To Be Free

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