England prepared a book of lyrics and illustrations to accompany Garden Shed. Unfortunately it was never published, and the originals were lost.
From Robert Webb: "The illustrated booklet. This is quite a saga (for me at least). It never made print in 1977. I carried the artwork for years, but it eventually went missing (moving house all the time). In 1997, when the 'official' remastered CD of Garden Shed was made (by The Forward Organisation)... again I wanted to issue 'the booklet' (which would now have to be CD sized). I 're-created' the images and text that the original would have had ... but, it didn't really work at the CD size, so it never happened, again."
Robert has been kind enough to provide me with the lyrics and scans of most of the the illustrations... more may be forthcoming in the future.
Somebody
told me Mr Pickett had possession of a pocket watch of gold
And to who so was the owner of gave immortality.
What a way to be ... ... knowing that this rumour was provoking my mind
You
can't stay here, so hide your fear, and disappear
That's when you're: Caught in the myth of midnight madness,
its the only way you can behold the fate of old man time
Something
inside me said that many wouldn't stop at the clock shop that night
I don't know who so long ago had left the door ajar,
but finding my way inward from the outside seemed a good idea at the time
Extraordinaire
! There's no one there.
You needn't care because you're:
Caught
in the myth of midnight madness,
and the fairy-light moonshine opens the gate to old man time (Gold-man
time ? One more time ?)
Outside the candle may flicker, inside the flame may grow on
The
door is open. I pull down the blind.
My timepiece is ticking, but hasn't yet chimed.
Dark gloom. The smell of the room
A mystic perception that magic will bloom
|
I
lift my head ... but only to find
that each clock in turn emits a dim light... in the shape |
Time
on time
armed with vision. What precision ! Walking in the shape |
... of a face !
Who
are you ? Can you see me ?
We are creatures of a timeless world in which we use the time so as
to hide away in
Each of us did come here just like you, and as you watch us you will
join us too !
I
may be a gambler at poker or whist, but what sort of rumour could lead
me to this ?
To extend my age, may warrant a deal; but a life on the mantelpiece
doesn't appeal
Guarding my ears from this hypnotic tick, I won't be the joker completing
this trick
When the words rhyme... that's a sure sign to call on time !
All
alone They've left me here alone
No one here to keep me company
Can't you see that it's true, when I'm lonely, sad, and blue,
nothing I do seems right
It's funny when you know there's nowhere else to go
and all I wanna do is cry
All
alone they've left me here alone,
left me here alone to cry
"Follow
me round" --Is the cry of the mare with each pull of the plough
Rhythmic sound in the swing of the chains that are dragging her down
And the morning call of the wind brings the sun from afar
"Take me up high" --In the voice of the lark singing high in the sky
Wandering eye of the farmer below --is the only reply
And the changing relief of the land is exposed to the light
The
break of dawn is changed by the presence of a stream
Weaving its path through a bed of green
The
windows of the forest bring very little light
The sound of river water flowing by
Although
the woods may seem bereft of any life
No man can see of sin or strife
The creatures of the forest receiving their first light
Come out and join the woodland company
Clinging
into time of disentangled broken vine
Come show me this is mine to breath and hold
Throughout abandoned hill a stillness set unreal
By image not by two you grew
Summer day will shine
Carry
on your way decide at which you want to play
Sentimental reason, con, or game ?
To take you further on would only spoil the fun
Can't you feel it higher, growing, never knowing ?
Sometimes
a laugh in a show that's cold
When the legend is burning yet not quite sold
To the man in the middle --it's only a riddle come out of a local rag
When
they hand you a thing and expect you to sing
To the tune of The Groom and his Flying Balloon
While the only resort is the flu that you caught
while preparing a dish for someone called En Bleu (Cordon Bleu)
Soak up the flakes of an emptying bowl and go
Down river, down reverse, downing in one below
Hot on the trail let the wind fill the sail and be leaving from where
you are
Left to uncover a scene unseen
Though the wing of the plover is seldom keen
I may open my hands when the garden expands,
taking part with an individuality
Leg
after leg in the line surround
All are touching the toes of adjacent ground
How can nature resist to make any seed twist (aniseed twist)
move along, run a long long way ?
So
you turn and resist from this windy place
Oh but is it from me that you hide your face ?
I am now to return to my natural pace
and remember today as I walk through my way
But the farmer forlorn
And the break of dawn will go fading, fading away
Yawning,
"Good Morning", polluting the air,
he'll follow down where the peli-can go
Whitechapel Monday in mythical flair;
only one-way to the puppet show
|
With
a pound in, (X4) With a pound in his pocket that he found in (X2)
the road,
|
With
a pounding, up, down, pounding upside down he'll win the show
|
Lying
in the roadside never to be owed
(Lying in the roadside never too B. O.'d)
Stop,
do the hop when your pennants are down,
show me the way to the vegetable row
Gardens that blossom in pink paraffin
where I can fly my bal-loony bin
|
With
a pound in, (X4) With a pound in his pocket that he found in (X2)
the road,
|
With
a pounding, up, down, pounding upside down he'll win the show
|
Lying
in the roadside never to be owed
(Lying in the roadside never too B. O.'d)
(Middle Eight)
Rumba
in tumbler and tambour-in-tum,
hopping a tram Metropoli-tango
Triumphing daily with splendid array.
Public performing at Pimlico
How astounding ! No-one ever helped him cross the road
To
see the morning sunrise every day I care not where
The moments stop at nothing throughout the sweetness in the air
In Springtime, I feel like crying
A new year is born
Rolling
one-another never going home to care
Chasing over hillside, knowing that we'll take our share
Care not. Don't hurry.
We'll spend all our worries together alone
Fortunes are simple.
Rely on the dawn alone
Taking
one-another sharing out our lover's game
Feeling rather self-sure knowing that it's just a game
Reaching out to fall
And catch the day before the night
(based on 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde, 1891)
Capture youth as youth retains its place Thought the painter as he looked upon his face
To
taste all wondrous gift ... save no expense
My feet to take all paths ... filled rich incense
To breathe the pleasures of the earth ... ... discarding nothing.
His
passion he gave to an actress.
Played Imogen and Juliet --she was perfect
Silk thread curls on cool white ivory skin.
A goddess so distant had enraptured him
The
love that I found on theatre's stage is dead
This prince so charming leads my heart instead
But no, to me you are the loves you've played.
If fantasy is dead, the age decays
Parting
poison make up falling tears like rain
The wilting helpless snowflake melts inside its grave
Reflected conscience slips away, away, ... away
A
dream of form in days of thought.
My lost creation rich restored
we'll paint your form with every care and grace
You are perfect in everything --as a flower blooms in Spring,
releasing madness from within
Beneath
this work our very souls do hide.
Me of my brush, you of your youth are tied ... to canvas forever.
Fading never
But
evil thoughts turn into twisted life
resounding through his years
But now the portrait sits and now those scarlet lips have suffered changes
Does my eye speak the truth ? My wondrous youth
No
Winter marred his face or stained the flower-like bloom of his skin
through Summer's vine.
But wine like fragrance it fades and it dies
He gazed in the glass and sighed ...his thoughts drifted by...
|
Peter
Pan on roof tops dancing
ever soaked in youth Adonis plays innocence in unrevealéd truth |
How
I wish that I could
steal my youth And the picture bare the age uncouth |
My soul to art I would then betroth --- my body left alive unmoved
I
can stay youthful for all of my life and the picture I'll keep from
the world's peering eyes
My sins it will hold, its face will grow old,
and all the people will know not why my face is young till the day that
I die
The
gates of the seasons they open and close
and the pathways perfection a faltered repose
An age elf slips free ascending this tree,
he sneaks up with ease outstretched arms reaching high,
so small but so vital his glistening smile
The
face as with fever is stricken.
A red bead of dew sickly thickens
Scorching his eyesight the charred wrinkled skin,
his mirror of conscience that burdens the sins
"Heaven, helpless, drowned confusion" -----
A satyr looks down from the frame, ----
illusion
The
blade shines brightly it fills his fingers with hate
A veil of darkness descends it bends to his feet
A life of lust, mistrust decreasing, visions vanished, stripped unseen
Does the eye speak the truth ? His wondrous youth...