all playing the same tune,
Singing "Happy Birthday" to a man in Bodmin who's getting married soon.
And if you're on the M25 you'd better run for your life,
Because the Ant Hill'l be emptying soon,
And all the flyovers and tunnels that circle round the church,
To the soundtrack of an innocuous tune,
Hey Steve! Are you just like me?
Waiting for the wall clock to set you free?

We've got some time that we don't wanna spend with you,
We're only here 'cos there's nothing else we can do,
But Steve's gone! He's already in the car park,
Left another Cheerful Charlie in the hotseat to make the time go by,
Listen while you drive:

All the traffic news and the Tuesday blues,
Join the drizzle and the rain,
A million ants by the Dartford Tunnel wait to pay 2 pounds again,
And they'll take away the car and house and stick you on the streets,
Unless you do this journey every day,
And the landlord's on your tail again, the Queen Ant needs her lunch,
And there's gas and electricity to pay.

Hey Steve! – Can I be like you?
Everything seems laid back on Radio Two.
We've got some time that we don't wanna spend with you,
We're only here 'cos there's nothing else we can do.

I shear the bolt, he turns the screw,
We all have our part, and there's one for you.
And we're all alone, yet surrounded by peers,
Try to make our mark as we work off the years... crawling, marching.

And we keep our homes to pay our tax,
I ask myself, "Just who struck that deal and just how far back?"
And some work for fortunes, some work for a dime,
And some work for pensions, and some just do their time,
And some of 'em build empires, and some bring them down,
Some work for recognition, ain't we all just the clowns?

'Cos you can't take it with you,
There's no luggage allowed,
No you can't take it with you,
No matter how rich or proud.
Your kids will sell it off on Ebay,
For God's sake don't waste their time,
'Cos you can't take it with you,
You can leave just a little bit behind.

4. A Voyage Through Rush Hour

(инструментал)

5. Evening TV

The Nine-To-Five-rs hit the sofa in the lounge,
The Five-'Til-Midnights put more coal on the National Grid,
Those ITV soaps need extra megawatts,
As workers tire of adverts from the people they've been working for all day.
Put the kettle on! It's time to relax,
Put the kettle on! We need a few laughs.

We have a peephole to the corridors of power,
We have a portal to wealth and fame in front of us,
It's our reward for toiling, chomping at the bit,
Waiting for a time when we can break the ties and blow it all away.
Put the kettle on! It's time to relax,
Put the kettle on! We need a few laughs.

Always thought that there was something more,
More than this......
Evening cups of tea and shows you just can't miss,
Never wonder, never wonder how,
It's all we seem to want right now.

We're right here at home, just like we should be,
Like in a textbook from school, "Le Francais D'Aujourd Hui"
La Famille Bertillon (Mere et Pere, Grand Mere et Grand Pere),
Le Sacre Du Travail, La Famille Nucleaire.

We're Nine-To-Five-rs and they know what turns us on,
They know what shows we watch, where we go and for how long,
We filled in questionnaires, we did it all our lives,
Whether we picked up the paper doesn't matter,
They decide who we are.

The Nine-To-Five-rs breathe a huge sigh of relief,
The News at Ten is over, (no more shit about their equity).
Grab some Merlot from the kitchen, on the rack,
Or make some chocolate, head for bed with a book, get ready for the day.
Tomorrow looks just the same as the same,
DJ's on computers finding factoids again,
Round and round it goes,
Round and round.

And so tomorrow? – Well the whole thing starts again,
With Fog & Rain at Blubberhouses, traffic jams and supervisors,
When are you you? You seem so far away,
You can't take it with you but you can try for yet another day.

Put the kettle on.

6. Muffled Epiphany

It's 1972 again and I'm back at the top of our stairs,
It's half past 7 on a Sunday night,
I'm not allowed in the room, I'm not Sixteen,
But I can dream that I'll hear those sounds that run around my head,
Through closed doors to my empty bed.

What's that sound? I never heard that before!
It's a hallowed moment, the 'Eureka!' I've waited for,
Shit...my mum's making coffee now, I'd better hide inside my room,
It's like straining to hear the eulogies when you're the one inside the tomb.

But later, it comes around again,
They're on side two now (they must be, 'cos the singer sounds the same)
Caught in this music, lost in the sound and the words and the song,
This doesn't feel wrong,
And I'll go back to bed after I've heard...the Mellotron.

7. Hat (Live At Mexborough School 1979)

I bought a ticket on the metro,
My mind working all in retro,
I took a briefcase, I took a book,
Gotta know how it's gonna look,

There's only one thing I see! Instead of the form of me, there's just a HAT!!

And in the tunnels deep underground,
Other people try not to look around,
What is happening? Where am I?
Beneath this hat and collar and tie?

There's only one thing I see! Instead of the form of me, there's just a HAT!!

8. Evening TV (Radio Edit)

The Nine-To-Five-rs hit the sofa in the lounge,
The Five-'Til-Midnights put more coal on the National Grid,
Those ITV soaps need extra megawatts,
As workers tire of adverts from the people they've been working for all day.
Put the kettle on! It's time to relax,
Put the kettle on! We need a few laughs.

We have a peephole to the corridors of power,
We have a portal to wealth and fame in front of us,
It's our reward for toiling, chomping at the bit,
Waiting for a time when we can break the ties and blow it all away.
Put the kettle on! It's time to relax,
Put the kettle on! We need a few laughs.

Always thought that there was something more,
More than this......
Evening cups of tea and shows you just can't miss,
Never wonder, never wonder how,
It's all we seem to want right now.

We're right here at home, just like we should be,
Like in a textbook from school, "Le Francais D'Aujourd Hui"
La Famille Bertillon (Mere et Pere, Grand Mere et Grand Pere),
Le Sacre Du Travail, La Famille Nucleaire.

We're Nine-To-Five-rs and they know what turns us on,
They know what shows we watch, where we go and for how long,
We filled in questionnaires, we did it all our lives,
Whether we picked up the paper doesn't matter,
They decide who we are.

The Nine-To-Five-rs breathe a huge sigh of relief,
The News at Ten is over, (no more shit about their equity).
Grab some Merlot from the kitchen, on the rack,
Or make some chocolate, head for bed with a book, get ready for the day.
Tomorrow looks just the same as the same,
DJ's on computers finding factoids again,
Round and round it goes,
Round and round.

And so tomorrow? – Well the whole thing starts again,
With Fog & Rain at Blubberhouses, traffic jams and supervisors,
When are you you? You seem so far away,
You can't take it with you but you can try for yet another day.

Put the kettle on.